A/N: I originally typed this out in a text message without any intention of anyone else seeing it. It's purely self-indulgent because why not. It's in no way perfected since it was initially just a drabble between friends but I'd rather just have it out there already so I can forget how rough it is, so please excuse all mistakes.
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It's late—too late for anyone to still be awake, the moon having lulled almost everyone into a deep sleep by now.
"Harry, you awake?" Draco throws into the darkness, a soft whisper into the ear of something too dangerous to even play with the idea of.
"Yeah," he hiccups in response, turning to face Draco. It's too late in the night for either of them to wilfully be awake. Harry watches the moon outside of the window, brilliant and white, its lustre somehow managing to catch the clean, sharp edges of Draco perfectly despite him being tucked beneath a mountain of cotton sheets. He stops himself from thinking about how the moon only seems focused on Draco—completely bypassing Ron and Hermione who are fast asleep, seemingly positioned better for the moonlight to catch on to. Still—its focus lies solely in Draco and a lump threatens to lodge in Harry's throat at the beauty captured by the moon.
A couple of minutes pass before Draco replies. Harry would have thought he had fallen asleep if it weren't for the patterns he's tracing into Harry's skin just where his hip bone juts. "Can't sleep?"
"No. Too much on my mind." He hopes Draco understands without pushing him for a reason why.
"Yeah, I know," Draco sighs, slowly ghosting his fingers up Harry's side and over his tummy, barely touching skin but it's enough. And it burns, burns, burns. "Me too."
"Mm," Harry nods, eyes focused on Draco's collarbone peeking out from under the swoop of his shirt. It's sinful the way his collarbone juts and catches the light oozing from the moon, but he couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried. "I can practically hear and feel the chaos turning and folding into itself inside that little head of yours."
Draco huffs out a laugh, not loud enough to wake the others but it's enough for Harry to feel the warmth of his breath on his skin, and he blushes—Harry notices that too.
He brings his hand forward before he allows himself to really think about what he's doing, his fingers delicately dancing over Draco's collarbone. "My chaotic blushing peach," he whispers—not because of how late it is but because he's scared. Scared of the words he lets falls from his mouth when the moon gets him to that place of vulnerability.
Draco's smiling now. Two endearing front teeth tugging at his bottom lip. "Yours, huh?"
Harry swallows. There's a ringing in his ear. He's teetering on the edge, close to crossing a line the two of them have been dancing around for years now. Maybe it's the dark of the night or the moon's promise of something beautiful, but he lets go—falls and lets go of all inhibitions for a moment. "Oh, how I wish."
He finds his words suspended in the space around them. Their space. He holds his breath, scared to move or do anything to shatter the moment.
Draco shifts slightly and Harry panics. "I'm—I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."
"I think you do." Draco's grey eyes are dark yet clear as day while soaked in moonlight. Harry wonders how it's possible for Draco to consistently defy the impossible.
"Yeah, I guess I do," he practically blurts out, scared of his own words. He wants them out there so he can detach himself from them.
Now it's Harry shifting, hoping to leave the mess he's created to go back to his bed—the one he hasn't slept in since they got here. Draco grabs his wrist, pulling him back into bed. "Don't go." He sounds desperate, pleading almost. Harry's never heard words so sure fall from Draco's mouth before.
