Stay With Me

Chapter 11

"Why not?" Harry teased

"Because pineapple on pizza sounds ludicrous."

"You've never tried it!"

"Don't care. Never will."

"Fine, one cheese and tomato pizza with extra pineapple just for you." Harry beamed and Draco threw up a middle finger with a smirk. "You seem to be in better spirits?" he added, the playful side of Draco made his heart feel light.

"Ah well, you see, spending a week in a hospital with no company whilst hooked to machines surrounded by patronising doctors - most of which hated my guts already, made me come to the realisation that the annoying specky git that I'm living with isn't so bad after all."

Harry tried to eyeroll but found the corners of his mouth betraying him with a smile, "I'm flattered."

"You're welcome," Draco smirked, wiping the biscuit crumbs on a nearby cloth before heading toward the door.

"Wait," Harry stuck an arm out, stopping Draco in his tracks, "You need to apply your healing ointment." Harry said, nodding over at the brown bottle that was perched by the sink.

"Since when?"

"Since your doctor wrote to me leaving me instructions that I ensure you take your medication daily."

"Christ, I don't need a bloody babysitter." Draco groaned, shaking his head in annoyance. "I'll do it later."

"No, we're going to do it now. You lost your right to have a say when you started making stupid decisions."

Draco held his tongue, wanting to bite back in spite but knowing that hurting Harry more was probably not the best path to take. He watched helplessly as Harry walked across to retrieve the bottle before he sat back down at the table, unscrewing the cap.

"I can wait all day," Harry added, and reluctantly, Draco pouted and slumped into the seat beside him, sulking. "Lift up your sleeve."

Draco hesitated, his idea of hell was exposing not only the multiple cuts from his wrist to his elbow, but the disgusting dark mark etched into his skin. The sight of it repulsed him, and left a sickness in the pit of his stomach, a cruel reminder of all his past mistakes.

Harry clocked his reluctance and sighed, "I know you hate people looking at your arms but I've seen it Draco, I saw what you did to yourself, you don't have to hide from me, okay? I'm not judging you."

"I can do this myself you know."

"Yeah? How many droplets do you apply?"

"Four."

"Wrong. Eight. Now be quiet and let me do this."

For a few moments longer, Draco deliberated the idea of exposing his tainted flesh but Harry had a point. He'd witnessed the cuts on his arm that left him in hospital, causing a fuss now only seemed foolish and under a muttered whisper, he gave in. "Fine."

Harry held out the pipette, filled halfway with shimmering gold liquid, and waited patiently as Draco rolled back the sleeve of his jumper, exposing the reddened cuts that were scabbing over, his deathly pale skin shredded and discoloured with the faintest purple marks still lingering around his wrists.

Draco's focus shot to the floor and suddenly, to his annoyance, tears stung the back of his eyes, his throat tightening with a flood of vulnerability that he hated.

Harry didn't react upon seeing his wounded arm, remaining impassive to reassure Draco that he could trust him, but seeing the cuts did stir something deep down, a sense of sadness and pity, recalling the not-so-distant memory of Draco bleeding out in his arms. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took Draco's wrist, turning it over in his fingers so that the mark and the cuts were facing upward.