Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

Your Boxes, And Mine

His coffee was cold by the time he thumbed a reply to Harry.

Thank you

It's all he could bring himself to send. Two little words.

He'd dabbled with an I miss you too , when his coffee was still hot. Typed out a whole How are you doing? as he plucked crumbs off of his muffin. Even wrote out a whole I'll drop by after work! as he stood waiting in line. But the only words he could send were a short acknowledgement of Harry's text messages.

And as he sat there, sipping on the last dregs of his coffee, staring at the little screen with his newly sent messages, the phone screen dimmed for a brief second, ready to shut itself down after a few moments of inactivity, when all of a sudden it chirped back to life, Harry's name front and centre on the screen, a tiny pixelated picture of his grinning face, shadowed only by an icecream cone staring back at him.

He let it ring, sitting there just watching the device chirp away to itself on the table until it's quiet. And then it rings again. This time, he answered.

Draco lifted the phone slowly to his ear, swallowing down a tiny choked breath.

It was quiet, nothing but a tiny echo of the world coming through the little speaker.

"Hello?" he said, his voice barely breaking a whisper.

He heard him breathe first. A shaky little exhales calling down the phone, the faintest sad chuckle.

"Hi," Harry said, "I almost can't believe you answered."

"I didn't," Draco admit softly, "The first time, at least."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, "I thought maybe you'd send me straight to voicemail."

"I didn't."

"I know. Thank you."

He sat there, just listening to Harry breathe softly down the phone.

"So you're out Wednesday?" Draco asked.

"No... Not really. But I can be," Harry said, "If you want."

It wasn't necessarily a wanting matter. He'd been living out of his childhood wardrobe and the few belongings he'd gathered from the flat two weeks prior. He had to retrieve his belongings at some point or another. Harry had summoned him to gather his things with five short text messages, and here he was, ensuring he did exactly that.

"Okay then," he said, "I can do–"

"I don't want you to move out."

"Harry..." Draco sighed.

The tiniest sniffle travelled down the phone.

"I know," Harry said. "I know you have to. But it just doesn't feel right. I don't want you to move out. It's our home."

He listened to him breathe softly down the phone. Tried to imagine him. Tried to pull forth an image of what he may look like right now.

Two weeks wasn't an absurdly long amount of time – that, he knew – but it was still the longest he'd been apart from Harry in years. Two weeks and all they'd shared were a few meagre text messages out of the last remnants of dutiful obligations they shared with each other.

"Draco," he said; so, so quietly. "I know that it can't be... Not anymore. But I want it to stay the way it was. It was our home. It always will be ours. I don't want that to change."

He sighed, tidying his coffee cup neatly on the tray and returning it to the barista as he left the cafe. He loved it there but its walls felt suffocating as he continued to hold the phone to his ear. The walk along the riverbank was cold, but the crisp air let him breathe once more.