A/N: For avatarluv97 's One Word Challenge, with "Beautiful." Also for Laura as a break from ScoreRose and because I definitely owe you something x) Reviews are loved and will not be thrown away.
Watching Harry sleep was, Draco thought, one of the only constants left in his life. He would wait, curled up against Harry's chest, until said man fell into his deep, anchoring sleep, and quietly slide out of their warm bed. A bed they'd purchased nearly two years ago to the date- one which they'd had the evermost fun defiling. And one that held all their secret times: for cuddling in, talking in, crying in. All of those emotions wound up in that bed for some reason. For that alone, it made it their bed.
He would pad his way over to their windowsill, and sit upon the cushion fashioned there for that sole purpose. Occasionally basking in the glow of the moonlight, or else sitting alone in the dark, hugging his knees to his chest in a way he'd never done anywhere else. When it was cold he would sometimes drag the throw off their little loveseat, residing in the corner of the room, and cocoon himself in, as Harry had called it. He would shield himself off from the rest of the world, existing only in the moment that had brought him to their bedroom, in their flat, in London. Far from everyone, yet at the same time, too close.
With Harry, days came more naturally. Every breath seemed reserved for him, and him alone. And when they were together there was nowhere else he would rather be. Seeing him made his heart pound as if he were still a teenager, and kissing him made his fragile world quake. It had been with a lot of coaxing on Harry's end that had brought them to this point right now, and all Draco could do was watch him. Each steady in breath, and out breath. His shoulders rising and falling in time with his chest. His peaceful face, relaxed. Draco often wondered if not wearing his glasses had caused Harry's dreams to be blurry, but it was one of those questions too silly to ask aloud.
Looking at him now, Draco could see that the two were practically made for each other. It wasn't hard to realize, but they were actually quite fitting. Harry with his timidness and tranquility, and his pacifist attitude when it came to the real political world. His strive to do the right thing not only for himself, but for everyone around him, and near him. His want for a better world, and his love for his friends, kept in a special place in his heart. His entirely Gryffindor demeanor and courage. His rebellious streak coupled only with his recuperation and view on right and wrong. And though he could be rather pompous at times, he often liked himself better when he wasn't.
Then there was a part of him others had yet to see, Draco realized. The part of him that was only Draco's. That sly smile, or that whispered suggestion. The giving in to all the romance that Draco sometimes craved. And the surprise dinners or theatre goings. Simple things just like buying him flowers or writing him notes before he went to work in the mornings, placing them all around the house so that he was there in Draco's every wake.
And then Draco. His arrogance and snideness. His outlook for himself, and his own personal benefit. Yet when Harry became a part of his life, that side of him had almost split to accompany another being, one just as essential as himself and his own welfare. Draco believed in the best things in life, and while some people may say it was materialistic, or the result of a spoiled child growing up, it honestly wasn't. Draco believed in treating himself, and respecting himself. It was how he'd been taught, and it was how he remained. The odd thing was that Harry seemed to be an imbalance in that scale. He messed with the whole thing.
Draco loved him for it.
Physically they were puzzle-shaped pieces. Draco with his long and lanky figure, which fit perfectly against Harry's brawny, muscular form. And Harry's jaw seemed chiseled specifically for the purpose of settling it in the crook of Draco's neck, making him giggle in the most demeaning of ways. Their hands were sculpted as if in the same stroke, so that it didn't feel anything but right when they were together, holding hands, dancing away the night in their living room while Harry dipped Draco and spun him in intricate swirls.
Draco's pale complexion and platinum blond hair- though the makings of quite a few jokes along the line- made Harry seem all the more fascinating, in his tanned and toned body, his dark hair sweeping his face. And vice versa, at least he'd been told. Draco loved to see how beautifully they clashed when they kissed, or hugged, or made faces for picture-taking in the mirror. They'd fallen straight from the heaven's, right into each others arms.
When they lay together- underneath the stars, or on a couch at a friends party, or in their bed- you could tell that they were soulmates. How each move seemed to be countered with another, and the way that they did nothing without purpose. How the blemishes in their relationship made it all the more stronger, and all the more worth it. How each time they were together they seemed to discover something more exciting than the last, and how nothing ever grew dull in their eyes.
Harry was laying their, with his arms on the bed, right where Draco had fit and had wiggled out of. He wanted to say a thousand things in one breath, about everything that the were and remained and would be. The word Draco really wanted to say was, "fitting," because that was what they were. But instead as he crawled back into their bed around Harry and under his arms, feeling his weight and his body for what it was, he whispered, "Beautiful."
Harry stirred, almost as if waking and seemed to ask Draco what he'd said, and Draco replied. Because it wasn't just the world that was beautiful. It was them, and him, and what they stood for. It was everything and anything, and it was love.
It was fitting.
And it was beautiful.