Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for World Cup - Croatia Prompt - "Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't what you want." / "I..." / "Tell me!" / "I can't!"

Word Count - 613

Not An Aberration

It should have been a one night stand, a mistake that they could laugh about days later and then move on from.

It should have been an aberration in their friendship, not the thing that broke it.

And yet, instead of spending the evening laughing and joking with Kingsley, as they'd spent almost every Saturday night for five years, Harry was sitting alone in his flat with his floo closed, nursing a whisky and feeling miserable.

He didn't even know how they'd gotten here.

Four weeks earlier, they'd gotten drunker than usual, and it had… well, in honesty, it had been the best night of Harry's life but that was neither here nor there. When they'd woken up the following morning, hungover and awkward, Harry had decided that he wanted Kingsley as his friend more than he wanted to do anything to jeopardise their relationship.

And so he'd lied, and told Kingsley that the sex, as amazing as it had been, had to be a one off.

Kingsley had been absent since then.

Oh, he still spoke to Harry, but his mind clearly wasn't in the conversations, and he was colder than he'd ever been.

Harry'd tried for the three weeks before he gave up.

The floo alarm sounded, interrupting his rather depressing thoughts, but Harry ignored it. He really wasn't in the mood for socialising, and if it was Ron or Hermione, they'd just apparate in if they really needed him.

Except… whoever was trying to get through wasn't giving up.

Sighing with frustration, Harry opened the floo. He wasn't really surprised when Kingsley stepped through the flames.

"You didn't come over," he accused immediately, his eyes taking in every inch of Harry, from the whisky in his hand to the ratty oversized pyjama bottoms hanging off his hips.

Harry nodded.

"Why?"

"Because… because it hurts."

Kingsley frowned. "What hurts? Are you okay, have you been injured?"

"What? Oh. No I'm fine, don't worry about it. This is on me. I'll deal with it, you know me."

"I do know you, which is why I know you're anything but fine. Harry…"

Harry shook his head, standing up. He deposited his glass on the table, and waved to the fire.

"You should go. I… I'll see you on Monday."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."

Harry scowled.

"Harry, talk to me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the problem!" Harry snapped, turning away. "Every since… that night… you've been distant, and cold, and I don't like it dammit!"

"I…" Kingsley paused, sighing. "I thought you wanted space. You said you didn't want to repeat it, so I stopped flirting and… being so close to you because I thought that was what you wanted. Harry -"

He stopped talking again, and reached out, molding his hand against Harry's side.

"Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't what you want," he murmured, pulling Harry closer and tilting Harry's head with his other hand.

"I..."

"Tell me!"

"I can't!"

Kingsley lowered his head and pressed their lips together, his hand moving from Harry's chin into his hair, tugging gently at the strands as he ran his fingers through it.

"This doesn't have to ruin us," Kingsley murmured, when they pulled away from each other. "Is that what you were afraid of?"

Harry nodded mutely.

Kingsley shook his head. "We'll still be friends. Just… with more."

A smile tugged at Harry's lips.

"Does that mean I can still flirt with you and get you in trouble with the press?"

Kingsley's deep, booming laughter filled the flat. "Yeah, Harry. It means you can still be my favourite pain in the ass."