The stones that made up the bathroom floor were cold against Draco's feet. He flexed his fingers, held them up to his eyes. In front of the dim light of a torch, they were almost transparent - he tried to focus on the bluish veins clustered inside them. He didn't usually notice that kind of thing - it was just a way to distract himself.
Where the hell is he? he seethed, glancing restlessly at the door. His throat was constricting with the humiliated tears that were threatening to fall, as embarrassing as that was. Ron wasn't coming. Of course he wasn't coming - how could Draco have expected him to? It was so shameful, what the Weasley boy was doing to him. Making him weak. He just wanted these feelings to go away, so that he could go back to how things were before. But... at the same time...
His arm lashed out, smashing his hand into a mirror and raining slivers of glass into the sink. He hissed, recoiling. Looking down, he saw the ruby blood trickling across the white hand he had been admiring only moments before. Scintillating fragments stuck out of his flesh, and even though it looked very, very painful, he felt only a slight stinging. It was like the wounds he saw weren't actually his. He could feel that nameless, quiet emotion coming on. It was always like this - the pain and the way his blood looked always seemed to calm him down, to numb his rage. When he shifted his hand it made it look like he had diamonds growing out of his skin, they sparkled in such a pretty way -
"Malfoy! What the hell?!" He looked up numbly, his face emotionless, to see Ron standing by the door, eyes wide. He actually came. Draco smiled vaguely.
Ron hurried over to Draco, taking his injured hand in between his own. "Stupid git," he muttered, "You just decide to hurt yourself when I don't have my wand with me - sit down." He pushed Malfoy down so that they were sitting side by side on the stone bench next to the swimming-pool-sized bathtub. He reached down with long, delicate fingers, gently plucking bits of glass out of Draco's hand. "Grab me one of those, will you?" he jerked his chin towards the stack of fluffy towels on the Slytherin's other side. Draco complied, handing him one. Ron wound it tightly around Draco's fist to staunch the flow of blood.
Then both of the boys were quiet. Ron was realizing just how surreal this whole thing was. He was tending to Draco's wounds? What the hell was that about? He hadn't even thought about what he was doing - his body just reacted, taking charge. And something about the sight of blood against Draco's pale skin had driven such a panic into him... Still, neither spoke, letting Ron dwell on other things that didn't make sense to him. How had he talked to Malfoy like that, like they were old friends? It was so easy, so effortless. Like talking to Harry.
Things had perceptibly shifted between the two boys, in those few moments. The silence in the bathroom was not uncomfortable, or hostile. Ron didn't feel threatened - Draco didn't feel resentful that someone was taking care of him. In those few moments, during which Malfoy had been too numb to be nasty, and Ron had been too concerned to be wary, a wall had been torn down.
Ron cleared his throat.
"So... uhm... Draco," how strange that the name felt natural on his tongue. "What...What did you want to say to me?"
"I actually don't remember," Draco said, in a soft voice, as though he were afraid of shattering the peace the way he had shattered the mirror. Then they allowed themselves to lapse into quiet, again. Finally, Draco spoke.
"I suppose I should... apologize." He paused. "For my behavior." Those words, a simple sentence, Draco's peace offering. The only thing he could think to say to mend things. He bowed his head, looked at the towel wrapped around his hand, sure that Ron would refuse his apology, get up, and leave. Then he felt a hand on his chin.
Ron lifted Draco's flawless face until those stormcloud eyes met his own. He dipped his head and brushed his lips across Malfoy's, the lightest, feathery touch. A ghost of a kiss. Then he kissed him again, letting their mouths press lightly together. He slowly, tentatively slid his tongue into Draco's mouth, in a way that reminded the blond of a skittish forest creature. And Ron discovered that romance novels didn't always exaggerate, because the taste of Draco's tongue really was sweet.
Ron drew back. Draco looked up at him with half-lidded, silvery eyes, drunk on languid kisses, and breathed, "God, Ron." And then, softly, "Kiss me again." With eyes closed, relishing the feel of Ron's soft, yielding lips against his, Draco decided that this, this slow, tender thing they were sharing - it was as good as, or better than, the fevered kisses he was used to.
Author's Note: Guess who's back! Anyway, I'm liking this story better now that I've taken a break from it, and this isn't going to be the last chapter, either. I hope the change in mood wasn't too abrupt - I was very mellow when I wrote this. And, for my angst-lovers, this is not the end of the anguish, so fear not! Comments would be greatly appreciated - did you like/hate this latest chapter?