Ah pissed off - I am. My desk lamp just went off so I changed the bulb,
which is fiddly and took me fifteen minutes, and now it still won't work.
Therefore, ANNOYED!! So much, in fact, that I might write an angst
Harry/Draco fic (gasp!)..
(In the bloody DARK! I might add).
Btw - All the characters and anything else you recognise belong to JK Rowling and co. Harry / Draco means slash (albeit it just implied). Also I have no beta and so I apologise for any errors I missed.
The Straw
Draco was contemplating the Chardonnay.
He didn't usually take white wine - that was Harry's forte - but the three bottles of Merlot were gone and he had just finished the last Grenache Shiraz. It was white or nothing - and nothing was not an option.
Having spent the last day and a half trying to get lost in oblivion, Draco Malfoy was in no mood for sobriety. He'd even stooped to the own brand Tesco vodka. And that, for him, indicated sheer desperation.
Harry had gone. That much was certain. Now, Draco just had to figure out why.
After a few more moments of deliberation, he poured himself a glass full and slouched back into his plush leather sofa.
"If only they could see me now."
His words echoed loudly in the empty apartment. He had not cried yet and, for that at least, he was thankful. It allowed him period of sheer denial, in which he could pretend that Harry had just popped out to get a Chinese or had left to visit Ron or Hermione. Scenarios in which he would return home after an hour or two.
Draco drained the glass and slumped onto his side.
It was his fault, he knew as much, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. In fact, it made it more painful. All those times he was insecure about matters, feeling nervous and ill-equipped. He had tried to make decisions based on propriety and the 'Malfoy' way. In retrospect, he was surprised that he had not thought himself a complete idiot immediately - the Malfoy way had never succeeded in giving him anything in the past but a reputation and a headache.
But, none-the-less, he had chosen to act in manner which, in his opinion, spared his partner the unease of dealing with issues that could be best forgotten.
His partner. God, it sounded so formal, which is the last thing it was, excepting select holiday dinners at the Weasley house.
His Harry. Now, that sounded better.
Not anymore, a depressed voice whispered inside his head, he's gone now.
No. He would not dwell on that. He would review what he knew to figure out a way of solving the situation.
Yes. He had chosen to reveal only those feelings which were appropriate and spared Harry the job of explaining that this relationship was 'only a bit of fun, Draco'.
For that was what they had agreed. To have a no strings-no problems fling.
In Draco's defence, he had reasoned that the animosity that had occurred between them was such that they could never form a lasting, loving relationship. Perhaps his need for Harry had clouded his judgement, but the decision could not be changed now.
In any way, he had taken everything that, at the time, he thought he could get. All he thought he needed. He had never considered that his attraction could stem from anything deeper than admiration and lust.
He had been wrong.
For all his protesting, Harry had given him so much more than a fling. He had practically moved in with him. They had intimate moments together, far removed from the base instincts their relationship was supposed to be established on. They were in tune, sharing a look or a laugh about something only they found funny.
They were in love - at least Draco was. Though he had never told Harry that.
He had not told Harry a lot of things.
Like how cute he was when he tried to persuade Draco to do things the muggle way. And when he would insist on watching some silent art house film, and promptly fall asleep ten minutes in, sprawled over Draco like a blanket, preventing him from changing the channel. Or when he would get that look in his eye and say something so obvious to excuse them both like 'Draco and I just forgot that we left the oven on'.
No strings - what utter crap.
Yeah. A whole web of unattached strings, weaving those non-existent problems together in a neat little pattern.
When Draco had realised just how deeply entangled in said web he had become, he had immediately tried to disguise the apparent situation. The revelation forced him to work harder in remaining as cool and collected as he would normally act. In fact, the only times things became really close were when Harry would do something especially adorable or at that moment, when Draco had to restrain himself from screaming 'I love you'.
He knew that as soon as Harry learnt of his breach of contract, he would be breaking the proverbial news to him gently.
So he had kept quiet, gradually withdrawing into himself, in the hopes of keeping his ever increasing love for Harry a secret. He stopped looking at Harry tenderly. Stopped letting Harry have his way all the time. Stopped doing anything that could be misconstrued as remotely boyfriend-like.
And he thought he had got away with it. He had truly believed that Harry had not noticed that anything was different at all. But, evidently, Harry was not as oblivious to feelings as people thought.
That's why he left, Draco surmised, he must have known.
The day before yesterday, Harry had arrived early on, which Draco had found strange because Harry had said he was working all day. He had knocked, which was again odd, because he had a key and, if open, he would generally just walk in the door without permission.
He didn't take his coat off either, Draco remembered, and he made us stay standing in the hallway.
Harry had told Draco in no uncertain terms that it was over.
He had admitted to having a wonderful time while it lasted but "circumstances have changed and it is no longer in the best interests of my happiness to continue this relationship. I'm sorry Drake."
What did that mean - Draco had been trying to decipher it.
He had thought it meant that Harry knew about Draco's change of heart and was acting accordingly.
Suddenly, he was not altogether sure about that.
Perhaps, and this, he knew, was a long shot, but perhaps Harry felt the same as Draco. Perhaps he was as scared and as worried of rejection. Draco smirked to himself.
Just keep grasping at that straw.
Draco smiled.
Maybe I will.
The ring sounded far away on the end of the line.
"Hello?"
"Hey Harry," Draco breathed, "Just needed to hear your voice."
"Did you? I - I can't change my mind Drake, I thought I made that much clear."
"I know, sweetheart, but I realised I didn't. I love you, so much. Please come home."
"."
"Harry?"
