BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | D.M

027 | stars & scars

It's his screams that wake her up.

One moment, Kallista is sound asleep. The next one, she jolts right onto her feet at the sound of his despair.

Rushing to the room next door, she pushes the door open, her heart hammering inside her chest at the sight before her.

Draco is tossing and turning restlessly in his bed, hot tears streaming down his face. His screams— Gods, his tormented shouts are so raw and heart-wrenching that Kallista almost breaks down at the sound of them.

She knows he has nightmares. She's heard him a few times ever since that night when she first learned about them. But not once did Draco have a nightmare this brutal and agonising and terrible. He has never bellowed this loud. He has never sobbed like he is in this very moment. He has never hurt like this.

Her chest tightens and her throat gets constricted with a lump as she takes a step forward. Reaching the bed hurriedly, she tries to ignore the twisting pain occurring inside her body whilst Draco lets out another cry.

"Stop. Stop." His voice cracks, and so does her heart. "I'll do anything. Let them go. Please."

But it's as though despite the torturing images coursing inside his mind, he can sense her presence. It's as though he can feel her being there, right next to him and ready to place her hand upon his arm to wake him up.

And so, with a loud gasp, he awakes. Sitting right up, his cheeks flushed and damp with fresh tears, his vision all blurry and chest heaving with each sharp intake of air he takes, Draco comes back to reality.

"...Draco," Kallista says in a soft whisper.

He gets startled by the sound of her voice, of her presence. It takes a few more minutes for him to get a grasp on what has just happened. His fingers press to his eyes, another teardrop cascading down his porcelain skin. Inhaling deeply, he can't hide the way his body trembles as he tries to breathe.

The moment he brushes the back of his hands over his cheeks to wipe away any remnants of fresh tears, Kallista sinks down to her knees.

Part of her has always enjoyed seeing Draco break to pieces, but not like this. If they were in school, she would have tormented him for losing. If they were playing a board game, she would have laughed at him for not having the right strategy to win.

Seeing Draco lost and angry and sad and vulnerable in this exact situation is a moment neither of them are proud of.

There isn't a doubt in the back of her mind that it pains her to see Draco like this. There was a time where she would have done anything to make him crumble down to pieces — have better grades than him in school, gaining the wizarding society's trust and becoming the most powerful witch of her age, making him fall first. The list goes on.

"Draco," she repeats, her breathy voice wavering. She looks up at him, still knelt next to the bed. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, fighting the urge to touch him.

He lets out a long and quivery exhale, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He bends his knees, leaning his back against the headboard before propping his elbows onto his knees. Keeping his eyes shut, he passes his hands in his damp hair, a soft groan rumbling inside his chest.

His mind flashes images of his dream, and it takes everything in his willpower to shake them away. By opening his eyes to land his gaze upon the witch sitting beside his bed, he can feel his chest tighten. Kallista is here.

If she weren't sitting down, she knows her knees would have given up on her. His eyes— oh, Salazar... Red-rimmed and still glossy with tears whilst he simply looks at Kallista with evident pain plastered on his face. Raw, unmasked, vulnerable silver eyes. His eyebrows knit together as his gaze flickers over her face as though he tries to imprint every feature into his mind.