@drarrymicrofic | prompt: wet | wc: 785
It was Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and Harry’s eyes had been wet from the moment he entered the hall. It had been hours.
Draco looked so beautiful in his dress robes that it physically hurt to look at him, and for once Harry was glad he knew how to endure insurmountable pain.
After the vows and the rings and the kiss, they were ushered into a lush garden and handed drinks and—
The champagne had the same colour as Malfoy’s hair, and Harry was crying again, and his best friends were too busy to push a hug on him that would help him breathe through the ache in his chest.
Blaise swanned his way over, poised and not quite as violently gorgeous as his best friend, carrying his flute with such grace that Harry felt stupid for clutching his own for dear life.
He looked at Harry, followed his anchored gaze, and inclined his head in amused acknowledgement.
Pansy sidled up to them, sipping wine, lacking Blaise’s restraint.
"You look drunk any time he touches you, like he's the most exquisite champagne and makes your stomach all bubbly and—"
"Yeah," Harry wheezed. He knew all that, and his stomach was doing just that when Draco looked in their direction and their eyes met for a split second. Tears welled. He turned away and excused himself, saying he needed air. The party was outside.
When Ron, drunk off his tits, had wept in Harry’s arms about loving Hermione so much he didn’t know how to fit it all inside his chest, then thrown up, Harry had understood. He could throw up right now.
He sat on a secluded bench, the same champagne flute precariously dangling from his fingers as he lost himself in his thoughts. What good was it to love someone this much and drown in it because it had nowhere to flow, nowhere to water and nurture a shared life like Ron and Hermione’s, or Dean and Seamus’s, or Ginny and Luna’s? Even Percy was opening his heart to Oliver. They had been dancing when Harry left.
More tears fell and darkened his robes. Others clung to his glasses, while the ones that would not spill lodged in his throat.
"Ah," the single syllable came drawled. "There you are."
Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t lift his head. He watched Draco’s beautifully trimmed robes drag over the fresh-cut grass, staining the dove-blue fabric green.
"I caught the bouquet," he announced as if it were the Snitch.
"Congratulations," Harry tried to say, but the word came out cracked.
So Malfoy would be next, another wedding to sob his way through, envious and hopeless.
"Hm, yes, let’s see," Malfoy hummed, and the ribbon around the bouquet came undone and trailed to the ground between their feet.
Then something was pushed into Harry's hair.
"What are you doing?" he asked, unwillingly leaning into the faint touch.
"An experiment," Draco said unhelpfully. "Hold still."
A hand was in his hair, moving something around.
"I'm trying to see how many roses your hair can carry."
"Because I'm partial to the idea of a traditional solstice wedding, and soltice weddings demand flowers, and your hair is in desperate need of being accentuated rather than tamed," Draco rambled, his feet shifting.
Petals fell to the ground; the green leaves joined them, discarded but carefully not stepped on.
Harry let him do whatever he was doing, and silently let his tears keep rolling down to the tip of his nose. Malfoy hummed, clicked his tongue, switched flowers from left to right, and huffed the sweetest laugh when he reached ten and Harry’s hair could still hold more.
"Oh, don’t you look absolutely darling like this," Malfoy cooed, "positively precious."
Harry sniffed, kept his head down.
Malfoy pushed the remnants of the bouquet aside with a foot, then—
Then, inexplicably, he knelt down, expensive robes pressing into the moist lawn. He took Harry's flute, downed the lukewarm rest of it, and set it on the ground. His hands found Harry’s and tenderly pried them apart so he could slip his fingers into Harry’s clammy palms.
"What do you say?" he asked Harry, grey eyes searching, his smile cocky and warm.
Harry's heart jolted, then lurched, toppling everything over with its force. It was too much, had been for years, now spilling over like a torrent.
"I can’t," Harry hiccuped. "I can’t watch you get married to someone else. I don’t know what I’ll do if you make me." He knew he was beginning to shake, ribs splintering around his heart. There was only so much that even he could take. "I love you."
But Draco's smile only widened. "I was counting on that."
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