at blue diner, i'll take anything you want to give me
"This is it then?"
Harry tries to nod, but his head only bows under the weight of his sadness.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."
There's a pause, as Draco takes a delicate sip of his coffee. Black, as always, with an obscene amount of sugar Harry had always found hilarious. Nothing can really egg a smile out of him now.
Even in this single moment, with a gesture as ordinary as drinking coffee, Harry falls for him a little more. He could write ballads and ballads of Draco in this one moment, with the sun gleaming off his blond hair, bathing his eyes in a light that makes the stormy grey look like precious mercury. He could write the prose on paper, and when all the paper in the world ran out he would write it on leaves, and when all the leaves in the world ran out he would carve it on bark, on the surface of the Earth itself.
In this one moment, Harry falls hopelessly in love with him a little more.
Hopelessly, of course.
"We could have been so beautiful, Potter," Draco whispers, and Harry nods along, in hopeless agreement and hopeless love. All so hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.
They sit at Blue Diner, their coffees growing cold and their silence speaking the words they never will.