It takes another week of mind-numbing soul crushing normalcy to make Harry forget the brief glimpse of his dead friend. He goes about his daily routine with the same fake smile plastered on his face, helping Hermione to restock the books in their jointly owned bookstore/coffee shop.

The front of the shop is a sheet of embossed glass, translucent and thin and everytime someone blonde passes by, his heart skips.

Hermione stops asking him whats wrong, after being met with silence for the third time and Harry sighs in despair, silently cursing fate that had somehow twisted and turned his thoughts into hoping for the impossible.

The next week, when their latest assortment of books arrives , hes not so sure.

Its a cold day, the rain falling thick and silent and the truck rolls to a stop in front of their store. He looks up at the delivery boy and when the latter takes off his cap, his mouth goes dry and his heart stops beating.

Draco Malfoy in the flesh. Except his eyes show no recognition whatsoever.


As it turns out only he thinks the boy looks uncannily like Draco or rather, what Draco would look like if he'd lived to be twenty eight years old. Hermione grudgingly admits a passing resemblance and absolutely refuses to acknowledge that no one else could have that shade of grey-silver eyes.

When the young man finishes unloading the books and checks off the payment list on his clipboard, he gives Harry a long stare.

"You're pretty weird."

The words hit him broadside, or rather the voice does. This time, Hermione's jaw drops and she stares open-mouthed at them.

"What's your name?" Harry rasps out, the words sounding desperate, each syllable coated with desperation.

The boy raises an eyebrow ( again, just like Draco) but smiles grudgingly.

"Dray. My name is Dray." He intones in Draco Malfoy's voice. There's a sharp intake of breath from Hermione and then-

"Harry, wait!"

But the brunette is already out of the door rushing into the rain with hurried determined steps. Dray blinks in shock and turns curiously to Hermione who merely shrugs helplessly. She pays him quickly , ushering him out of the store before locking it up and running after her friend.


Hermione finds him in the seventh alleyway near the store, retching into the darkness. She waits for the nausea to pass before helping him off his knees and pulling her coat over his soaked shirt.

"It's him, isn't it? It is him, don't lie to me!" Harry hisses , his voice cracking on the last few syllables. Hermione shushes him, cooing reassuringly into his hair, but her mind is whirling in circles. The boy, whoever he was, bore an uncanny resemblance to Draco. That she couldn't deny. But she had been there, that day, when they pulled Draco Malfoy's body out of the rubble at Malfoy Manor. She'd seen the vacant grey eyes and she'd held the limp , cold wrists in her fingers.

She's even watched them lowering the boy into his resting place and there was no doubt, none whatsoever that he was dead.

So who was this.. Dray?

"I'm not sure, Harry. But let's go home. We'll work things out..." She pleads softly and after a few more minutes, Harry gives in.

When they reach the room though, he asks Hermione to find out everything about the boy from their supplier and she wonders if this was going to be a great big disaster.


The boy is Dray. Just Dray, no surname, no last known address, no parents, no family.

Its not exactly reassuring and Hermione tries not to scream her disapproval when Harry says he's going to go find him. Instead she tries to reason with him.

"Plenty of people have look alikes, Harry. It's not exactly unheard of." She tries to reason with him and Harry merely smiles, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to accuse him of hiding his identity. If he's really Draco , he can't hide that. Not from me."

He grins again, confidently and Hermione can only shake her head in despair.


Blaise Zabini owns the publishing house and looks less than surprised to see Harry.

"I was adamant about not sending Dray to your place but the stupid manager messed up . " He intones dully, ringing up a few supplies and shuffling a phone from one ear to the other.

"You knew? You knew there was a guy just like Draco and you didn't.."

"Didn't what, Harry? Call and tell you the good news? What do you think that would have accomplished?" He ends the call and stares straight into Harry's eyes.

The brunette flushes, shaking his head and Blaise's eyes soften.

"We've all lost , Harry. So many people... Ron, Pansy," his voice cracks, " Ginny.." Harry watches the boy's eyes mist over at the name of his late wife. Blaise blinks back the tears and grins, unnaturally.

"But, we've got each other, alright? You, me , Mione... We just... I mean, it's not a complete life but we gotta try , you know...?" He grates, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve and Harry hates himself for doing this to the only friends he has left.

"I just need to talk to him, Blaise. Just once." He whispers.

Blaise sighs, but directs him to a door nonetheless.


