red wine lips, rain clutter, Hold - Vera Blue. perhaps these boys are the voices at war in my head

"You don't want me."

Harry heard it smudged into a pillow, as Draco lay boneless on the couch, drooping off. He was taking off Draco's shoes in the darkened night flat, nudging them from limb feet, and looked over at a half-cast face. Draco's eyes were closed, lips parted in sleep. But they murmured again.

"You don't."

The drunken slur rung in Harry as he lay alone in the messy bed. He closed the door.

He woke up to the sound of a door clicking shut. His head jerked up in a sleepy groan. A light curl of steam rose from a delicate mug on the bedside table, bitter coffee cut through the pale morning. Despite himself, he felt his lips quirk up.

Walking with the peace-offering heavy in his cocooned hands, he found Draco stretched languidly over the balcony. Harry leaned back against it, watching him, but Draco was unseeing and still.

"I know what this is," said Draco, voice gravelled. He looked pale and bleary like he hadn't slept.

Harry watched him carefully, his blurry edges.

"I know you, Potter," said Draco, toneless.

"Then you should've guessed," said Harry bluntly.

Draco smiled, a slow smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't want me. You pity me."

Harry frowned. "Wha –?"

"I'm broken and you want to fix me," said Draco, smiling at nothing. "Outreach for the lost cause."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't …"

Draco's eyes were distant. "Your saviour complex," he said flatly. "Maybe I've shown you a sliver of light, so you want to draw it out. Mould me. To feel as if you can make a difference, as if you matter."

Harry felt a distant flash of anger. "You're talking shit."

Draco turned to look at him, tracing his face lazily. "No I'm not," he said quietly, and looked away.

"You do good for the sake of good," he continued. "To satisfy some needling concern, that maybe you aren't good enough, or so you like yourself, or so you mean something."

Harry blinked, but something needled his stomach. "That's not what this is."

Draco looked down at the street. "You're so damn predictable."

Anger broiled him in a quick stab. "Maybe I just try, and do good, to be good," he said.

Draco smiled unfeelingly. "To what effect? People are a blur, or disappointments. The world's a mess."

Harry frowned, and paused. "You're not making sense."

"Nothing does," said Draco, tilted his head back.

Harry just watched him, blank.

"Look," Draco sighed. "Good and bad are just interchangeable with pity and indifference. You pity me, you don't want me. You want yourself, as you imagine yourself to be, patching me up."

Harry blinked, opened and closed his mouth. "Surely you can't believe that," he got out.

Draco shrugged loosely. "Actions are just efforts, and consequences are unpredictable. You only do it for the sake of being good, as you see it."

"That's just a way out."

"Maybe," Draco was unseeing. "But it's just as correct as you. Which is my point. You can't change people, and when you do it's just accidental and unpredictable. Not because of your good intentions."

The anger grew hot. "What about the war? All the good."

Draco stiffened slightly, but didn't look at him. "What about it? If you had failed they would have just crafted the story differently. How you were foolish or arrogant, so it fit their story better. Just as you wanting me fits this story better."

Harry shook his head, confused. "You're not making sense, again."

"It never does, again. People just look out for themselves. I'd be just a means for your end."

"You sound like a Slytherin," said Harry in a hard tone.

Draco laughed. "Funny how you always thought that was an insult." He perched a cigarette between his lips and lit it. "Maybe it is. Maybe Gryffindor is what you believe in. But does that mean I'm wrong?"

Harry didn't know what to say, wasn't sure why any of this was being said.

"I'm just as right," Draco exhaled morning smoke. "Unfortunately though, that part defeats your argument. There's no strict line between good and evil. It's all a blur."

"You're wrong," Harry stared determinedly at him, wanted to pull his face to meet him. "There's always power in what we do. Every time we try at good, at better, it means something."

Draco smiled, almost sadly. "Maybe to you, Harry," he sounded resigned, and met Harry's eyes. "But you can't predict or control anything. You can't change people."

"That indifference," Harry blurted, and took a measured breath. "That's what's evil. Voldemort was indifferent."

Draco flinched slightly, and looked away.

"Surely you believe that?" Harry demanded.

"What does it matter what I think?" Draco said emptily. "It matters to me, but doesn't change anything."

"Cruelty is evil, violence," said Harry, staring.

"Maybe," Draco shifted, and perched lean fingers round a mug. "But there's always a place for violence. I remember watching you kill a man."

Harry watched him sip on coffee, and felt quick bursts of violent anger, of numb sadness, of hurt. Before it resigned, after a while, to something hollow.

