i.
Draco musters all his strength to push himself up out of bed. Everything in him aches and burns along all the old fissures. Some mornings, he fears that even by barely moving he'd injure himself even further.
He hasn't told Charlie about this (it's called "breaking," but Draco thinks that term is one of weakness. He can't help that his body is shattering around him, it's a common condition and it's one without any determined cause or cure. Draco only wishes that Charlie doesn't start breaking as well. He doesn't think he could handle seeing him-someone so strong-so broken). Draco knows the other boy has noticed something wrong with him lately. He's been slowly breaking for years now, but it has never taken such a toll on him as it has been doing for the past couple of days.
If Charlie's noticed anything odd about Draco, he hasn't mentioned it. That's one thing Draco loves about Charlie: he never pushes Draco to do anything unless he wants to.
Regardless, Draco knows he has to tell Charlie sooner or later, and though he isn't being pressured to, Draco would never keep secrets from Charlie - he doesn't think he'd be able to hide anything from him even if he wanted to.
The two of them have been together for just over a year, still living in Charlie's flat in Romania, which had barely been large enough for Charlie to live in on his own. They are too close, both literally and metaphorically, for Draco to keep anything from Charlie. As it is, Draco isn't trying to hide anything, he's just not sure how to tell him.
ii.
A small chip along Draco's leg has become a large, painful crack down his calf. His arms feel as though they're going to fall off, and the headaches are downright unbearable some days.
Charlie pulls him close, pressing gentle kisses to his bare skin. Draco tries to turn away, trying not to show Charlie his breaking. Not now.
Draco runs a hand through the other boy's hair, and, just his luck, finds Charlie's lips on his forearm. They meet the broken skin where his sleeve had moved to make it visible, and Charlie sits up abruptly, looking at Draco with concern practically shining out of his eyes. Draco braces for impact.
"Charlie, I can explain-"
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or did you not think it was important for me to know this about you?" Draco can't bring himself to respond. Charlie closes his eyes for a brief moment, as though wondering how he should take this new information. "How long?"
He can't bring himself to admit that he's been broken for years - long before they'd met and gotten together. He's grown to accept it as part of himself, but he can easily see why Charlie is upset. He would hate to think of Charlie hiding something like this from him.
"I'm sorry..."
Charlie's eyes move from looking into Draco's down to his hands. "I - I'm not... Does it hurt?" Draco raises an eyebrow, and he continues. "Right. Look, I'm not upset, really. I just wish you'd told me sooner. You know you don't have to keep things from me," he says, and sits back again, pulling Draco close to him while being careful to avoid his injured arm, unaware of the breaking everywhere else.
"It's not just your arm, is it?" he asks, and though there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, it mainly betrays his worry.
"What d'you think?" he mutters softly with a smirk. Despite the assurances he gives, he pulls his shirt off as carefully as he can manage, revealing cracks across his chest like splintered glass barely holding itself together. Charlie tries not to gasp, but Draco doesn't blame him when he can't avoid it. Apparently Charlie hasn't broken yet, he thinks.
iii.
"You still haven't met my family yet," Charlie says the next morning. Draco can tell Charlie's trying not to let his breaking get to him, but his mask is thin and Draco's spent too long seeing through disguises.
However, he's grateful for the opportunity for a change of topic between them. "You haven't met mine either. Well, my mother, that is." Lucius is still in Azkaban from the aftermath of the war, and frankly, Draco doesn't think he trusts his father around Charlie.
iv.
It's nearly a week later that Charlie finally brings Draco back home to meet his family. Charlie goes inside to introduce Draco to the rest of the Weasleys. They'd all met back at the Burrow for Draco – the thought was so strange, how he'd went from being at odds with this family to being the guest of honour. He just hopes that the title will still hold once they see who Charlie has brought home.
He waits just outside the back door for Charlie's cue. It's raining, and it seems as though the weather's straining his brokenness, but he still loves the rain. If not the rain itself, perhaps just the smell, petrichor, that cheers him up despite the increased pain in his body. He doesn't complain about the wait, either. His nerves won't let him.
His mind races, wondering how the Weasleys – particularly the ones closest to his age – will react upon seeing him. Before he can imagine too many possibly far-fetched outcomes, Charlie comes back out to him.
"C'mon," he murmurs, wrapping a comforting arm around him.
"I… can't. I'm sorry, Char, I don't think I can."
The Weasley's eyes flicker down to where he knows cracks deface Draco's skin. "Are you—?"
"I—I'm fine," but Charlie can easily see through his lie, and pulls him closer as gently as he can.
Draco bites back a cry of pain as – practically simultaneously – the rain falls harder, burning each crack it falls into, and as a newer, deeper break rips brutally across his chest.
He doesn't see the end of the rain.
Written for the Hunger Games Competition Round 1 (Prompts: Petrichor, "I… can't", Charlie/Draco, The Burrow, 999 words exactly).