Two hours later, Draco was still working. Or rather, his hands were doing all the thinking, and his mind wandered. It kept coming back to the same thing, though. Harry. He hated that. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't get the image of him out of his mind. He wanted to leave. He wanted to-

Harry yawned. How long had he been out? Three hours. Right. He could hear tapping from above. Was that Draco? Probably. "What's the time?" He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. Four in the morning. Did he have work later? Probably not. Did he want to sleep until everything was right again? Did he want to banish these confusing thoughts of a certain blond haired beauty? Probably. He wanted to-

Draco shuffled on the spot. It was cold. His naked torso shivered. His skin was ripe with goosebumps, and his nipples stood hard from the chill. He'd made three potions already. A hangover one, for Harry, and two calming ones for himself. He needed to take those. He needed to calm down. He needed to-

Harry sat up. Five minutes since he checked the time. Had the drink worn off already? That was pointless, wasn't it? His mind drifted to Draco. Was he alright? No. Stupid question, Harry thought, he was certainly not alright. He remembered the previous night. Dinner... Good, very good. After dinner? Awful. "Merlin," Harry's head was thumping, and his mind whirled with memories of things said. Where was Draco now? "Is he okay?" He spoke to thin air. He needed to know. He needed to-

"Fuck!" Draco dropped the glass vial, and it shattered as it it the floor. He wasn't concentrating enough. That was the second time he'd done that, now. He couldn't stop thinking about how rude he'd been to Harry. He'd even called him Potter again. How childish. Mister Potter... now that was different. "No," he scolded himself. Harry had wanted company. He was clearly drinking for a reason. People always drank for a reason. Mother did. Father did. He did. He left Harry when he was scared, probably, and vulnerable. He left someone he cared about so much to- No. He refused to let himself think that. He needed to apologise. He needed to-

"Draco?" Harry opened Draco's bedroom door. His room was a tip. Paper, pens, quills and parchment were strewn everywhere. His bookcase was only half as full as it ought to have been; books lay on the floor. Clothes were bundled up, and a pillow had been squeezed and hexed, Harry could tell. But Draco wasn't there, so Harry didn't linger any longer than he had to. "Where else..." He trailed off when he saw the attic door was wide open. "Draco?!"

"It's four in the morning," Draco told himself, "you are hearing things. Harry is in bed and- Harry?" Harry's voice rang up the stairs, and they sung harmonies into Draco's ear. It felt colder, but Draco didn't care. Draco wanted to apologise; it was the decent thing to do.
"Draco?" Harry called again, his voice closer this time.
Draco heard footstepts. Harry was at the door, he could tell without looking; his shadow cast over the wood flooring. "Harry," it wasn't a question, but it was soft.
"Are you alright?" Harry turned Draco around gently, and wasn't sure whether to tense up or to relax. He was alright, sure, but was he? Was he really?
Draco nodded numbly, and shivered. Seeing Harry in a long, thick shirt made him feel even colder. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was rude...I shouldn't have left you."
"It's alright," Harry pulled Draco into a hug, releasing warmth over the blond's chattering frame.
"I'm sorry," Draco repeated, his voice tiny. Harry pushed Draco away, but kept his hands on his shoulders. He wanted to take everything in.
Draco's hip bones were like daggers; they were sharp and brittle, and too slim for a boy of Draco's stature. Draco had very little fat on him, as was expected, and Harry could see every breath he took. His shoulders were like handle bars of a bicycle under Harry's firm grip. "Don't be," Harry smiled pathetically at Draco. "I want you to be okay," his head fell down, "I was worried about you."
Draco felt like a burden, but seeing Harry's sad eyes fixed upon his made him feel a little better. Or was he reading too far into this? Probably. "Thank you," he managed.
"I don't know what you're going through," Harry admitted, "but I want to be here for you. I want to hold your hand as you fight it. I would be honoured to help you fight it."
Draco blushed, "you want to hold my hand?"
Harry spluttered, "it's, uh, a figure of speech. I mean, uh, well..."
Draco smiled bashfully, "you already have, haven't you?"
"You let go," Harry frowned.
"I didn't want to," Draco looked straight at Harry. "I promise you that."
"Draco?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Is this a good time to kiss you, or shall I wait?"
Draco laughed, and Harry found himself smirking too.
"You can kiss me," Draco consented. Harry stepped forward, but his hands on Draco's fragile frame, and leant forward. He was nervous. Draco smelled of a soap shop, and he smelled of a liquor store. Draco was immensely handsome, and Harry was just boring. His lips brushed Draco's, and before he knew it, he had hands in his hair, and a body pressed firmly against his own. It felt right. And Harry liked that.
Harry pulled away, with a grin on his face. "I'll be here until you get better," he told Draco softly.
"I wouldn't let you go, Mister Potter."