The Buddy System. *Updating In Process*

40. The Lines We Cross for Each Other

"Oh."

"Draco..."

"Yes?"

"You can take off your shoes."

He glanced down like he'd just realised he had feet.

"Oh. Right."

He toed them off one at a time, then hesitated. His hands hovered over the hem of the ridiculously crisp Slytherin button-down.

I patted the bed beside me.

"Come here."

He moved slowly, like approaching a Hippogriff. When he sat down, he kept his spine perfectly straight and folded his hands in his lap like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

"Draco," I said with a smile I couldn't suppress, "you look like you're in a job interview."

He tipped his head back, stared at the ceiling, and muttered, "Kill me now."

"Nope," I said brightly, crawling closer. "You're stuck with me."

I reached for his sleeve.

"May I?"

He nodded.

Very stiffly.

I unbuttoned his cuff first — slow, gentle — and watched his breath hitch.

Then the next button. And the next.

"Rae," he whispered, voice very unsteady, "you're going to kill me."

"I'm just helping."

"Yes, well—your version of helping is—emotionally violent."

I snorted.

When his shirt finally slipped from his shoulders, leaving him in just an undershirt, he finally exhaled.

Then, hesitantly, he tugged that off too.

I'd seen Draco shirtless before — very briefly, very unexpectedly — but this time was different. Softer. Intentional. Trusting.

He slid under the blankets beside me carefully, almost nervously.

I turned toward him.

He turned toward me.

Our faces were less than a foot apart.

And he whispered, barely audible:

"This is the happiest I've been in a long time."

My heart did something stupid and swoopy.

I reached for his hand under the blankets.

He squeezed mine back instantly — warm, grounding, real.

Draco Malfoy. Flustered and sweet and utterly undone by the idea of sleeping beside someone who actually cared about him.

And I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Draco lay on his side facing me, one hand still laced with mine beneath the blankets. The lantern's soft glow brushed over his cheekbones, turning him golden and impossibly gentle-looking. His breathing was mostly steady... mostly.

But then his fingers twitched against mine.

Then again.

And again.

I smiled faintly. "You're fidgeting."

His eyes widened just a little — caught.

"No, I'm not," he muttered, instantly defensive.