The Proposal

Harry had no idea what he was doing anymore.

It had started with a simple lie, a harmless charade to appease the wizarding world, and somewhere along the way, it had turned into something else entirely. Draco was no longer just the irritating, privileged Malfoy who had spent years sneering at him across the classroom. No, now Draco was a force—a tempest of heat and sharp words that made Harry want to both punch him and kiss him, all at the same time.

The kiss from the night before still burned in Harry's mind. He couldn't get the taste of Draco off his lips, couldn't erase the memory of their bodies pressed together, both desperate and alive in a way he hadn't expected. But then the knock at the door had ended it all, and now, here they were, sitting across from each other in the Malfoy family study, the distance between them an ocean. The tension had been unbearable ever since.

"Potter," Draco said, his voice steady, betraying nothing, though Harry could see the storm swirling behind his eyes. "What the hell are we doing?"

It wasn't a question Harry had an answer for. He had no idea what was happening between them—he only knew it was real, too real to pretend it was just some passing fling or a silly arrangement to make everyone believe they were in love.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry admitted, leaning back in the chair, eyes never leaving Draco's. "I really don't."

Draco's lips quirked up at the corners in that infuriatingly sexy way of his. "I thought you had it all figured out, Potter. The perfect little hero, always with the answers."

Harry bristled at the jab. "Maybe I'm tired of always having the answers. Maybe I'm tired of pretending that I'm the guy everyone expects me to be."

Draco's gaze softened, just a fraction, but it was enough to make Harry's heart lurch. "Then what the hell do you want, Potter?"

It wasn't a question Harry had an easy answer to, not when everything inside him felt like it was on fire, twisting in confusion. The only thing he was sure of was that being near Draco made his heart race in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I want..." Harry's voice trailed off, his words caught in his throat. He didn't know how to explain it—didn't know how to explain this push and pull, this magnetic force that seemed to draw them together and tear them apart in the same breath.

Draco leaned in slightly, his eyes flickering with something Harry couldn't quite place. "Go on. You want what?"

It was dangerous, the way Draco was looking at him. Dangerous in a way that made Harry forget to breathe, forget everything except the way Draco's lips curled into a smile.

"I want you to stop playing games," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to stop pretending like you don't feel this too."

Draco's smirk faltered for a second, and Harry could see the vulnerability hidden behind that confident facade. It was a crack in Draco's armor, just enough for Harry to see the truth: Draco didn't know what the hell he was doing either.

"You're a pain in my arse, Potter," Draco muttered, but there was no heat in it, no true malice. Instead, his words were laced with something far more dangerous—something Harry couldn't ignore.

"I know," Harry replied, his voice thick with something that wasn't quite anger anymore. He was close now, so close to crossing that line he'd never intended to cross. "I'm a bloody mess, but you're just as bad as I am."

Draco let out a small, strangled laugh. "Oh, I know. I'm a disaster. But I never pretended to be anything else."

"You're the one who started this whole damn thing," Harry shot back, frustration building as he leaned forward, the space between them shrinking even more. "If you'd just left me alone—"

"I didn't leave you alone, Potter, because you don't want me to," Draco interrupted, his voice sharp with a bite that was just as intoxicating as his touch. "And you can't keep pretending you don't feel this. I know you do. I've seen the way you look at me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "You're insane."

"No," Draco said, his voice low and husky, eyes never leaving Harry's. "I'm not. I'm just tired of playing games. So, tell me, Potter: What do you really want?"

The challenge in Draco's eyes was too much. It was like an invitation, a dare, and before Harry knew it, his lips were crashing against Draco's again. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and full of all the things they hadn't said. It wasn't soft or gentle; it was a fight—each of them pushing, pulling, demanding more.

Harry's hands tangled in Draco's hair, yanking him closer, as if that would close the distance between them once and for all. Draco groaned into the kiss, his fingers digging into Harry's shoulders, pulling him down onto the couch, their bodies pressed together, hot and needy.

For a moment, they were lost in the frenzy of it all, the world outside fading away. But as the kiss broke, and they pulled back, both of them panting and flushed, Harry knew that nothing would ever be the same between them again.

"I don't know what this is," Harry said, his voice breathless, "but I can't stop it."

Draco's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes dark with desire. "I never said you had to."