The Proposal

The days following their kiss were an intoxicating blur of confusion and desire. Harry couldn't think straight, couldn't look at Draco without feeling that same tension boiling between them, threatening to explode at any given moment. But instead of talking about it, of confronting what was happening, they both pretended as though nothing had changed.

At least, that's what they told themselves.

Every conversation was still laced with sarcasm and irritation, the same sharp barbs they'd exchanged for years. But underneath it all, there was something else—a frenzied electricity that neither of them could ignore. Draco's proximity seemed to spark something inside Harry, a constant pull he couldn't escape. And Draco, for his part, made no attempt to hide the way he watched Harry with that predatory gleam in his eyes.

But things were getting complicated. They both knew it.

"We're going to have to put on a show for the press," Draco said one evening, his tone as casual as ever, though Harry could hear the underlying edge of frustration. "It's getting ridiculous at this point. We can't keep up this façade without making it look convincing."

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, staring at Draco across the room. "You really think we're convincing anyone? We're about as convincing as two pissed-off cats in a sack."

Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Not my fault you can't control your temper. Or your feelings."

Harry shot him a glare, though his heart was still pounding in his chest. He wanted to say something sharp, something that would make Draco back off, but the truth was, Harry didn't know what he wanted. Every time he tried to push Draco away, something inside him pulled him right back in. It was maddening.

"Can we just stop pretending this is normal?" Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper, his chest tightening with frustration.

"Pretending what?" Draco asked, his voice smooth, like he knew exactly where Harry was going. "That we're not getting under each other's skin?"

Harry's eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. "You really think you can mess with me like this and not have consequences, Draco?"

Draco stood up, his expression shifting from that playful smirk to something darker, something that made Harry's pulse quicken. "Consequences?" Draco repeated, his voice low. "You think I'm the only one to blame here, Potter? You think this isn't as much your fault as it is mine?"

Harry didn't have a response for that. He knew it was true. He wasn't innocent in all of this. But admitting it would mean acknowledging the feelings he was so desperate to ignore.

Before he could respond, Draco closed the distance between them, the space between them charged with an intensity that left Harry breathless. Draco's hand shot out, grabbing Harry's chin, forcing him to look up into those grey eyes that always seemed to see right through him.

"What are we doing, Potter?" Draco asked again, his voice softer this time, almost a challenge. "Are we really going to keep fighting this? Keep pretending like it's not real?"

Harry's breath hitched in his throat, his heart racing. He wanted to fight, wanted to argue, but the truth was—he didn't know how to fight anymore. Not when every part of him was screaming at him to stop pretending.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry said, his voice raw, vulnerable. "But I can't keep pretending like I'm not feeling something every time you touch me, every time you look at me."

Draco's expression softened, just for a second, before it hardened again. "Then stop pretending, Potter. Just stop."

And before Harry could say anything, Draco's lips were on his again. It was rough, desperate, and filled with all the frustration that had been building between them for days. Harry's hands fisted in Draco's shirt, pulling him closer as their mouths collided in a furious kiss, heat and passion building between them like an inferno.

They broke apart, both gasping for breath, their bodies still pressed close, but neither of them willing to move.

"Tell me you don't want this," Draco growled, his voice strained with desire. "Tell me you don't feel the same way, and I'll walk away. But if you don't—"

"I'm not telling you anything," Harry spat, voice thick with emotion. "I'm done pretending."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, their chests rising and falling in sync, breaths ragged. The air between them felt like it was charged with a thousand volts of electricity, and Harry was done fighting it.

Without another word, he grabbed Draco by the collar and pulled him back into another kiss, their bodies moving together with an intensity that was too overwhelming to fight anymore. They were tangled in each other, no longer pretending, no longer hiding. The lie was gone, and all that was left was this—raw, messy, and real.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, but neither of them looked away.

"This is a terrible idea," Harry said, his voice hoarse.

Draco's smirk was back, that familiar cocky grin that Harry was beginning to find impossible to resist. "Tell me something I don't know."