Draco always assumed you would stay.

Not because he took you for granted. Not because he didn’t care.But because caring — truly caring — was something he had never been taught to do properly, and he convinced himself that silence meant stability… that distance meant control… that vulnerability meant weakness.

Lately, he had been distant. Cold without meaning to be. Sharp when stressed. Preoccupied with expectations that weren’t yours. A little too wrapped up in his own storms to notice the way yours were brewing.

He didn’t realize he was hurting you, not at first. He didn’t notice when you stopped saving him a seat in Potions. Or when you pulled your hand away a little too quickly in the halls. Or when you started giving him practiced smiles — the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.

But then he saw it.

He walked into the library expecting to find you in your usual corner, waiting for him with quills scattered everywhere. Instead, he found you alone at a different table. Head down, shoulders tense, expression tired in a way that cut through him like a knife.

You didn’t even look up when he entered and and Draco, that was the breaking point.

He knew instantly — in that strange, aching way you just know when you’ve pushed someone too far — that something had shifted and it was his fault.

He stood there frozen, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, breath stuck somewhere between guilt and panic.

Pansy passed by him quietly and muttered under her breath, “She’s been upset for days. You really didn’t notice?”

His stomach dropped. No he hadn’t noticed. Worse — he hadn’t let himself notice.

Draco forced himself to move, every step heavy as he approached your table. You didn’t look up until his shadow fell over your book.

When you finally lifted your eyes, the expression on your face wasn’t anger. It was disappointment a quiet, aching kind. The kind Draco would take a curse for rather than see directed at him again.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice softer — almost fragile.

You hesitated and that alone nearly broke him. When you didn’t answer, he sat down opposite you, hands trembling slightly though he tried to hide it under the table.

“You’re retreating from me,” Draco said quietly. No defense in his tone. No sharpness. Just truth. “And I can’t pretend I don’t see it anymore.”

You didn’t speak, but your eyes flickered — and it hurt. He swallowed hard.

“I’ve been… distracted,” he admitted, jaw clenching. “Cold. I know I have. But I wasn’t trying to push you away.”

You looked down at your hands and Draco’s voice cracked.

“But I did push you away, didn’t I?”

For once, he didn’t hide behind pride. Didn’t hide behind sarcasm or his last name bravado. The boy sitting across from you looked scared, human, Soft in ways only you ever got to see.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, breath trembling. “Please… tell me I haven’t already.”

When you finally met his eyes, he saw everything he’d been missing — the quiet hurt, the exhaustion, the fear of staying with someone who didn’t seem to care.

Draco leaned forward, reaching for your hand but stopping just short, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you anymore.

“Let me fix this,” he said. “Let me fix us. You matter more to me than anything… even if I’ve done a piss-poor job showing it.”