Unexpected

They are what they are🤌

Blaise couldn't remember the first time that he'd met Draco. True, wizards could remember much farther back than muggles, but he and Draco had been together almost constantly from the day they were born. And ever since, until Hogwarts at least, they'd spent half a year at Malfoy Manor, and half a year at Tenebre Stella, the Zabini estate in Italy, which had been their House seat for millennia, much as the Manor had been for the Malfoy's.

They were together for every broom accident, every failed spell, every punishment, every swing of depression and joy. They were best friends, closer than brothers, and coming to Hogwarts hadn't changed a thing. Their fathers had made sure they'd always had their own set of rooms, but they'd done most of the enchantments themselves, and it had started out with two king-size beds instead of the one enormous bed they had at present. That hadn't changed until their fifth year, and he still remembered that day clearly.

They'd been going over the last spell-work sent from home, which most other students wouldn't even be reading about until the second year of University, and many more that no 'respectable' wizard would dream of messing with in the first place. Blaise had been so nervous, which was new to him, because he'd been very afraid that he was about to lose his best friend. He'd known that Draco had noticed him acting strangely, and he'd also known that Draco wouldn't let it go for another day without saying something. And he'd been right. As soon as they were done, Draco had turned to him.

"Spit it out, Blaise. What's been up with you the last few weeks? Did I do something?" He'd asked, his silver eyes doing what they only did around Blaise; showing just how worried and concerned he was. And Blaise had snapped.

"Yes!" He'd shouted, slamming his fist into the table. Draco, unflinchable, unmovable Draco had jumped, shock and pain in his beloved eyes.

"W-What?" Draco had asked, his ebony wand falling from his fingers and rolling across the marble floor. They never snapped at each other. Oh, they argued with one another like everyone else, but they never yelled. "What did I do?"

"Nothing! It's just...It's just you!" Blaise had exclaimed before really thinking about what he was saying.

He'd immediately known it was the wrong thing as something had happened that had never before occurred when it was just the two of them. All emotion was instantly wiped clean from Draco's eyes and expression, and the mind link that they'd shared since they could speak was gone. In a move that had left Blaise staggering and gasping, Draco had completely shut down his end of it and Blaise had felt so empty that he'd wanted to scream. Draco had stood swiftly, his eyes blank and dead, and Blaise had reached for him blindly.

"No, Dray, don't go. S'il vous plait." He'd practically begged when his fist wrapped around the sleeve of Draco's velvet robe. ((Please))

His friend had frozen, and when he'd spoken, his voice was distant, hard, and it nearly broke something inside of Blaise to know how much pain he'd caused his best friend with a single sentence. Because although anyone else would have cowered and slunk away at Draco's icy tone and frosty eyes, Blaise could read the tension in his body, the added tightness around his blood-red lips. He knew then, that no matter what, he would finally tell Draco what had been wrong with him, why he'd been so distant and strange. He could only hope that his friend didn't hate him when he was done.

"And why shouldn't I leave?" Draco had asked, his voice giving away nothing. "So I can watch you as you once again try your damnedest to stay away from me? Do I really disgust you that much? Or was it so you could explain in detail all of my numerous faults, so that perhaps I might be able to figure out how I managed to fuck even this up?"

"Disgust me?" Blaise had questioned, thrown off at the very (inconceivable) idea. "No! And no, Dray, I swear you haven't fucked anything up!" Blaise had said hurriedly, while the thought that Draco had blamed himself for the last few weeks had made him feel as though his skin was being peeled off. Slowly.