(Fic: HP) Thirty-Six Days
Title: Thirty-Six Days
Author: Stardancer star_dancer54
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/DM
Summary: It’s been almost a month, twenty-eight days, since his lover left.
Word Count: 448
Warning: Angst.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
A/N: Betaed by deathangelgw, blessed is she among betas.
He can’t really think of anything to do, so he cleans. He wants to keep his hands busy, to just… shut off his mind. Cleaning helps. Washing the dishes, folding up the clean laundry, and putting the dirty clothes in the washer… all these keep him from thinking too much.
He’s trying to ignore the quiet of the flat.
It’s been almost a month, twenty-eight days, since his lover left.
He feels like he’s dying. The first few days it was all he could do to just breathe. But now…
He doesn’t eat any more, had stopped eating the first week. He sometimes sips at water, but usually drinks something alcoholic. He hasn’t left the flat since his lover left. It’s probably not smart of him, but he just… can’t bear the thought of leaving. Just in case…
In case what? He has to scoff at himself before he reaches for the bottle again.
He tried to block out the quiet with blasting his music. He even tried blasting his music as well. Neither helped - he’s all too well aware of the emptiness of the flat.
The second week, he doesn’t leave the bed. He imagines he can still smell his lover’s scent under the smell of unwashed body, sweat, and misery, but he knows he’s just fooling himself. He curls up on his side and tugs his shirt to his chest, not crying, just holding it. He can’t cry.
At the beginning of the third week, he finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror. He doesn’t recognize himself. He’s pale with dark circles under his eyes, unshaven, and exhausted-looking, but he had expected to look worse.
He had expected to look like someone who’s had his heart ripped out, but he just looked tired.
He made an effort over the next few days to pull himself together. He shaved and started bathing regularly again, but he still has no interest in eating. He’ll prepare some food, but then he’ll just stare at it and feel nauseous.
When the thirtieth day comes, he forcibly shoves the depression away to have the flat so clean, tidy, and perfect that he doesn’t think that their- his friends will recognize it.
The thirty-fourth day rolls past and the thirty-fifth day is shining and bright and with that he thinks that life isn’t quite that bad.
The thirty-sixth day, Draco comes home. He apologizes to Harry for not calling before making up for it as best he can. Harry’s depression fades away again. Harry knows that it’ll come back the next time Draco has a business trip, but Draco will always come back.
Harry knows that Draco will always come back.
Author: Stardancer star_dancer54
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/DM
Summary: It’s been almost a month, twenty-eight days, since his lover left.
Word Count: 448
Warning: Angst.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
A/N: Betaed by deathangelgw, blessed is she among betas.
He can’t really think of anything to do, so he cleans. He wants to keep his hands busy, to just… shut off his mind. Cleaning helps. Washing the dishes, folding up the clean laundry, and putting the dirty clothes in the washer… all these keep him from thinking too much.
He’s trying to ignore the quiet of the flat.
It’s been almost a month, twenty-eight days, since his lover left.
He feels like he’s dying. The first few days it was all he could do to just breathe. But now…
He doesn’t eat any more, had stopped eating the first week. He sometimes sips at water, but usually drinks something alcoholic. He hasn’t left the flat since his lover left. It’s probably not smart of him, but he just… can’t bear the thought of leaving. Just in case…
In case what? He has to scoff at himself before he reaches for the bottle again.
He tried to block out the quiet with blasting his music. He even tried blasting his music as well. Neither helped - he’s all too well aware of the emptiness of the flat.
The second week, he doesn’t leave the bed. He imagines he can still smell his lover’s scent under the smell of unwashed body, sweat, and misery, but he knows he’s just fooling himself. He curls up on his side and tugs his shirt to his chest, not crying, just holding it. He can’t cry.
At the beginning of the third week, he finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror. He doesn’t recognize himself. He’s pale with dark circles under his eyes, unshaven, and exhausted-looking, but he had expected to look worse.
He had expected to look like someone who’s had his heart ripped out, but he just looked tired.
He made an effort over the next few days to pull himself together. He shaved and started bathing regularly again, but he still has no interest in eating. He’ll prepare some food, but then he’ll just stare at it and feel nauseous.
When the thirtieth day comes, he forcibly shoves the depression away to have the flat so clean, tidy, and perfect that he doesn’t think that their- his friends will recognize it.
The thirty-fourth day rolls past and the thirty-fifth day is shining and bright and with that he thinks that life isn’t quite that bad.
The thirty-sixth day, Draco comes home. He apologizes to Harry for not calling before making up for it as best he can. Harry’s depression fades away again. Harry knows that it’ll come back the next time Draco has a business trip, but Draco will always come back.
Harry knows that Draco will always come back.