Harry finds Dray working in the basement of the Publishing house, loading crates into one of the company trucks. He hesitates on spotting Harry, mutters something to his partner and then moves away, picking up a towel from one of the roughly hewn wooden benches, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. A sense of deja vu permeates Harry's senses , memories of Draco wiping away sweat from his neck after a vigorous round of Quidditch.

"Hey, you're the guy from the bookstore?" Dray calls out , looking curious . Harry searches his eyes for something to click, something to fall into place , like teeth in a gear moving against each other yet in tandem.

But nothing happens and the blonde continues looking at him in open expectation. Swallowing the gazillion questions at the back of his mind, Harry smiles.

"Will you have dinner with me?"


They choose a small restaurant near Diagon Alley and Harry watches Dray fold a paper napkin into a crane. The fingers are almost the same as Draco's, long and nimble. Not to mention unnaturally pale.

"So?" The blonde prompts, once they've ordered.

"Where are you from?" Harry asks bluntly. Dray stiffens, almost imperceptibly , but Harry who has always been attuned to Draco's emotions, catches the slight change in stance.

"Around." he says shortly, his tone indicating that the topic was off limits and Harry tries not to frown. Instead he slips a finger into the front pocket of his jacket, forefinger tracing the edge of the photograph he was dying to pull out.

"Okay. I'm Harry." He says, stupidly. Dray's eyes fly to his, the pupils widening a bit and Harry feels it then. Something clicks, something like gears , but before he can move forward and catch it, Dray draws back, fringe falling into his eyes, hiding away his secrets.

"Oh..Oh. Harry?! ... I.. I thought..." He stutters.

"What?.. What!" Harry leans forward, urgent and confused but the blonde is shaking his head and glancing at his watch.

"I'm not.. Sorry.. I.. I need to go..."

He rushes out of his seat and moves away, swift and surefooted. By the time Harry follows him to the entrance of the cafe, he's already gone, lost in the late evening crowd.


"I think ... its him." Harry says softly.

Its a little past midnight and the pair of them are in bed. Hermione always sleeps on the left and has her back to him. The moonlight traces the paleness of her skin, visible over the neckline of her t shirt. She smiles a little and scoots closer.

There are two beds in the room, but its been years since they've slept apart. It was a small concession , a little attempt at telling themselves they weren't nearly as lonely as they thought.

"Why's that?"

"I can't really explain. When I saw him.. it just.. something clicked. I could feel Draco. I could feel some of the same vibes I got from Draco and he just..."

"He's gone Harry."

Harry shakes his head impatiently.

"I know, I know. Just.. trust me on this, okay? I need to get to know him."

Hermione blinks up at him.

"You miss him, don't you?" She asks quietly.

What a stupid question.

Harry tries to remember Draco , the smiles , the laughter , the annoying smirks and the adorable thoughtfulness. The way he curled against Harry's side and the way his hair felt, sifting through Harry's fingers.

"Every second."

Hermione hums and burrows closer, head resting in the crook of Harry's neck.


The next morning, it's raining as heavily as ever. Harry lets Hermione have a lie in and starts getting things ready to open shop. He wipes down the counters, resets the register, arranges the table clothes and gets the air conditioning running. He's barely finished sweeping the floor when someone knocks on the storefront.

Dray stands on the other side of the glass, looking a little lost. Harry feels his heart pounding as he opens the door.

"I wasn't sure you'd let me in. " He confides uncertainly, shaking his head and spraying stray water droplets everywhere. Harry hums noncommittally and directs him to one of the chairs in the cafe.

"Can I have some coffee?" Dray asks, a shy smile on his face and Harry is smitten. Draco had always been stingy with dispensing smiles but clearly Dray wasn't, as evidenced by the laugh lines on his face.

They face each other over cups of caffeine, eyes trained unblinkingly on each other, weighing their options. Dray breaks the silence with a sigh.

"You think I'm Draco Malfoy? The one who , apparently died in a war."

Hearing that name, in that voice...

Harry's breath catches. His fingers curl involuntarily on the edge of the table, nails digging into the linoleum finish. It takes him a second to realize that there's something off in what Dray had just said.

A war? Not the war?

Dray leans forward slightly, weak sunlight catching on the irises of his slate grey eyes.

