Drarry - It Was All Just a Game (REWRITE - MATURE VERSION)

CHAPTER 65 - COMPLICATIONS

TW: anorexia; this will continue on for the next 5 or 6 chapters and throughout the rest of the story as Harry recovers

I know this has been a marathon of misery, so if you're interested, I've replied to a comment under this text to give you more of an idea of how things work out. Only open it if you want to be spoiled. 

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The second day was similar to the first. Harry woke up surprised that Draco was there. Just being around him was so odd, he didn't quite know how to handle it. All he knew was that Draco's warm smile didn't quite melt him the way it used to. It all felt different. And maybe that was because Harry changed so much. Or maybe he was just paranoid and a part of him was just trying to protect him.

Still, he tried not to dampen his own mood. You should be happy. He's here. He loves you again.

He spent the day sleeping most of the time but felt relief when Draco was in the memory ward, getting his memory treatment. Then he could be as unhappy as he felt.

When they were apart, Draco also ate, and Harry received a bath, which made Harry uncomfortable. They used a sponge as he sat up in his bed, which was dehumanizing and embarrassing and Harry hated it.

When Draco came back from it, he was extra affectionate, giving him forehead kisses and petting his hair, and Harry felt disgusting in his own body, because he saw parts of it, how emaciated he was but still not small enough.

If you complain, they'll keep you here.

Later that evening, after his IVs were changed several times, thus supplying him with food, nutrients, and water, the nurses asked him to stand to see where he was at.

It was a struggle. Any muscle that was left in him could barely support himself. Two nurses helped him by supporting him on either side. "If you go too fast, you'll black out."

Harry looked at the floor, not even able to recognize his own bony feet as they took their steps.

By time he made it across the hall, he was gasping for air as if he'd played four matches of Quidditch in a row. A nurse brought him a chair and Harry sat in it, heaving for breath.

Draco leant next to him, putting an arm on his shoulder, but still the image of seeing Harry this way—it hurt him, too. He didn't want Harry sick, and all he could think was, I wasn't there for you. Still, he gave an encouraging nod. "You're doing great."

Harry just shook his head and put his fingers to his temples. His vision blackened, and he remained there for over twenty minutes until he could regain his strength.

"It's your first day. It's the worst," Draco said, more weak this time. Because he didn't anticipate how hard it would be to see him recover—he didn't anticipate anything. He woke up and his reality was completely twisted, so much so he felt uneasy.

There was a disconnect between the two of them. One they would have to mend but didn't know how.

Harry wanted to punch him but knew if he did, it would probably break his own arm while Draco would probably remain unharmed.

On his walk back, his knee gave, and he fell back into the nurses, who grabbed him.

He then had to lie there for several hours in silence. Draco sat at his side and held his hand, though Harry didn't really hold his back.

"How are you feeling," Draco asked.

It took Harry several moments to answer, and he didn't look at him when he did. "I hate hospitals."