that,right?”

harrythinksthisanapology.awaytosaysorry.awayfordraotosaythatheloveshimwithoutatuallysayingit,butharrydoesn’tare.heanwait.inthemeantime,hewouldtakethis.

“yeah,drao.iknow.”hepressesakissdowntothetopofhishead,andthenstepsaway,beausethesongisendingandiftheystaytogetherforanother,itwoulddrawmorestaresthantheywerealreadygetting.it’salmostwithanafterthoughtthatharrybendsdownandkisseshimontheheek,solosetotheornerofhismouththatitisalmostonhislips,likethisisjustanotherthingwherehewouldpresstheboundariesuntilitbreaks,ruinthis,too,withhisreklessness.harrydoesn’twantthat,buthewantsmore,andit’salmostworththerisk.

chapter25

drao

he’shappy.

foramoment,draoan’trememberwhy,onlythathehadgottenthebestnight’ssleepthathehadhadinagesandtherewasnopanilurkinginthebakofthroat,onlythesunstreaminginthroughtheopenurtainsandsendingyellowlightsatteringoverhisskin.herubsthesleepoutofhiseyeslikehe’ssmoothingwrinklesinanoldshirt,andit’sonlywhenhestrethesoutanarmtowhereharrywouldnormallybe(draoisalwaysthefirstoneawake)andtouhesnothingbutthefrayingedgesofthewornoutsheetsthatheremembers—abouttheball,harry’shandinhisastheamerasfshed,thelookonharry’sfaeashereahedouttoaepttheawardthathethinksheonlygotbeausehewaslukyenoughtosurvive,thatewithharry’shandsonhimandhisvoiewhisperingindrao’sear,promisingthingsthatheknewbetterthantobelieveweregoingtoometrue.