Harry swallows, fingers reaching for the photograph that he's been carrying around for over a decade. He pulls it out and slides it, face-down across the flat expanse of the wood. Dray's eyes flicker to the Polaroid and then back to Harry's, lips curling up in a small smile.

"Is this him?" He asks quietly, one slim forefinger tracing the edge of the photograph. Harry nods , breath catching in the back of his throat. Dray gives the photograph a calculating look before pulling it up, till the picture faces Harry while he stares at the plane white sheet behind. He holds it right next to his face and it's like a bolt of lightning because the features are the same.

"Do I look like him?" Dray questions, raising an eyebrow just like Draco and , holy fucking hell, what was happening to him?!

"Yes, yes you do." Harry rasps out reaching over the table impatiently, but Dray slams the photograph back down pushes it across and leans back.

"That doesn't mean I'm him." He says shortly .

"Then who are you?" Harry snaps, losing patience.

Dray hesitates, a bit, biting his lips and shaking his head.

"You don't understand. I'm not... not who you're looking for."

Looking for? Was Harry looking for Draco? It seems stupid to put it that way, considering that Draco was dead.

"I'm not going to be around for long." He confides , softly. Harry opens his mouth to protest but the blonde holds up a hand.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be around but... this boy..," he taps the photograph," he's dead."

"How would you know?!" Harry rasps out in anger.

The blonde smiles.

"I don't. But I think you do. "

Before Harry can ask him to elaborate he's out of the door and into the rain.


"Either hand over those receipts and go find him, or concentrate !" Hermione sounds peeved as she throws a small pamphlet at his shoulder. Harry starts and flushes guiltily. He had no business slacking off and letting her do all the work, but his thoughts were caught and tangled.

"I just... I need answers , but he's so... unreasonable. Refuses to tell me anything, refuses to meet up with me. What am I supposed to do?"

The ideal answer would be to let it go, but in this case, he just couldnt.

Hermione sighs , low and tired .

"Harry, the boy isnt who we think he is. Hes not exactly trying to give you a hard time. he just doesn't see why you're bothering him after he clearly told you he isn't ..."

"I think we should take a break."

He walks out of the door before Hermione can protest.


Harry doesn't stop walking till he reaches the safe apparation point, some three quarters of a mile away from the store. Two seconds later he finds himself facing the tall wrought iron gates of his family cemetery. He hasn't been here in a long while. Maybe every day for the few weeks after Draco's death , until Ron and Hermione had forcefully hid the place away from him magically. After Ron's death, they hadn't bothered.

Let the dead past bury its dead.

He hesitates just a little before slipping in through the gates, his steps sure and confident as he reached the familiar headstone.

Draco Lucius Malfoy
b. 5th June 1980
d. 18th February 1998
Friend, Son and nephew.

Harry hesitates, just a second , before sinking to his knees on the cold hard earth.

"Am I going insane , Dray?" He whispers. The name was something personal. Something no one knew. Something that was specifically chosen for Harry to call Draco, and seldom outside the confines of their bedroom.

The wind whistles through the tears, painting goose-flesh all over his arms and he shivers slightly, trying to get a little comfortable on the cold ground.

"I miss you. So much and... " without warning the tears fall, slow but steady," I just...it seems so stupid, okay? The thought of you just... leaving me... I mean... we laughed , we cried, we played and made love and If I close my eyes and look back I can almost feel that little pulse, pounding near your ears when I kissed you... That was life... our life... our love... how can that just... stop existing?"

He doesn't expect a response and doesn't get one either.


Two days later, Dray is back on his doorstep. This time, he has a small envelope. He knocks on the door and Harry hastens to open it.

"I wanted you to see something." He whispers, the moment they've settled in a corner of the mostly empty shop. He slides the envelope to him and Harry hesitates, feeling oddly stricken.

"What is this?"

The blonde shakes his head, pushing the cover further.

Heart pounding , he opens the flap of the envelope. A photograph flutters out and Harry reaches out, holding it to the light.

His heart stops.

It's him.

It's Harry.

"This...is..."

"Not you." Dray whispers.

Harry looks up in confusion. It is him! The same hair , the same lush green eyes, the frames of his glasses are a bit different and he has the same lightning bolt...

"Oh.." Harry whispers, peering closer.

No scar.

The boy in the photo has a blemish free forehead, smooth and creamy. And his eyes, they're the same shade of dazzling green but there's a lot less sadness, a lot more joy. Harry can't remember having such radiant eyes.