The dial tone was so completely deafening that Draco quickly replaced the receiver on its stand. As he shut his eyes to the silent tears he finally allowed to fall, he could have sworn he heard the sound of a solitary straw snapping.
Btw - All the characters and anything else you recognise belong to JK Rowling and co. Harry / Draco means slash (albeit it just implied). Also I have no beta and so I apologise for any errors I missed.
The Straw
Draco was contemplating the Chardonnay.
He didn't usually take white wine - that was Harry's forte - but the three bottles of Merlot were gone and he had just finished the last Grenache Shiraz. It was white or nothing - and nothing was not an option.
Having spent the last day and a half trying to get lost in oblivion, Draco Malfoy was in no mood for sobriety. He'd even stooped to the own brand Tesco vodka. And that, for him, indicated sheer desperation.
Harry had gone. That much was certain. Now, Draco just had to figure out why.
After a few more moments of deliberation, he poured himself a glass full and slouched back into his plush leather sofa.
"If only they could see me now."
His words echoed loudly in the empty apartment. He had not cried yet and, for that at least, he was thankful. It allowed him period of sheer denial, in which he could pretend that Harry had just popped out to get a Chinese or had left to visit Ron or Hermione. Scenarios in which he would return home after an hour or two.
Draco drained the glass and slumped onto his side.
It was his fault, he knew as much, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. In fact, it made it more painful. All those times he was insecure about matters, feeling nervous and ill-equipped. He had tried to make decisions based on propriety and the 'Malfoy' way. In retrospect, he was surprised that he had not thought himself a complete idiot immediately - the Malfoy way had never succeeded in giving him anything in the past but a reputation and a headache.
But, none-the-less, he had chosen to act in manner which, in his opinion, spared his partner the unease of dealing with issues that could be best forgotten.
His partner. God, it sounded so formal, which is the last thing it was, excepting select holiday dinners at the Weasley house.
His Harry. Now, that sounded better.
Not anymore, a depressed voice whispered inside his head, he's gone now.
No. He would not dwell on that. He would review what he knew to figure out a way of solving the situation.
Yes. He had chosen to reveal only those feelings which were appropriate and spared Harry the job of explaining that this relationship was 'only a bit of fun, Draco'.
For that was what they had agreed. To have a no strings-no problems fling.
In Draco's defence, he had reasoned that the animosity that had occurred between them was such that they could never form a lasting, loving relationship. Perhaps his need for Harry had clouded his judgement, but the decision could not be changed now.
In any way, he had taken everything that, at the time, he thought he could get. All he thought he needed. He had never considered that his attraction could stem from anything deeper than admiration and lust.
He had been wrong.
For all his protesting, Harry had given him so much more than a fling. He had practically moved in with him. They had intimate moments together, far removed from the base instincts their relationship was supposed to be established on. They were in tune, sharing a look or a laugh about something only they found funny.
They were in love - at least Draco was. Though he had never told Harry that.
He had not told Harry a lot of things.
Like how cute he was when he tried to persuade Draco to do things the muggle way. And when he would insist on watching some silent art house film, and promptly fall asleep ten minutes in, sprawled over Draco like a blanket, preventing him from changing the channel. Or when he would get that look in his eye and say something so obvious to excuse them both like 'Draco and I just forgot that we left the oven on'.
No strings - what utter crap.
Yeah. A whole web of unattached strings, weaving those non-existent problems together in a neat little pattern.
When Draco had realised just how deeply entangled in said web he had become, he had immediately tried to disguise the apparent situation. The revelation forced him to work harder in remaining as cool and collected as he would normally act. In fact, the only times things became really close were when Harry would do something especially adorable or at that moment, when Draco had to restrain himself from screaming 'I love you'.
He knew that as soon as Harry learnt of his breach of contract, he would be breaking the proverbial news to him gently.
So he had kept quiet, gradually withdrawing into himself, in the hopes of keeping his ever increasing love for Harry a secret. He stopped looking at Harry tenderly. Stopped letting Harry have his way all the time. Stopped doing anything that could be misconstrued as remotely boyfriend-like.
And he thought he had got away with it. He had truly believed that Harry had not noticed that anything was different at all. But, evidently, Harry was not as oblivious to feelings as people thought.
That's why he left, Draco surmised, he must have known.
The day before yesterday, Harry had arrived early on, which Draco had found strange because Harry had said he was working all day. He had knocked, which was again odd, because he had a key and, if open, he would generally just walk in the door without permission.
He didn't take his coat off either, Draco remembered, and he made us stay standing in the hallway.
Harry had told Draco in no uncertain terms that it was over.
He had admitted to having a wonderful time while it lasted but "circumstances have changed and it is no longer in the best interests of my happiness to continue this relationship. I'm sorry Drake."
What did that mean - Draco had been trying to decipher it.
He had thought it meant that Harry knew about Draco's change of heart and was acting accordingly.
Suddenly, he was not altogether sure about that.
Perhaps, and this, he knew, was a long shot, but perhaps Harry felt the same as Draco. Perhaps he was as scared and as worried of rejection. Draco smirked to himself.
Just keep grasping at that straw.
Draco smiled.
Maybe I will.
The ring sounded far away on the end of the line.
"Hello?"
"Hey Harry," Draco breathed, "Just needed to hear your voice."
"Did you? I - I can't change my mind Drake, I thought I made that much clear."
"I know, sweetheart, but I realised I didn't. I love you, so much. Please come home."
"."
"Harry?"
The dial tone was so completely deafening that Draco quickly replaced the receiver on its stand. As he shut his eyes to the silent tears he finally allowed to fall, he could have sworn he heard the sound of a solitary straw snapping.