forced | d.m.

40.temptations

June '01 | H E R

There are several ways how to explain what Althea is about to do.

She might be in vacation bliss. Or it might have been the chinese Draco ordered for their first day back and her overly sentimental ass connected it with the time they ate it on the living room floor, getting to know each other on deeper levels, laughing and kissing.

But... knocking at his—their?—the master bedroom's door feels right. Excited, even.

They turned to their chambers after discussing the next weeks plans—exciting and busy—and Thea just knew, making this step feels like the right move, and she's not going to second guess it.

He calls her inside, because he's already in bed, she finds, hastily stuffing something in his nightstand drawer. It shuts close with a loud thud.

"A‐Anything I could help you with?" he stutters.

Undisturbed, and with Pearl hot on her heels, she makes her way over to take the unused side of the bed that once belonged to her. "I don't need your help to walk for at least another seventy years, but thanks."

"Okay." Shifting in his sitting position, wide-eyed, he stares at her getting under the blanket. "What are you doing?"

She hasn't even thought of him possibly not wanting her in his bed, but, oh well. He had no complaints the last five days they shared a bed.

"Don't even think of touching me," she warns, signaling for Pearl to get in under the blanket by her chest.

"Is breathing allowed?"

Fighting a smile, she gets comfortable. "Just enough to keep you alive. I don't need any murder charges." Her head turns to him, noting how his torso is trying very hard to obstruct her view. "Do I want to know what you're hiding?"

He stares at her as though his cheeks aren't tinting a deep shade of red. "If you want to take the last bit of my dignity."

"Nah, I'll save it for next Tuesday."

Fighting a smile of his own, Draco flicks the light out and lies down facing her. An understanding passes between them—the monumental step on their road to recovery.

She damn well hopes she's not making a fool of herself.

His hand moves up under the blanket—anyone would think he is going to make a move—but it reaches over his head, plucking one of the pillows and puts it between them. Just like in France.

Thea hugs Pearl closer, nuzzling the top of her head.

"Good night."

"Night."

—◇—

The next evening, Althea's clothes have been transfered to their shared closet, all other belongings taken their former position.

Since the night went smooth, she thought she might as well make it permanent. The flower room has officially returned to it's guest room state.

If Draco is surprised or in disagreement about the move, he doesn't let on.

In the adjoined bathroom, door open, he stands before the mirror as a razor is magically shaving his face. Meanwhile, Thea is sitting on the ottoman, painting the nails on her feet while having a clear view of him.

Pearl is playing on the floor with a toy, getting of the last of her energy.

She hasn't realised how much she craved the routine. It's one of her happy places, a kind of fuzzy comfort warming her from inside that can't be faked. She likes being a wife. Desires the dynamic of them, of what they could be.