"you're not him." Dray says quietly.

Harry shakes his head in confusion.

"But.."

"I'm not going to be here for a long while. I need to... need to go." Dray whispers, peering into the rain.

"Doing another shift?" Harry asks quietly, trying to keep his sanity from caving in on itself.

Dray snorts and its something between a choke and a sob.

"I meant... Never mind. " He shakes his head, standing up. Harry reaches out quickly, grabbing his wrist.

"Wait! Why did you show this to me?" He asks urgently. The blonde smiles back without mirth.

"I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do." He tries to move away, but Harry tightens his hold on the slim wrist.

"Where did you get that from?" he continues and Dray shakes his head, yanking the wrist back.

"I don't know this guy, if that's what you're wondering!" He snaps.

"Then how did you..."

But the blonde is moving away as usual.


A few weeks pass and soon it's time for another delivery. Surprisingly, it's Dray who lowers the crates to the floor as the truck grinds to a halt in front of the store.

"You didn't come looking for me." He mutters, counting the galleons once Harry hands them over. The brunette shrugs.

"I'm not confused anymore."

What a lie.

Dray looks uncertain before shaking his head and slipping a piece of paper into his hands.

"It's where I live. If you want to... If you want to hang out.." He finishes lamely.

Harry waits till the truck turns a corner before crumpling the scrap of parchment and flinging it into the blazing fire.

It's for the best, he tells himself. The last thing he needs is to get his emotions messed up. This wasn't the boy he knew.

This wasn't the boy he loved.


A month passes and he begins forgetting about Dray. Or at least, he tries to.

But the sightings continue. On occasional visits to Blaise's business or when the boy delivers good to the other business down the street. He doesn't renew his invitation but always smiles warmly, occasionally waving cheerfully.

Once, Harry spots him on the street , but Dray doesn't notice him. It's his favorite incident, watching the blonde gobble something from one of the street vendors, head burrowed deep into the neck og his fur-lined coat, shivering a bit in the cold. He watches the smile, watches the way the light catches the silver eyes and unconsciously strokes the photograph in his pocket.

He stops thinking of him as Draco and starts seeing him as Dray instead. He tells himself he's just another acquaintance, someone who, coincidentally looks like Draco.

In his dreams, however, he has no control over his thoughts.

Who are you? What do you want? What do you crave? What do you love?


As September fades away and cold sleet greets them, Harry finds Dray outside the store again, looking mildly scared. His lips tremble and he pants a bit, like he's been running.

"Hey, you alright?" He asks anxiously, when the blonde steps in , glancing hastily at the door. A minute later three men reach the front of the store, drunk and swaying.

"Come out blondie, we promise we'll play nice!"One of them hoots and Harry finds anger creeping up his spine.

"Stay here." He gives his shoulder a squeeze before taking his wand out and moving outside. The men look a bit flustered, holding up their hands in defense and shuffling away. Harry waits till they turn a corner before stepping back in. He finds Dray kneeling in front of the fire, trying to warm his hands.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks again,moving closer to the his surprise, his face is streaked with tears.

"I'm sorry,I'll just..." He stumbles to his feet but Harry is quick, reaching out and pulling him close. Dray stumbles a bit, crashing into Harry's chest.

"It's okay." Harry says soothingly, rubbing circles on the boy's back, trying to calm him down.

The sobs increase in magnitude and then fade to weak little sniffles before turning into little hiccups. It's a lot like holding a kid, Harry muses.

Once he stops, Dray pulls out of the embrace, rubbing his face on the sleeve of his shirt.

"You must think I'm insane." He mutters , shaking his head in self reproach.

"Are you?" Harry asks playfully and he cracks a smile.

"I'll get going. You don't want me here." Dray mutters, moving to the door, but Harry quickly blocks his way.

"Why on earth would you think that?" He asks, genuinely alarmed.

" You hate me , don't you? I remind you of ... your boyfriend." He looks away guiltily and Harry stiffens.

Fucking Blaise Zabini!

"That's not true. I mean, you do remind me of him, but I don't hate you!" he whispers, stricken.

"Okay."

Silence.

And then a soft, tentative smile.

"Can I come see you, then?"


Harry isn't particularly surprised when Dray taps on his window the next evening, a brown paper bag held high in his hands . He wipes his palms on his jeans, opening the door with a smile. The blonde hustles in happily, smiling an exuberant greeting at Hermione who grins back, albeit dazedly.

