Broken and Crashing

"Stay with me, Draco. " Draco bristled at the mention of his first name. Icy cold fingers wrapped around his bruised wrist. He could hear the fear behind the words, the twisted affection and concern behind them. Cautiously, Harry approached him, moving his hand on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this, Malfoy."
Malfoy tightened his jaw. Harry could feel the stubbornness radiating off him in waves, even if his shattered eyes said otherwise. "What for? There's nothing to talk about."
Harry raised an eyebrow. The grip on Malfoy's hand tightened. "There is, and you know it as well as I do. Don't be stubborn, Malfoy."

"There isn't." For all the masks Malfoy could put on, there wasn't a single shield he could put up now. Not in front of him. Know thyself, and know thy enemies. Only worked if your enemy didn't know you as much as they knew themselves. And if your so-called enemy wasn't simultaneously the person you yearned for the most. Again, the corners of his lips curled up mirthlessly. Green eyes locked with grey eyes, ensued in a battle, or a dance of sorts. Trying to figure the other out. Harry moved closer, his mouth set with determination.

"I don't believe you."
They stayed like this for a few minutes, listening to each other's heartbeats and breaths intermingling for a moment, before Draco finally gave up.

"Fine. Let's talk, then." Draco stepped back, letting the door swing shut. Turning to face Potter, he crossed his arms, ignoring the other's grasp on his arm. "What do you want to talk about, Potter?"

Anything. Everything. Honestly, Harry had no idea what to talk about. With everything, with anything happening between them. His eyes skimmed over Draco, running along his tightly fitted pants, his dishevelled green robes. Green suited him, Harry thought distractedly- something about the harsh green brought out the silvery grey of his eyes. Then his gaze ran up, along to the soaked shirt that clung onto every crevice of his upper body, stained with swirling blood. Harry's throat went dry at the sight of him, and he wanted nothing more than to let his fingers run. Draco huffed softly. "Quit staring at me, Potter. What did you want to talk about?" His features softened, traced with acrid amusement.
"I..."

"Use your words, Potter. What do you want this time?" Harry avoided his gaze, his heart swelling, beating louder with every passing moment. Finally, he responded, "You."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but Draco heard it. He could hear his own breath catching, too. Surely...This wasn't possible. The Glorious, amazing Harry Potter, Saint Potter, wanting him? Possibly in love with him? As much as his twisted, maimed heart jumped at the thought of that, Draco's mind deflated at that. I can't. It's not possible. "There's no way, Potter. You already know what I am." Already know of the cursed ink that stains my skin, the involuntary whispers of a master neither of us wish to serve. But I have to, Potter. And letting you do this: letting you love me, or want me- will only make this worse. Even if I want you too. But the last six words were hidden, too painful to speak of out loud. But there was nothing he could think of to push him away, not like this. Not when he'd already seen him like this. The only thing he could think of was to sunder his mask again, to put it up and pretend, but he wasn't sure if he had enough in him to do that. "We can't, Potter. And what do you think people will say of the pathetic Potter then?"

Emerald eyes flashed in momentary hurt and anger, before he realised that there was no barb in his words. Then it hit him. "You've been talking about what other people want, Draco. But what about what you want? What I want? Have you thought of that?"

Draco's hollow eyes flickered at that. He couldn't help the tiny, damnable surge of hope that inched up. But bitter, cruel reality came crashing down. " We can't, Potter." No matter what you say. You know of the cursed ink on my hands, don't you?" He wants you dead, Harry- and I'm meant to help him."