Shoulder Pillow

Chapter 17: A Balance Of Distractions

 Harry woke with his eyes still closed and every muscle in his body tight and unrelenting, sharply inhaling and clenching his fingers in the sheets. The rhythm of his breaths stuttered, his heartbeat was frantically hectic. Whatever memory of his dream—nightmare—he might have disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes, only to squint in the morning sunlight that filtered through his bed curtains. The fear he'd felt last night, the terror that something horrible had happened—he'd had a feeling that sleep would only torment him once he'd closed his eyes.

That's why after Draco had fallen asleep, Harry had taken a quick run down to his car to grab his boyfriend's things and stashed them under his bed, attempting to at least somewhat clear his mind.

The nightmare had still come for him.

Luckily, it wasn't nearly as nasty as the last few he'd had here and there.

But something was missing. The space in his sheets, where Draco had fallen asleep in Harry's arms, was empty. He took a moment to relax his body before lifting his head from his pillow, spotting a head of blond hair. Sighing heavily through his nose, Harry eased himself into a sitting position against his headboard. Draco sat in the corner of the foot of the bed where the bedpost met the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, forehead resting on his knees. He was still dressed in Harry's sweatpants and hoodie, practically drowning in them.

There were no telltale signs of anyone else in the dormitory; Harry assumed they had all left for classes already.

Harry knew that his boyfriend was awake. He didn't blame Draco for moving away from him sometime in the night, but he couldn't help the small twinge of hurt he felt. But he understood—at least, he thought he did—and he set it aside as he watched Draco lift his head and set his chin on his knees, his gaze unfocused on the red curtains. The elegant, sharp lines of his face were nearly overshadowed by the bruise-like dark circles under his eyes—lighter than they had been the day before, yet still evident. The blotchiness of his impeccably pale skin made worry crawl up Harry's spine like chilled fingers.

"Dray," Harry said softly, shifting so he sat next to the other boy with about a foot of space between them. Draco's eyes slowly shifted to look at him, his gaze no longer glassy. "Is... is it okay if I hold you?"

For a moment, nothing happened.

Both boys simply stared at the other, the silence between them wasn't tense or comfortable, but somewhere between. There seemed to be shadows hiding behind Draco's eyes, the light usually in them was hardly able to shine through.

Relief crashed over Harry when he saw Draco finally start to unravel himself. Every movement was slow and careful as he inched across the sheets between them. He crawled into Harry's lap, latching onto him—his legs crossed behind Harry's back, his chest pressed tightly against Harry's, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck, his face buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder. One of Draco's hands tangled in Harry's unruly black hair while the other fisted the fabric of his loose tank top between his shoulder blades.

Harry felt his boyfriend's warm breath on his skin as he wound his arms around him; one across Draco's lower back, drawing him as close as humanly possible, his other hand cradling Draco's head. He wished that he could be zipped into the same skin with Draco. He wanted to hold him closer than this, to be wrapped up with him in every way possible.

"Do you want to tell me about what happened last night?" Harry whispered, pressing his lips to Draco's temple. Carding his fingers through his blond hair, Harry gently kissed his way down Draco's face to his jaw, craning his head to reach Draco's neck, burying his face there. He felt Draco's deep breath as his smaller chest moved against his own.