The Proposal

The days after the kiss were a whirlwind of chaotic emotions and unspoken thoughts. Harry didn't know what to do with himself. He had crossed a line—one that he couldn't uncross. Every time Draco was near, his heart pounded in his chest, and every glance from those piercing grey eyes left him breathless. It was like a damn dam had broken, flooding Harry with a desire he couldn't control, no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

It didn't help that Draco seemed to be pushing every button Harry had, doing everything in his power to make the situation more unbearable. He'd waltzed into the room with that infuriating, smug expression on his face, and Harry couldn't help but want to slap it off, even as his own body screamed for something far different.

"So, Potter," Draco drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe of Harry's flat. "How's the whole pretending-to-be-in-love thing going?"

Harry shot him a glare, trying his best to ignore the way his pulse raced whenever Draco was close. "If you're here to mock me, Malfoy, you can leave."

Draco stepped forward, his smirk widening as he closed the distance between them. "Mock you? No. I'm just here to make sure you haven't completely lost your mind."

Harry folded his arms, his brow furrowed in irritation. "I haven't lost my mind, thank you. But I might if you keep standing so damn close."

Draco's gaze flickered downward, his expression turning almost predatory. "Oh? You don't want me close? Funny, you didn't seem to mind it last night."

The reminder of the kiss hit Harry like a punch to the gut, and he immediately regretted it—if only because it made the heat between them flare up once again. The air was thick with unspoken tension, their history, their current situation, and their undeniable attraction all swirling around them like an angry storm.

"You're impossible," Harry snapped, stepping back, trying to put some distance between them before he lost control of whatever shred of willpower he had left. "You always have been."

Draco took a step forward again, his eyes flashing. "And you've always been a bloody pain in the arse, Potter. But you know what? You're not fooling anyone."

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if Draco had lost his mind completely. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The way you look at me," Draco said softly, the teasing tone gone from his voice. "Like you're about to strangle me, but also like you want to kiss me at the same time." He took another step forward, his voice dropping lower, more serious. "You don't fool me."

"Don't fool you?" Harry repeated incredulously. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Harry's wrist, pulling him closer with surprising force. "It means you're not the only one who's been pretending, Potter. I know you feel it too. The tension. The pull. You can lie to everyone else, but you can't lie to me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as their faces hovered inches apart. His body was on fire, every nerve ending singing with a need he didn't want to acknowledge.

"I don't need you to understand anything," Harry bit out, his words sharp and almost desperate. "I just need you to leave."

But Draco wasn't listening. He wasn't going anywhere. Instead, he closed the remaining gap, and before Harry could protest, his lips were on his again. This time it wasn't angry or reckless—it was slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that made Harry feel like he was drowning. Every inch of him was alive, and for once, he didn't want to fight it.

Draco's hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, and Harry found himself responding without thinking, his own hands grabbing Draco's shirt and yanking him closer. They both moaned into the kiss, deep and filthy, and for a moment, it was all Harry could do to breathe.

But when they finally pulled apart, both of them gasping for air, Harry could feel it. That heady, dangerous pull between them. They couldn't go back from this. Not after what had just happened.

"You think you're the only one who's confused, Draco?" Harry whispered, his voice hoarse from the kiss. "Because I don't know what the hell is happening anymore."

Draco's smirk returned, though it was more predatory now, as if he were savoring every second of Harry's vulnerability. "Oh, Potter," he said softly, voice thick with something dangerously close to satisfaction. "I never said I was the only one."

Harry stared at him, his chest still heaving, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he realized he wasn't afraid anymore. Not of Draco, not of what was happening between them. He was past the point of denial. There was no turning back now.

"I hate you," Harry muttered, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true—not in the way he meant it. Not anymore.

Draco leaned in, his lips brushing Harry's ear as he whispered, "Then why do I feel like you want to do this all over again?"

Harry's heart raced. He wanted to push him away, wanted to say something biting and sarcastic to shield himself from the truth. But Draco had already won. He'd broken through Harry's defenses in a way no one else ever had.

"Because I do," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Draco smiled, a knowing, triumphant smile. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

And with that, the door to whatever was between them—whatever it was that had always been there, waiting to explode—was finally open. There would be no going back.