Unspoken Words

Author's notes: This story is one of the very few I have ever finished. It's incredible what you can do just to avoid homework... I'm usually not a fan of any form of cheesy stories but I can't really decide if this is one of them. You decide!

UNSPOKEN WORDS

Draco has a small birthmark above his left eye. In bed, when Draco is fast asleep, Harry can stare at it for hours. Draco isn't too fond of it; he thinks it ruins his features. Harry disagrees; he thinks the small mark completes the perfection.

Draco's silhouette in the dark bedroom is like a haunting ghost to Harry. It keeps him awake. When sleeping, Draco's lips are relaxed and slightly open. The pointy nose is the same nonetheless but he lets his hair become a messy paradise against the pillow.

Draco always sleeps on his back. Well, at least those nights when Harry is up watching him. He watches the small but important rises of Draco's chest. The one with faded scars of a time long ago.

They avoid speaking of that time. The time is now and they've convinced themselves that now is all that matters. But time does not heal wounds, the scars does.

The moonlit room is a room of many different states of minds. Of course, the room is not always moonlit and the minds of Harry and Draco are not more or less than you could expect. There are times of ecstasy and/or fits of anger. There are quiet and hushed worries hanging by fragile threads. There is trust building up like towers around the bed. There is always an invisible black veil of sorrow hanging from the ceiling. Still, there is laughter and moments of happiness in that room. The moonlit room could tell more stories than the photographs hanging around the apartment could together. Every whisper and stolen glimpse is a story in itself. In some ways better stories than long conversations and bitter words or outrageous fights that all ends either on the kitchen table or the bed.

The nights Harry lies awake his eyes tells stories no mouth will ever come near of speaking. The closest thing is that small kiss on Draco's collarbone that Harry plants every time before his eyes falls closed. And Draco let him, because he doesn't need to hear stumbling words telling histories that sometimes are too big for words anyway. He doesn't even need to see the reflection of them. After all these years, he's seen those eyes enough times to know how many time they blink per minute. Draco just needs to feel the minimal vibration of eyelashes smashing into each other, the small gust of Harry's breath on his cheek and when the time comes, the warmth of a pair of lips pressing against his skin.

Harry doesn't know that Draco is aware of the slightly obsessive habit. Harry is for one sure that Draco could not possibly look so calm and peaceful in a conscious state and he's also rather aware of the fact that Draco would not let him stare his eyes out without asking him what the fuck is going on. What Harry forgets is that Draco too has stories to tell but no words to tell them with.

The moment Harry's breathing gets heavier against Draco's shoulder he opens his eyes and the moonlight smiles at him. A new story is to be told, in the silence of unspoken words. Harry would've known this if someone just would've told him. Draco softly kisses Harry's cheekbone.

"I love you too."

fin