They share dinner and Harry walks the boy back to his apartment, a few blocks away from the store.

Dray hesitates near the door and then impulsively hugs him.

"You're a decent guy. You really are. Draco must've been a very lucky guy." He says, a little wistful.

Not really, Harry thinks , but smiles softly at Dray.


The days bleed into weeks and the weeks bleed into months, Dray becoming a permanent fixture in Harry's life. They take walks, eat dinner every other day and even celebrate Hermione's birthday together, trying to ignore the disapproving glances that both Mione and Blaise toss their way.

Harry knows why they're apprehensive.

As far as they're concerned, Harry's in love with Draco. And somehow that is being translated into affection on Dray.

But it isn't a hundred percent true. Dray has his own unique attributes, little things, cute things that attract Harry. Not that he has any intention of acting on them.

At least, not until he's absolutely sure.

Sometimes Harry asks him about the photograph. But Dray merely shrugs, clamming up like an oyster until it stops mattering to him.


"Tell me about your Draco." Dray says , fingers working on a scrap of paper, trying to make a paper crane.

The questions hits him broadside and Harry doesn't know what to say.

Several phrases wage war inside his head and he shakes himself.

"Everyone thought he was this super cool , suave gentleman. But he had this immature, playful side to him, something that only came out with people he was close to. He couldn't sleep without his plushie and he had this pair of bunny socks, supposedly very lucky for him. " Harry chuckles fondly.

Dray laughs along, softly.

"Did he smile a lot?" He asks , looking curious. Harry finds the question odd, but shrugs.

"Back then, we didn't have a lot of things to smile about. "

"The war..." Dray says thoughtfully.

"Yes, the war. But we weren't unhappy. Or rather, we learned to be happy with the what we did have."

The late night snuggles, canned food shared underneath threadbare blankets, stolen kisses while they staked out different places.

"He wasn't perfect. He was just..." Harry struggles to find the right words.

"perfect for you?" Dray smiles thoughtfully.

Harry smiles back.


"Are you cold?" Dray questions him one day, when they're sitting on adjacent swings in a deserted children's playground. The air is thick with approaching winter and Harry shivers a bit , staring up at the star studded sky.

Harry has a very different definition for cold. It goes beyond physical discomfort.

When he doesn't reply, just tossing the words over and over in his head, Dray reaches out, forefinger touching the back of his palm. Harry looks down at the digit. It's the first deliberate skin contact Dray has shared with him.

"I might be leaving soon."

A familiar phrase, one that Dray likes to throw around on odd occasions. Harry's never given it much thought.

But this time, he sits up , senses alert.

"Where to?" He blurts out, turning his hand over to capture the finger in the warmth of his fist.

Dray looks torn, shaking his head.

"I can't.. I can't tell you." he says, voice barely a whisper. Harry feels anger rising, uncalled for.

"Well fuck y-"

His words are cut off by lips on his. Soft and pliant , but also desperate, each slide setting his body on fire, even as he leans back, trying to balance his weight on his wrists. The blonde all but clambers into his lap, his fingers tangling in the unruly mop of hair on his head.

Harry tightens his hold on the thin frame, grunting when his knees land on either side of Harry's waist, hips pressing down on his. He can feel the heat radiating off the boy in waves, even through the fabric of his jeans.

"Wait.. wait.." He hisses, pushing a bit at the thin shoulders , nearly coming undone at the look of want and longing on Dray's face.

"Not until we get things cleared. " He says stubbornly. Dray sighs, but clambers off of him.

"I don't belong in your world. " He whispers, tracing patters on the ground with the tips of his sneakers. Harry tries to keep calm, wondering if he was sitting next to a ghost.

Dray reads his mind, because he laughs, short and amused.

"I'm not a ghost!" He shakes his head, blonde locks falling into slate grey eyes.

"So who are you?"

The boy hums a bit and then leans back, pulling out a familiar envelope from the pocket of his coat.

"I'm a lost little boy." He whispers, giving the envelope a reverent touch. He sighs and then slips it back in.

"I keep moving around, you know. Can't stay in one place for too long . "

Harry wonders what defines the phrase 'too long '. One year? Two?

"When is it too long?" he asks quietly.

Dray stiffens and shakes his head.

"Depends, I guess. This is the longest I've been anywhere." He smiles , almost shy.

