Draco was having one of his worst mental health days in months. As soon as he’d opened his eyes in the morning he knew the rest of the day was going to be spent waiting for the night, hoping that tomorrow would bring something more promising.
It frustrated him immensely, because really he had no reason to feel as empty and as useless as he did. The war was over, he barely received any death threats anymore, he had great friends and a small but nice apartment in London.
None of it did anything for him at that moment though. All activities were just passing the time until death arrived and honestly he didn’t see the point in any of it. Getting out of bed, food, calling his friends for help, taking a shower.
Today was not the day for it. For any of it.
So instead of working on his new potions he lay in bed, staring blankly at his white ceiling. His duvet was awkwardly folded underneath him but he couldn’t muster the energy to roll over. He spent the entire day in that uncomfortable position as the sun crept through his bedroom and then left it again. His only company for the day.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
“Draco!” There was the sound of his front door opening and closing, but he didn’t register the noise. “Draco are you home?”
There was a vague sense in his gut of something he’d forgotten, but when blinking was already too much effort, thinking was definitely out of the question. He didn’t reply.
“I waited for you at the restaurant, you know. Real dick move to leave me hanging like that.” A sound of a frustrated man marching into his living room reached his ears, but didn’t process it. A sense of guilt started growing in his stomach, the branches soon reaching out into his arms and legs. Where exactly he felt guilty about slowly started dooming on him.
Date . There was something about a date. And Harry, probably, because Draco didn’t know why else his possibly-new-boyfriend would be shouting at him through his bedroom door. Slowly, for the first time that day, he moved a little. He didn’t get up though, just rolled over so he could look at the bedroom door.
“I know you weren’t happy with my outfit the last time we went out but that’s no reason to-” The bedroom door opened and Harry stopped talking. Stopped walking. Stopped looking incredibly pissed off. “Oh.”
“Sorry.” Draco’s dull grey eyes connected with Harry’s lively green ones. “Sorry.” He repeated then, because he didn’t know what else was appropriate to say after ditching his date in favour of having a mental break down in bed. Especially not considering Harry was wearing fancy clothes, which Draco knew he hated.
“Oh Draco, don’t be sorry.” Draco turned his head away, pushing it into his pillow in order to hide from Harry’s expression. It wasn’t one of pity, but one of understanding and somehow that made it worse. Harry had gone through hell without asking for anything. Harry had killed Voldemort and willingly walked into that forest.
He, Draco, was the one with the wrong choices, who had only himself to blame for his depression. He shouldn’t be getting compassion from the man who had so much more right to feel shitty than he did.
“Can I-, can I hold you?” Harry’s voice was soft and steady, the perfect tone for the perfect question at that moment. Draco couldn’t bring himself to reply. He hoped the other man would interpret his silence as a yes.
But he didn’t.
“I’m going to make you soup. And tea, lots of it.” There was a sound of a fancy dress jacket falling on the floor. Then there was a kiss on the top of his head, and words in his ear. “It’s okay Draco, we all have our bad days. Those things happen sometimes, and they’re not your fault.”
They are . But he didn’t say that. Instead he turned his head a little and watched Harry disappear into the kitchen. Then his eyes fell shut.
“There’s soup.” The tenderness in those words reached Draco’s heart through all the numbness of his depression and made him open his eyes. There was a steaming bowl of tomato soup on his nightstand and a magically warmed blanket around him. Turning his head showed the man who had put those there, who was now sitting cross-legged on his bed, his fancy clothes transfigured into something more comfortable.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked being held so I dug up a blanket from your closet.” Harry was looking at him through his black curls, which were dangling in front of his face like a curtain. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.” Draco’s voice creaked. The strong smell of the tomato soup brought him further out of his slumber and he slipped one arm out from underneath the blanket, pushing it away a bit so Harry could get underneath. “I’m sorry about our date.”
“Don’t be. Like I said these things happen, and they suck but they’re not your fault.” Harry smiled when he saw Draco’s gesture, and crawled under the covers with an enthusiasm that looked so cute it almost made Draco smile. Almost.
“Thank you.” Draco rolled onto his side so he could bury his face in Harry’s neck and wrap his legs around his body. Harry yelped when Draco’s cold feet touched his calves. This time he did smile.
“It’s what I want to be here for.” The indian man replied after some moments of silence. “That, and making you soup.”