Harry shifted closer, watching his own hands. "Then what?" he said quieter. "What now?"

Draco was quiet for a while, eyes fixed and still. "All I know is that I seem to be alive at this moment, and this coffee tastes delicious."

Harry clenched his jaw and exhaled. He spun and went inside stormily. He was a muddle – he did several things at once, started cooking, went to make sub-par coffee, thought to leave. He ended up making a violent mess of the kitchen, starting and burning several meals, before settling on a pear, before catching the Luca reference and throwing it with quick reflexes out the window.

He glanced up mid-spin to see Draco watching him, leaning against the balcony window.

"I thought of all people you'd understand," said Draco. "You're all pure nerve and intuition."

"No," Harry said hotly, pulling open drawers. "I make choices, I don't just cop out."

"You're transparent," Draco said, a smile in his voice. Harry snapped up to meet his cool gaze. Draco watched him measuredly, and Harry dropped his hands.

Harry moved across the flat to him in slow deliberate steps, holding his gaze, and stood in front of him, close.

"So, what now?" he repeated with infliction.

Draco searched him slowly, eyes flat. Harry frowned deeper at the silence. Draco's lips slowly slid up, watching him closely. "You're even more attractive when you're angry," he said quietly, and reached up to skim his thumb along Harry's unshaven jaw.

"Wha –?" Harry jerked back slightly, but Draco's thumb held him there. Draco ducked in to press a light kiss just above his jawline, and a tingle of coffee and rosemary swept over him.

Harry frowned at him when he pulled away, but Draco smiled. "Come on," he said, moving towards the hallway. "I'll take you to real coffee."

"You're a bastard," said Harry without feeling, and Draco's laugh echoed in the hallway.

"You don't want to see my place of occupation?" called Draco.

"Do you work with Luca?" said Harry in a reckless surge, walking. He caught a brief flash in Draco's eyes when he caught up, and felt satisfied. But his face evened out and considered Harry.

"He might be there," said Draco flatly.

"What was his use?" spurred Harry and Draco's eyes grew violent. "Was he a tool for your personal gain?"

Grey eyes stirred dangerously at him, before they narrowed, and closed over to slates.

"I already told you," said Draco slowly. "I was curious."

"You're full of shit," said Harry, and moved past him out the door, but Draco caught his arm.

Draco's eyes were hard, but he seemed to hesitate. "We're fucked up," he said quietly, and frowned lightly. "I can't pretend to understand what's going on, with us."

Harry considered him carefully. "If you're indifferent, let me go," he said slowly.

Draco traced his face with heavy eyes, a breath away. "You're –" he glanced away. Harry watched him, brows creased. He touched Draco's fingers on his arm, and his eyes flicked up to meet his. A light curl swam in the grey. "You're the only constant thing I have," Draco said quietly. His long fingers weaved lightly through Harry's.

Harry watched him, a swell blooming hollow and deep in him. "So have me," he whispered.

Draco looked away, his fingers encircled Harry's tighter. "I want you here. Is that not enough?"

Harry watched him closely until his eyes met his, and felt himself smile slowly. "You're still an asshole." Draco smiled tentatively and looked away. Harry drew their linked fingers to his mouth, kissed a finger gently. Draco watched his mouth, his eyes a haze of uncertain movement.

"Coffee?" he said quietly, and met Harry's eyes. Harry nodded, and felt the unsaid words in the swirls of Draco's eyes. The hesitation and want, need and doubt, in tight bounds and vapour.

Draco's small smile grew, and his fingers spread to clutch Harry tight, before the world ended around them.

They materialized in the cobble-stoned street between two buildings, in the pastel town. Small wooden buildings and houses, all tones of pale white and lavender and blue, stain-glass windows and ashy leafless trees like black bones. And soft pearly blue stones and paint flaked archways, grey people and skies all treading through the soft languid morning like flattening clouds. Harry felt Draco relax beside him, and his face reflected all the colourless hue, set against his black clothes.

He pulled out a cigarette to commemorate. "Here's where you assaulted me," he exhaled a soft cloud. Harry nudged into him pointedly, so Draco's balance teetered. He grabbed Harry's wrist gently. "Petty Potter," he sighed, and pulled them into the street.

They walked into a dark, warm café. Dark tattered wood lined the place, warmed by the brooding light of glow. Candles sat on every stooped wooden table, splatters of wax hardened on aged wood, and iron embroidered candles on the boarded walls. Worn-out couches sat in corners and small huddles, near bookshelves stacked with aging paper and tattered bindings, all falling out loose. A small fringe of people were spread loose around the café, reading in corners or chatting at tables. The counter rounded like an old-fashioned bar, with a bustle of people behind shiny machines.

