if
So you left. Against the part of yourself that still craves his warmth in this damp December snow, against every ounce of internal will that still shouts his name, but you tell yourself it’s for your own good. If he is a drug, you now need be in rehab.
For him, every moment is different now that you’re gone. He has already forgotten the correct amount of food he needs to prepare for only a one-person meal. He no longer believes in hope, because he knows for sure he has ruined it. Despite a restless hopelessness, he still finds himself leaving voicemails to you one night after downing a whole bottle of whiskey.
After your familiar ringtone, he waits for the beep and lets the voicemail carry his voice after hearing nothing from you for one entire week, “Hey, I know I’m the person you want to hear from the least, but um,” he hesitates.
Biting his lips, choosing the words he is about to say, mentally scolding himself for hesitating for so long, he continues, “Can you please tell me if you’re doing ok? I need to know if you’re safe.”
Idiot, he curses himself under his breath right after he finishes this sentence. This is the city you have lived in for the past few years, how could it suddenly not be safe after you two have separated?
“No, I mean, I,” he holds his breath as his froggy mind contemplates if he should say what he feels and be rejected again. He gently squeezes the bottle of whiskey and whispers with a hoarse voice, “I miss you.”
Then he abruptly ends the voicemail.
Throwing his phone across the sofa, he collapses on the floor. Snowflakes are still falling the way they have been the night you woke up after he brought you back home, as if the streams of particles in the air have never moved forward since that moment, and he has never broken the trust between himself and the person he is even willing to die for.
He drinks not because he doesn’t know what to do, but because he knows there is nothing he can do to amend the past. And of course he has spent a lot of time thinking — he plays the movie of his memory from start to finish, over and over again, relishing in your genuine smiles and soft kisses, allowing himself to be torn open and open again just for the moments of past happiness to revive in his tired, guilty mind.
The worst part is, he doesn’t know where you are. If he knows, he can first give you space, give you time, then maybe find you one day, holding large cards like Marc does in Love Actually. He will confess the same things, with apologies added into them, just because it’s Christmas.
Yes, it’ll be Christmas in a few days.
His heart clenches at the very thought of forcing himself through Christmas without you.
Of course you have friends. Good friends. But Draco is different. He doesn’t believe in having friends. He loves solitude. Has always loved being alone — until you.
Without you, he’s practically alone. Cutting himself off from his family and past buddies, he finds a new freedom in starting a life of renewed hope, because he can become this new person he wishes to be, and he can live for himself for the first time. And he loves this new life because you are in it. You were, at least. He ponders the question of what he’ll do on Christmas now that he doesn’t quite know what to do, and his thoughts repeatedly turn back to you, you, you.
He must do something for you. No, he must do many things for you.
So he decides to start with shaking off old habits that he knows you have never approved of. Like drinking entire bottles of whisky.
During moments like this when he has just finished an entire bottle and realizes that he shouldn’t have, he truly truly wants to go back in time and lie on the sofa and stay as far away from the cupboard storing all his bottles of alcohol as possible. Heaving a sigh, he mentally kicks himself for drinking so much again. Face brushed with a light pink tint, he squeezes his eyes shut and scolds himself for drinking. I’ll stop, he notes. I will, and she’ll see.
Then he starts readjusting his schedule, for he knows that you have always valued healthy, consistent schedules that include waking up early, exercising daily, drinking lots of water, and reading a reasonable amount. Starting from scratch, the first few days of this new schedule have passed like torturous hell, as he may have been too tired to get up in the morning, but once he realizes the purpose of the new schedule and the pride it could potentially bring to you, he practically leaps out of bed, for you are his sole motivation.
Also, he is a masochist. If there’s pain with meaning, pain with reason, he’ll have it if it’s in some ways proving his worth to you. He simply wants you back so much so that he doesn’t quite feel pain anymore. There is numbness, and there is desire, longing, and love mixed in the most delicate shade of burgundy red.
The biggest question in Draco’s mind 24/7 is whether you still care. About him, about his new life, about the changes he has made for redeeming himself and becoming someone you would be happy with. Happy, Draco internally whispers, we used to be so happy.
Sighing again, Draco decides to take a walk around the block to see the gigantic Christmas tree that was finished yesterday night and, by any chance, clear his mind. Re and re-re-readjusting the collars of his deep gray sweater, he looks at himself in the mirror, his face somewhat blushing for unknown reasons.
Truly, he doesn’t want to admit it. But what if, what if — what if I could meet you? he whispers to his image in the mirror, creating a small sphere of mist on the clear glass. But the city is big enough, he decides, we won’t run into each other.
As his boots touch the soft, new snow that has landed on the street in the past few hours, he realizes that he hasn’t gone on walks since you have left. He never felt like it, and his vulnerable little heart was too afraid to beat too quickly all over again. Lightly smiling, he mentally scolds himself for this past stupidity mixed with a shade of naiveté, for the ability to resume his life is for sure something he must hold to be mature in this updated mindset of his world. Like Frankenstein, he cherishes the wonders of a revived life, inhales the wintery smells of the upcoming Christmas, and allows his mind to drift off again.
His thoughts are cut off very soon as he feels someone tapping his shoulders. Turning around, Draco sees the person he never realized he could run into, the man who ignited the jealousy within Draco and indirectly led to this situation.
The jewelry designer that sat beside you in the cafe before. The man who seemed to make you happy. The fashionable person Draco is scared that you may have found a liking towards.
“You must be her partner, then,” the man regards Draco’s blank expression and finally states, as if he could easily tell, as if he knows you that well.
Curtly, Draco nods, unwilling to speak.
Sighing, the jewelry designer puts his hands into his coat’s pockets, and continues nonchalantly, “She started preparing for this surprise quite a while back. She put so much effort into the concept, details, materials, and whatnot. I know this gift is no longer a surprise, thanks to you, but you should at least thank her before Christmas.” He takes a deep breath and turns away briefly, before looking straight into Draco’s eyes, “You already hurt her. At least make this one part right before you lose the chance.”
Draco stands there, stunned yet unsurprised by this information. As possible responses start forming in his mind, the designer hands a slip of parchment to Draco and swiftly walks past him, leaving trails of snow behind.
Having years of training as an auror before, of course Draco catches the piece before the harsh winter wind carries it away into the whiteness. The parchment still feels warm in his hands as he reads the single line written on it.
Your address.
The place you are at now.
The exact location Draco needs to go.