Brewed out of control
He found the note under a book, only the yellow tip of it visible in the clutter on the desk. Draco never bothered tidying up; said he knew ‘exactly where everything was, thank you very much’. Even if it took him half an hour to find Harry’s hoodie (‘I swear I don’t have it, Potter! You can come search yourself if it’s so bloody important!’). And even though he was relentlessly forgetful, always without just the thing he needed, always having to borrow Harry’s. Pens, for example. And notebooks. And woolly earmuffs, although admittedly only once.
(He quite liked seeing Draco in those. And Harry’s scarf too, ‘just because it complimented the look’. With the cold-pinked cheeks and the smile, bright-bright, and, well. Harry wasn’t immune to cute boys in cute outfits. Certainly not deranged ones.)
He wasn’t looking for a note. Draco said he had eyeglass lens spray somewhere in here—typical. He didn’t have any plasters in the whole flat, had to come to Harry for it, for toothpaste, for a bleeding blanket in the middle of winter, but he had eyeglass lens spray. He didn’t even wear glasses. Didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes at Harry, sending him to the bedroom on a fruitless mission. ‘It’d be a shame if you couldn’t see me properly,’ with that smirk, the one that drove Harry mental. If only he wasn’t right.
In any case, he didn’t mean to, but that yellow corner stuck out enough, and the edge of Draco’s slanted handwriting was like a beacon, not something he could ignore. Not even with blurry eyesight, spray nowhere to be found, and also forgotten. Harry pulled the note free. It was some sort of list, most of the items crossed off. Impossible to decipher anything but the very last line: that coffee he liked from the poncy place downtown (?!?)
He couldn’t breathe after reading it, no idea why. Harry didn’t even know what it meant. The ‘he’ in question could be anybody. Although they did go to a poncy café downtown together, just the two of them, and Harry did go on and on about the Brazilian brew. Draco wasn’t even listening, stirring and stirring his tea. And it was… what, ages ago. Why would he write it down? It wasn’t anything special. Draco wasn’t like Harry, obsessively going over the time they spent together like a sad loser. He wouldn’t…
There was something underneath the note, a receipt. From the café downtown, the one Harry liked. From yesterday, months after they went. After that day he missed the last train, crashed at Draco’s, before he moved in. Before… all this. The receipt was for three bags of coffee beans.
Draco didn’t even like coffee. Certainly not enough to buy three bags of it.
Excitement felt thick in his throat, burny. He had no idea what all of it meant. Shaky fingers, all scraps of his courage finally, finally dredged up, he was going to find out.
(Day 10 of @flufftober is part one out of two! Find all previous Robin’s Flufftober ficlets here, or on AO3, and come back tomorrow to find out together with Harry! )
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