It was like they had walked into the barrel of a pirate ship.

"This is where I was born again," said Draco airily, threw an arm out carelessly. Air and dust hovered languidly as they stood by the door, a mix of morning and candle light.

"Phoenix, right?" Harry smiled lightly, watching him.

Draco laughed, the side of his face aglow as his eyes flit around the café. "From the ashes," he said emptily, but Harry caught the heavy depth of his eyes. The seriousness, an aged stir. He drew light fingers over his pale hand, weaving them together. Draco glanced at him, and noticing his careful stare, clutched his hand and nodded slightly.

"Draco, darling," they turned to a bubbly voice; Ava sprung like a fox to them. Draco detangled, and went forward to kiss her cheek.

"You remember Harry?" said Draco politely, but drifted away loosely to the silver machines. "I am deprived, fix me."

Ava laughed lightly. "Nice to see you again, Harry." Her fawn hair fell in a very long, messy braid over her shoulder, and her hands were clustered in heavy silver rings on each finger, the amber rocks matching her eyes. She went round the bar and moved expertly with the machine, while Draco hovered watchfully.

"Harry!" Lee sprung up from nowhere, behind the bar.

"Regulations, Lee," said Draco, shaking his head.

"Just visiting," she laughed, and kissed Ava's freckles. Before she swept around, raven hair swinging, and pulled Harry into a hug. She wore stomping black leather boots that argued with her twinkling eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Oh," said Harry, smiling tentatively, while Draco laughed.

"They're in love with you," he said, scratching his chin, eyes on the machine still. "They don't stop talking about you."

"Right," smiled Lee, and shared a glance with Ava. "Whatever you say, Draco."

"Come on, woman," Draco said, tousling his hair with restless hands.

"Here, you monster," said Ava, passed over an opaque black shot with a beige brim. Draco knocked it down in one, and laughed to the ceiling.

Draco swept to a table in a darkened corner, under a window brimmed with an aquatic green hue. It gave the illusion of the dark barrel creaking underwater. He sat opposite Harry, with a tall glass of coffee and ice in one hand and a frivolous sprinkled one in the other. Harry shook his head at it in exasperation, just to hide how damn good it was.

When Harry looked up, he saw Draco watching him expectantly. "What?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, and gestured around the café with a loose hand.

"Oh," Harry laughed. He wanted feedback. "It's … a lot. It's its own place."

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry grinned at him. "It makes sense. It's easy to escape here," he continued.

Draco looked faintly surprised, considering him.

"You ran away," said Harry. "Right?"

"Hmm," said Draco vaguely. His fingers twitched around the glass, the coffee diluted in slow brown swirls into the ice, and looked away. "Is that what you're doing?" he said.

Harry frowned. "Running away?"

"People don't always run away to places," Draco said vaguely. Something stirred in Harry's stomach, it rang true and heavy. He frowned at him, thinking.

Ava trotted over and slid more quick shots on the table, passing by. Draco smiled vacantly out the window. "I thought," he hesitated, with faraway eyes. "She looks like Weasley a bit."

"When you thought I was interested?" Harry grinned, and Draco's lips twitched. "I thought she was with Lee?"

Draco caught his meaning. "She likes whatever, not just girls."

Harry nodded slowly, looking away. He wondered what 'whatever' meant, whether there was a limit. Whether the lack of limit was the point, and where he fit in it. When he looked back, Draco was watching him carefully.

"Have you thought more about that?" he said quietly.

He had. He watched people, found himself comparing. There was a binary to it, but also ambivalence. He liked the way girls moved and looked and felt, and could appreciate boys, as if a forked branch. But he saw wide-stanced girls, clapping shoulders and rubbing jaws, and curled-in boys, soft smiles and twirling hair. It was separate, but not in a way he'd assumed – he found himself liking the expression of it, the smudge, rather than the thing itself. It was blurred grey, but it was kaleidoscope rainbow.

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "I think I'm … impartial."

Draco nodded slowly, eyes fixed on him. "I wouldn't understand. I prefer." He sipped lightly, rolled his shoulders and looked away. "Words are so finite. We forget we made them up."

Harry caught his eye and smiled. "Martyr."

Draco laughed softly. "Death Eater," his eyes grew light as glass, and smile fell. "We erase people."