Harry waits for him to continue.

"I don't decide when to leave , if that's what you're wondering. It isn't up to me. When I'm asked to leave, I leave." He says bluntly , fingers edging to his pocket again.

"By who?"

Dray smirks , snide and conniving.

"I'm not telling you all my secrets, Harry." He chuckles a bit.

"What are you doing then?" Harry snaps, frustrated.

He doesn't reply, continuing to stare away into the darkness.

They don't say anything else for the rest of the night.


"Ever heard of the term parallel universes?" Dray asks softly, a few days later. They're back in the playground, fingers curled around each other, shoulders brushing .

Harry blinks in confusion.

"Something like an alternate ...reality?" He shrugs.

Dray nods.

"A person's soul is usually grounded to another soul, in the universe he or she exists in. If you're lucky you meet that soul, fall in love maybe get married. And even if you don't, it doesn't really matter , as long as you live in the same plane of existence, balancing each other.

"But if you're unlucky, you end up like me. My soul mate isn't here. In fact I don't know where he is. Until I find him, I'm going to have to keep moving ."

Harry stares at the blonde, not sure what to say. And suddenly , the puzzle pieces fall in place.

"That boy in the photograph is..."

"My soul mate. " Dray says blandly, laying back on the cold ground, eyes fixed on the darkening sky.


It makes sense , in some odd twisted way. Harry has lost his Draco, and Dray is yet to find his Harry. And what are soul-mates, if they don't keep you grounded ?

And they might not be soul mates but there's nothing unreal about the way Dray curls into his side or kisses him breathless.

But Harry wonders if he's the only one getting sanded down. He wonders if love shifts through these universes and when he voices these thoughts out loud to Hermione , she shakes her head.

"You're letting your emotions run away with you."

Harry thinks Dray and him are in love.

Just not in the same universe.

But that's alright, because in the Venn diagram of things that make him fall in love and things that steal his breath away, Dray is the intersection.


"So how does this leaving thing work?" Harry asks out of morbid curiosity. Dray hesitates before pulling out the envelope again.

"The photograph . It's like a portkey. When the time comes, I usually wake up elsewhere. A new life, a new world."

Harry smiles thoughtfully at that.

"Why the photograph?"

"Because it's something important to me. Something I always carry around."


Two weeks later, Dray turns up at the shop, sweating a bit and looking stricken. Harry isn't particularly surprised when the blonde clings to him, burrowing into the crook of his neck, fingers clutching frantically at the front of his shirt.

"I think.. I think it's time." He whispers, lips tracing the curve where his neck met his shoulders and Harry tries not to tighten the hold he has on the boy.

"You're leaving?" He can't think straight, it feels so wrong.

Dray pulls back, biting his lips and nodding.

"I can feel it. It's... I need to leave now."

"Right now?" Harry feels stupid. What can he say?

Dray looks torn and then shakes his head.

"Not.. not right now but... very soon and I was hoping we could... " he flushes and there's no mistaking the way his fingers dig into the softness of his waist.


"Are you scared?" Harry whispers, feeling the strong shivers wracking the blonde's naked frame, the sweaty sheen on his face and the tremble of his lips underneath his.

Dray shakes his head but the wild look in his eyes is a dead giveaway.

"We don't have to do this..."

"No , please. I... I've never... I've never done this and I want... I want to... with you..." his voice fades into a whisper.

When they make love it's close to perfect, each slip and slide of heated skin pushing him close to the edge but not over. And every time he falters, Dray pushes forward and for once, they move in sync , imperfections smoothed out and jagged edges straightened.

When Harry wakes up in the morning, Dray is still there.

The photograph isn't.


People sometimes call it fate, or the red thread. A string that seemingly connects two souls, meant to be together. And like an unfurling ball of yarn, it twists and knots and gets tangled up through every universe he travels. Dray thinks he and Harry are like mismatched gears, each tooth slightly out of sync, moving a bit too fast, or a bit too slow. Close to being perfect but always one step away.

Always brushing but never in tandem.

But the thing about gears is , eventually they will sand each other down into perfect molds , each groove slipping in place with ease.

And as Harry kisses him, fingers curled together, Dray knows that this is it. This one moment is worth all those alternate lives, all the waiting. This one moment is enough to start an eternity.

Enough to create a universe of their own.


A/n :- 5400 words squandered on nonsense! I apologize profusely... * runs away *