Quiet
Harry is small.
That's the only way that Draco can describe him. Small, and quiet, and constantly deferring to Draco's opinion.
And it made Draco fucking crazy.
So crazy that he just found himself pushing, pushing, pushing, and pushing at his boyfriend. Because he hadn't been like this when they were dating, it was something that had developed once Harry moved in.
"You know," Draco said over dinner, a dinner that he knew for a fact that Harry hated but that he hadn't put up even a token protest over when Draco had offered to make it, "I've been thinking."
"Oh?" Harry asked, tilting his head as though he was trying to show that he was actively listening.
He swallowed his bite of scallops, "I've been thinking I might paint the kitchen a mustard yellow."
The corner of Harry's eye twitched but he said nothing.
"What do you think?"
Harry blinked, "Errm. If that's what you-"
"What the fuck?" he finally burst, throwing down his napkin.
His boyfriend startled so badly that he dropped his fork with half a scallop, that he'd been pushing around on his plate, on the floor. "Sorry!" he said, quickly bending down to pick it up. "Let me get the carpet cleaner-" he added moving toward the kitchen.
"For fuck's sake we're wizards!" he exclaimed, flicking his wand at the stain on the floor. "And don't bother apologizing because I know you fucking hate scallops and have been forcing them down your stupid throat."
"Oh," Harry said, staring at the spot and looking unbearably small and fragile.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead, "What the fuck, Harry?" he asked softly.
"Sorry," he said again, crossing his arms around his waist, "Sorry, Draco. I don't mean to be such a burden, to be impossible to live with-"
"But you aren't," he protested. "You've been nothing but agreeable, and affable, and accommodating."
"That was a lot of alliteration," Harry said softly, cracking a small smile.
He sagged a bit, any last traces of frustration flowing out of his body, "Harry," he said, stepping toward him and taking his hands, "you're making me crazy. What's going on with you? There are so many things that I thought I knew-"
"I don't want you to hate living with me," he blurted. "And-" he looked down at their clasped hands, eyes shimmering with tears.
"Let me order a pizza," he said, "then we can talk while we wait."
"But you already made dinner. I-"
"A dinner that you hate," he argued. "I'll eat them for lunch tomorrow."
"I could just eat the-"
"Harry," he said firmly, glaring at him, "we're going to eat pizza and you are going to tell me why you're so afraid of telling me what you actually think."
His boyfriend just nodded despairingly and left while Draco pulled out his mobile to order pizza. When he'd finished, he followed Harry into the living room and pointed to the other end of the couch, "Can I sit with you."
Harry nodded but didn't say anything.
"You've never had a problem with telling me what you think," he started. "I mean, there have been times in my life where I've wished that you wouldn't-"
"The Dursleys were," he shook his head, "living with them was hard."
“Alright,” he said uncertainly. “I’m sorry-”
“They made me feel like by simply existing I was burdening them,” he whispered like a confession. “Like I could never be quiet enough, or good enough, or well enough behaved, or-” he broke off and shook his head. “And I know you’re not them,” he said, looking pleadingly at Draco. “I know you don’t expect me to pretend I don’t exist,” he added. “But part of me feels like I only get so many things that I disagree with, so many ways that I take up space, before you realize-” he broke off and looked down at his hands in his lap.
“Realize what?” Draco asked.
Harry took a shuddering breath and a tear slowly tracked down his cheek, “that I’m too much. That I’m too demanding, too loud, too hard to live with. I love you,” he whispered “and I don’t know how to keep you.”
For a long moment Draco just stared at him, then as another tear slipped down Harry’s cheek, he pulled him into his arms. “You aren’t too much for me.” He squeezed him tighter, “I knew who you were when I asked you to move in with me. I knew that we wouldn’t agree on everything, that sometimes I’d have to make compromises.”
Harry sniffled.
“And, yes, I suppose I’m more used to getting my way than most,” he conceded. “But I’ve always argued with you.”
“That’s true,” he whispered.
“And I fell in love with you anyway. You get to be a whole person with needs, and wants, and opinions all the time,” Draco said. “And none of that will be able to make me stop loving you.”
There was a pause, “how do you know?”
“Because I am already in love with you and having differences of opinion doesn’t change that.” He pressed a kiss into Harry’s hair, “we’re going to fight. We’re going to disagree. I’m going to be an arsehole and so are you. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”
“Will you tell me that?” Harry asked, raising his head to search Draco’s eyes. “When you’re mad, will you tell me that you still love me?”
Draco’s heart shattered further, “yes, darling.” He stroked his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “And if I forget to say it, you can always ask. I will never be mad enough that I won’t still be able to tell you that I love you.”
“Okay,” Harry whispered in reply. “You’re not really painting the kitchen mustard yellow, are you?”
Draco laughed and shook his head, “no.” He pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple, “this is your home too. You’re allowed to take up space.”
And it wasn’t always easy. It required a lot of communication, a lot of understanding, but they learned how to have opinions and how to completely love both each other and themselves.
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no bc i love my granda so so much, he's literally the epitome of what teenage boys and young men should idolise, instead of andrew tate and all that bullshit.
he loves and geniunely cares about animals and children, he geniunely tried to raise his children the best he could, even after 50 or so years of marriage he still looks at my granny like she's hung him the stars and moon, he compliments her every chance he gets, his eyes geniunely light up when he talks about his grandchidren, children, wife, and dogs.
he's never once raised a hand to my granny, and even after all the time they've been together he's still at her beck and call and he always walks on the side of the footpath closest to the road.
he's not afraid to act stupid when he's playing with his grandchildren, wearing tiaras and cowboy hats and putting on horrible american accents. he used to be a teacher in a low income part of his city and didn't give up on those children, he never taught the boys or girls differently, he would take my ma and my auntie and uncles to get a poke every friday after school. (the vanilla kind that you get in the wee metal things in ice cream shops, so proper good ones)
he always listens to what me and my sister and my cousins have to say and he doesnt look down on us and isnt condescending at all just because we're young. he treats me like an academic almost when we discuss theology and history together. the man lives and breathes respect.
the only time i've ever seen him ever lose his temper was when the topic of pedos and people harming children came up. the only time i've ever been scared of him is when i was like 6 and he dressed up as santa and came to our house, (i didnt realise he was santa at first and thought some strange man with a strange voice broke into our house)
he's insanely smart and gave me tips on how to slack off in classes and still get good marks (it was at that conversation i realised thats where i got it from)
idek, just, my granda is soft spoken, he treats service workers with respect, he always always always treats my granny like she deserves the world and more, in all my years i have never ever heard about or seen the man making a joke or demeaning comment towards her, the only thing close to it would be teasing where they both go back and forth.
not to mention how much i love my granny, she could make everything out of nothing and still stretch it. she's resourceful and soso witty. i'm always told i look like her and remind people of how she acted when she was younger, and i hope thats true. she takes no shit from anyone, and battled breast cancer (and won) like it was no ones business, my granda supported her 110% of the way. her ma and da were scottish and she likes to cling onto that heritage, making shortbreads and all. back when my granny and granda used to race greyhounds (ages ago before i was even born) she always had a knack for picking out good ones.
i know this was supposed to be about my granda but theyre a package deal, they come in a pair. and my granny's fecking amazing and its a sin to not sing her praises.
tbh, my granny and granda are some of my most respected ever role models. and he and my granny are the reason i believe that true love can exist and that it can prevail. idek why but they give me hope.
in terms of incels or whatver the fuck, he's what a "high-quaility man" should be. not some wifebeater who objectifies and harms women.
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