Tom was in a bad mood. Again.
Nowadays that wasn't at all unusual, and Harry was once again contemplating whether or not he should just escape the suffocating and dark atmosphere, again, and just leave Tom to dwell on his own misery and anger. He had been doing that more often lately, making up some lame excuse to get away from the apartment, away from him. Usually he just claimed he wanted to spend time with Hermione or Ron, or lied that he needed to practice some quidditch move or another. He felt vaguely guilty about lying, but it wasn't like Tom couldn't see right through him and his actions. He was almost certain that the other knew what he was doing, but just didn't care enough to do anything about it.
During the week it was easier for Harry to keep himself busy, and ignore his partner's irritability, but the weekends were harder. They both had most of the weekends off work, at least when Harry didn't have a game. He usually loved those free days, when he could just relax and spend time with the love of his life. Before, when things had been alright between them, they had often spent almost the whole two days together, cooking dinner, going out and just talking with each other. Lately though, Harry had felt he'd rather be somewhere else, with someone else, so he could just enjoy life and have fun, for the first time in what felt like forever. He just wanted, no, needed, to get to breathe without the constant negativity and anxiety Tom spread around like poison. Going away made him fee guilty and uneasy, but he didn't know what else he could do.
His home was no longer his shelter, it was no longer the place where he could feel safe and at peace. He wanted, more than anything, to get things back the way they had been, but he didn't know how, and he didn't have the energy, or the determination to try. He didn't want to risk being rejected. Not again.
The sound of something breaking and the following parseltongue cursing was what startled him back to reality. Cautiously, he got up from the bed where he'd been laying, and headed towards the kitchen. The floor felt cold against his bare feet, as he slowly and carefully walked down the short corridor. He stopped near the kitchen door and then hesitated. Tom had a bad temper, and he had the habit of taking his frustration out on him. Usually Harry could handle it just fine, he knew it was just the way the other coped. And Tom always made it up to him later. But today he was really not at all in the mood to be yelled at, hence the hesitation.
The swearing had stopped and it had been replaced by deafening, heavy silence that somehow seemed even more ominous. The silence was broken when a floorboard creaked loudly as Harry took a step closer to the door, arm raised, not quite sure if he should open the door and face whatever was on the other side.
"Tom?" His voice came out barely audible and disgustingly weak. He cleared his throat and flinched when he heard footsteps moving towards the door and it was violently pulled open.
His still had his arm raised when Tom stormed past him, barely glancing at him, almost pushing him over. The grim figure of his lover walked straight to the hallway, and soon Harry could hear the harsh sound of the frontdoor slamming. It seemed today was one of these days. Tom would be back later, propably after Harry had already gone to bed, alone. Then he would silently sneak to their bedroom and kiss Harry apologetically, while Harry pretended to be asleep. Or he would spend the night somewhere else, and then act like nothing had ever happened in the morning, pretending like he couldn't see the redness and puffiness of Harry's eyes.
He couldn't feel the hot tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, but he did sit down, resting his back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest.
It wasn't meant to be like this.
Tom did come back later that night, after Harry had made himself dinner, taken a hot bath and gone to bed. He was laying with his eyes open, staring at the wall numbly. The tears had already dried, but he couldn't sleep. Not until Tom would come home.
Eventually he did come, as quietly as always, and Harry could hear him taking off his clothes, dropping them to the floor carelessly. He could feel the mattress move as his partner slowly moved to lie next to him. It was hard to pretend to be sleeping soundly, mostly because he was quite sure Tom knew he was faking it.
He was waiting for Tom to come closer to him, so he could brush Harry's hair gently out of his face, and then press a kiss to his cheek or forehead, and Harry could think things could go back to the way they used to be.
The kiss never came.
"Do you still love me?" Tom's voice was smooth and soft as always, but Harry thought he could hear the finest touch of something similar to dread or fear. Harry turned around, so he could look at Tom, smiling reassuringly as he pressed his hand to Tom's chest.
"Of course I do", he said, not quite knowing if he was lying or not. Some of his uncertainty must have been visible, because Tom clenched his jaw and looked at him sharply, searchingly.
Harry smiled softly and laid his head on Tom's chest. Savoring the warmness and smoothness of the other's skin.
"I wouldn't lie to you", he said after Tom's arm had wrapped around him tightly. As if afraid he would disappear.
"I love you", it wasn't a lie. He knew he loved Tom. He knew he loved him, even if he could no longer feel it.