The Proposal

The tension between Harry and Draco had settled into something much more unsettling—like a storm about to break. There was no turning back now, not after what had happened in the Ministry office. Harry's mind raced, spinning from the kiss and the weight of everything that was coming next. He couldn't stop thinking about it, about Draco, and about the feelings he'd long denied.

But Harry didn't have time to think it through. It was like they'd both been swept into a whirlwind, and now they were stuck in it, fighting to keep their balance but never really able to let go.

The next day, when Harry walked into the office, Draco was already there, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking far too confident for someone who had nearly made Harry lose all sense of composure less than twenty-four hours ago. The audacity of it was enough to make Harry want to throw him out, but he couldn't quite summon the anger. Not anymore.

"Potter," Draco greeted him with that smirk, as if nothing had happened between them. As if they weren't standing on the edge of something explosive. "Busy day ahead?"

Harry's jaw clenched. He wanted to say something cutting, something that would push Draco away, but he didn't have it in him. All he could focus on was the heat of Draco's presence, how close he was, and how fucking tempting it was to grab him again and finish what they'd started.

"I'm working," Harry muttered, dropping his briefcase onto the desk. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," Draco replied, stepping into the room, his voice light, almost too nonchalant. "Just making sure you don't get yourself into trouble. You do have a habit of making things more complicated than they need to be."

Harry rolled his eyes and forced himself to sit down at his desk, pretending that he could focus on anything other than the man in the room with him. But Draco wasn't making it easy.

"What, you think I need saving now?" Harry shot back, trying to sound disinterested, but failing miserably.

Draco leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with Harry's, a glint of something dangerously unreadable in his gaze. "No. I think you're doing just fine at screwing things up on your own."

Harry opened his mouth to snap back at him, but then he saw the look on Draco's face. It was almost too much—like Draco knew exactly what was going on inside Harry's head. Like he knew Harry was as much a mess as he was.

Without thinking, Harry stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I don't need this. I don't need you here, poking around in my business. This whole thing... it's a fucking disaster."

Draco's gaze never wavered. "Then why are you still here?"

The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He didn't have an answer. Not one that made sense, anyway.

"You're right," Harry said, taking a step back, his breath coming quicker now, the anger simmering beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. "I'm a fucking disaster. And so are you. You've got no idea what you're doing to me."

Draco straightened up, that damn smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I think I know exactly what I'm doing, Potter. And you've been loving every minute of it."

Harry stepped forward, his fists clenching at his sides, every nerve in his body on fire. "Don't flatter yourself. You've done nothing but make things worse."

"Oh, I see," Draco said, his voice low, his expression turning serious. "Is that what you really think? You think I've been making this worse?"

"Yes," Harry spat, his chest tight with emotion. He wasn't sure whether he was angry or frustrated, but he was certainly feeling something. "You're making me lose my mind."

Draco stepped closer, not breaking eye contact. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his eyes, only a sharpness that cut through Harry's defenses like a blade.

"You think I'm not feeling the same way?" Draco's voice was barely above a whisper now. "You think I don't know what this is? What's happening between us?"

Harry's heart raced, and the words that came next were out before he could stop them. "I don't know what the hell this is, Draco. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you, with us, with all of this."

Draco's gaze softened, just for a moment, before it hardened again. "You don't have to do anything. Not with me. Not with us. I'm not asking for anything more than this. But if you keep running from it—if you keep pretending like this isn't real—I don't know how much longer I can keep playing this game."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Draco was right. This wasn't a game. But admitting it? That was a different story altogether.

"I'm not running," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to deal with this. How to deal with you."

Draco chuckled darkly, the sound low and almost mocking. "You don't deal with me, Potter. You just... deal with yourself. And I'll be here, whether you like it or not."

Harry stood frozen, the weight of Draco's words pressing down on him like a physical force. He didn't know what to do, but he knew one thing—he couldn't keep pretending anymore. They were already in too deep.

And for once, Harry didn't want to run.

He just wanted to feel something that wasn't this constant, aching confusion.

Draco, as if sensing the shift in Harry's posture, took another step forward. "You want me, Potter. Don't lie. I can see it in your eyes."

Harry's breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, his hand shot out, gripping Draco by the collar and pulling him forward. Their lips met again, urgent and wild, as if both of them were too desperate to hold back anymore. The kiss was rough, hot, and filled with everything they'd been avoiding.

The moment lasted too long, and not long enough.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"You don't make things easy," Harry said, voice low, almost a growl.

Draco smirked, that familiar arrogance creeping back in. "I never said I would."