Harry watched his vacant stare, a grey haze as his mind spun around itself, and a slow warmth bloomed in his stomach and crept through his being. He thought of his dull red and grey memories of him; the snide jabs and smirk, his tortured eyes. And the boy he knew and ran away to and burrowed in, ate and talked and didn't talk with, slept entwined with. The struggle that quivered and wracked him to pain and vacancy. He was so full. All his electric, enigmatic beauty.

Harry watched the boy before him, and thought about erasure.

At one point, Draco's face closed over. His eyes fixed on something behind Harry. "The action begins," he said, so quietly Harry thought it wasn't for him.

Harry turned, and saw a tall boy cross the wooden floor to the bar and lean casually on it, a bright loose smile fixed at Ava. They talked cheerily, and Harry vaguely recognised him from the Muggle bar, leaning into Draco's ear. His brown curls were tucked loose behind an ear, and his face lax and placid as if never creased with stress. He was shrugging, smiling loose, with a fruit crate tucked under toned, tanned arms. His crinkled eyes drifted over to them, and Harry hastily turned back around.

"Draco!" called a lazy drawl. Harry frowned at the accent, trying to decipher. He felt a quick chill on the back of his neck, and Draco's arms shot up instantly to catch the hurling apple. He caught Harry's eye, and took a delicate bite.

"Hey," the voice came nearer, and Harry turned to the boy's bright smile. "Wondered when you'd pop in again." His accent drawled loose and words blurred together, a permanent casual tilt.

Draco smiled. Harry saw the light tease at the corner of his lips that was hard to catch. "Luca," he said airily, and gestured. "Harry."

Luca caught his eye and grinned. "Hey," he held out his arm, and Harry smiled politely and shook his warm calloused hand. Luca's blue eyes slid, and seemed happily unaware of the unarguable tension that sat, fat on the table.

Harry caught Draco's curious gaze, and saw his smile grow, caught between teeth. Harry rose an eyebrow slightly, and Draco smiled at him, slid gracefully out of his seat. "Come on," he said. "I'll buy you your damn hot chocolate, you foreign peasant."

Luca shrugged, and Harry got the impression he did that a lot. He laughed placidly and drifted behind Draco to the bar. Harry watched, and blinked. He turned to his drink, slid it between hands like a Quaffle, eyes on the game.

"So," said Draco later, walking close to Harry and tilting his head up to the light misty rain. "What do you think?"

The cobbled street was grey with overcast. Harry heard the light tease, deeper layer, to his voice. "Of him?" he asked, and Draco merely watched the sky, eyes narrowed. "He's so," Harry thought. "Happy. Australian?" Harry guessed, and Draco nodded.

"He's studying abroad, just for a while," he said greyly, and hesitated. "He's leaving soon."

Harry nodded slowly. It didn't make sense; Luca was so neutral, he got the impression he would agree passively to anything, shrug it off. And yet, Pansy was so calculating, Blaise so brooding. Draco so multi-dimensional.

Draco smiled slightly. "Happy," he repeated, and sighed. "He's like that in bed too," he said, stretching his arms loosely to the sky, and Harry's stomach tightened. "Agreed a little too much, if you get what I mean. You almost want critique after all that nodding –"

"Draco," blurted Harry, shooting out an arm to stop him walking. Draco's eyes shot to him, a sly tease tugged his lip. Harry watched him; a lick of anger teased his insides, amid exasperation. Of course Draco liked a challenge.

With that, he understood with a neat click in his head.

"He's leaving," repeated Harry, and Draco raised his eyebrows. "How convenient for you."

Draco frowned, a quick burn tempered in his sharp eyes. "Convenient," he said slowly.

"It's easy," said Harry, his tone hard. "He's not a constant."

Draco eyes grew cold. "That's people for you. Convenience rules."

"No," Harry said sharply. "There's always a choice." Their balcony conversation lingered in the uneasy air between them, the flare in their fixed eyes.

"Maybe what's easy is what's right," said Draco, watching him carefully.

Harry's jaw clenched, but in a wild dart his hand clasped another, cold and whirring under his. "Then it's not right," he said and gripped his hand. "It means nothing."

Draco's eyes stirred, and flit down to their linked hands. "Harry," he said quietly.

Harry watched his quiver, the little darts in his face, eyes downcast. He warned Draco, clutching tight, before they Apparated.

The flat spilled over grey, the mist outside fogging the window. They remained still, hands linked, watching the slow tear trails lining the windows. Harry traced his inner wrist lightly, and Draco's eyes fluttered close, before he moved fluidly to the kitchen, his back to Harry as he brewed coffee.

Lou scratched at the window, damp on the balcony, but Draco left the door closed.

of course the only characters from my homeland has the most carefree "yeah nah yeah nah" attitude