It was so addictive, letting himself relax into Gellert’s arms, forgetting the world outside just for a minute, for an hour or two. Albus knew it was addictive, and yet like any helpless addict, found himself swept back into Gellert’s arms again and again. The seconds they snatched for themselves were precious, fragile things that lingered only for a moment before reality sank back in and Albus wrenched himself away, knowing all too well that his resolve to stay away wouldn’t last.
Gellert would watch him leave with knowing eyes, gleaming silver and black that followed him out the door. Albus felt his gaze heavy upon his back, hunching unconsciously under its weight as he tried to bury the parts of him that had come out of the dark corners he shoved them into. They always did come out, when he could be truly and unrestrainedly himself, which seemed as though it was only with Gellert. It must be part of why it was so addictive to him, Albus thought. He craved the freedom it brought, his carefully constructed walls tumbling down in the presence of the one person who knew him in his entirety and hadn’t flinched.
Yet again, Albus tumbled into Gellert’s arms, pressing his face into the fabric of his suit jacket as Gellert pulled him into his embrace. “Albus, darling,” came the low, sweet voice of Gellert, and Albus was lost.