Harry/Draco
Harry was freezing, frozen.
How could he?
How could Draco take the very heart from Harry’s chest and shatter it like it had meant nothing?
Everything had been so good.
They’d buried the hatchet in a newfound friendship and became lovers with the same intensity that they used to be rivals with.
And now Harry was cold, alone.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Draco said flatly when he packed his bag and left. The hole in their closet was as obvious as the one in Harry’s chest.
Harry didn’t know what to say when people asked him where Draco was.
“Not here,” he said flatly, downing another shot.
Harry didn’t even know what he was meant to do in a flat in Paris that he bought so Draco could attend the healers program. Harry built his life around Draco and Draco had cut him so badly that he doubted he would - could - ever recover.
It didn’t feel like it was over. When Harry saw Draco at the hospital they both worked at, Harry’s blood was still on fire for him.
It probably always would be.
Draco started seeing Blaise Zabini, a mind healer in the hospital, and Harry went out a few times with Theo Nott.
But he was still so cold, aching from the loss of Draco in his life.
All Draco left behind when he left was the hole in Harry’s chest and a half-assed explanation that Harry wasn’t what he wanted.
“You could do better,” Harry said sadly as he watched him pack.
“I know,” was the short answer he got in return.
Maybe Harry had always been cold but Draco had been masking it with the heat they had together.
He knew he’d be cold for an eternity without him.