#if you recognise the first line - ten points (please don't tell anybody)

[rockingrobin69]

Journey

It was quarter to six, and the flickering electric board announced nothing but ‘further delays’. The four-twenty service was still up there. Very fucking helpful. Draco sighed, bit his lips shut, and did not look to the bench on his left.

The platform was packed. And airless. And so bleeding hot, he was sweltering in his jacket. What would be more embarrassing: taking it off now, revealing the wet spots on the button-up underneath, or stewing to death? Draco didn’t look to the left. And didn’t release his lips.

There were worse ways to die, he decided, jacket staying on. And more important matters to worry about. He was famished, and his hair was frizzing, and no train was on the horizon. Draco knew a thing or two about waiting, about stewing and spitting and burning, about holding out for something that was never going to happen. The very reason he kept his mouth shut, kept his eyes strictly on the wall ahead, refused to indulge in this. Because it was useless, because it meant nothing.

Still… something caught his eye, a glimmer. Could it be that the train—no, just someone’s mobile. And the bench, in all its benchly glory. With the man who… wasn’t there.

Oh. He wasn’t there. Draco was just being silly, then. Won’t be the first time.

Shoulders slumped, sticky shirt and heavy jacket, he leaned back against the wall and practiced breathing. Should be fairly simple. It’s in, right, then out, and Potter wasn’t there, Potter wasn’t there.

Why did relief feel like this? Jagged in his throat? It should be light, and sweet, Draco imagined. Only imagined, wasn’t exactly accustomed to the whole thing. Up on the electric board the notice disappeared, but the four-twenty service remained.

“Hot in here,” a voice said beside him, someone joining him at the wall. If Draco wasn’t so busy telling himself he’s ever-so relieved, he’d have known it was Potter. In a t-shirt, no jacket or anything, with those arms and that smile and those arms. And the eyes. Looking at him. Always looking.

“What…” Draco realised he should say something. Had absolutely no idea what. “Awfully, erm. Rainy. Outside.”

“Sure is.” Potter turned to face him, hand splayed against the wall. “How was it today? Felpps piss you off again?”

“Of course he did,” Draco spat before he could stop himself, before he could think better. “He’s Felpps. Always… pissing everybody off.”

“Yeah. What a tosser.” Why did he have to be so perfectly civil, with that smile, lopsided and curved so deep it bothered Draco. Made him itch. Startled him into speaking.

“And you, with your… what’s her face. The new one, the one you’re training. Going well?”

“Meh. The training takes just about forever. Have to be patient, which we all know isn’t my strong suit. But it’s getting somewhere, I think. Yeah.”

Such a serious look on his face, then the sigh. Potter reached into his pocket and pulled out two chocolate bars, holding one out.

“For you,” he said, nonsensically. Draco didn’t move. “You must be peckish. You’d usually have your tea by now.”

His cheeks flushed with indignation. “I only told you that because—oh, shut up.” How terribly rude of Potter, to remember the things Draco tells him offhandedly. To make him think… nothing, it meant nothing. This was never going to happen.

“C’mon, take it. Your favourite, right? They still sell it in the corner shop by my place.”

Draco was stunned enough to obey, taking the half-melted bar from Potter’s warm, sticky fingers. “I thought they discontinued these. Too much sugar or some tosh, meant to be bad for you.”

“Think we can handle a little bad.” Potter never offered much in the way of explanation. Just shrugged a shoulder, looked up at him with those eyes. “Hey, so, tomorrow I’ll be leaving a bit later. Might try to catch the train at half-five.”

“All right,” Draco said. Took a bite.

“So, just, don’t be alarmed if you don’t see me here.”

He rolled his eyes, turned to face Potter with a huff. “Let me assure you, I’m never concerned with your whereabouts.”

“’Course. Why would you be.” Potter’s head lolled against the wall, that big lopsided line on his face widening. “I’ll see you the day after, then. Same time. With further supply of your chocolates.”

“Promises, promises,” Draco started, but it got lost in the whoosh coming from the tunnel. Their train, the one that was never going to arrive, it was here. Draco didn’t take that as a symbol, wasn’t going to lose his mind over it. He won’t see Potter tomorrow, but he might see him the next day. Perhaps with some chocolates. It meant nothing.

Was still a little sweet, though.

 A little end-of-the-year present for my dear @short666bread. Friend, you’ve graced us this year with your brilliant art, your brilliant mind, and your brilliant heart. From cocoons into butterflies, you take us on a journey with every single piece, let us bask in it, transform. I admire you so much. Thank you for all your gifts.