I’m standing at the bus stop and some high schoolers were trying to decipher the new time table before eventually saying “idk ask the witchy goth lady” before promptly turning to ME and saying “excuse me m'am? When’s the next bus?”
This is it, I’ve finally reached peak aesthetic. I’m the local witch and I’m not even wearing a hat.
Request: “hello there! your works are absolutely amazing and I enjoy reading them so much~ keep doing what you do!!! I would love to request a soulmate au where both newt and reader can feel and witness each other’s pain and even fresh wounds on their own body!! (eg. if newt gets a paper cut, so does the reader at the same time) welcome to the angst train _(:3/”
Your friend holds a bowl of popcorn out to you when it happens.
You curse and grab your arm, curling up and grimacing.
“Again?” Is all Maria says, placing the bowl back in her lap and taking a handful of popcorn.
You groan. “I’m going to kill this idiot when I meet him.”
She laughs. “You’re going to kill your soulmate?”
“Yes.” You grumble.
“Well, how bad is it this time?” She crunches the popcorn in her mouth as the two of you ignore the record droning on in the background.
You remove your hand from your bicep. A red patch of skin grows under where your hand was clutched, bubbling up in the center. You hiss at the sight.
“Oh, that’s disgusting. Do you have your medkit?”
You nod, squeezing your eyes shut. “How the hell did he get a burn there?” You mumble, reaching to your hip and unlatching the medkit you carry with you. It holds everything from tiny bandages to a tourniquet. The tourniquet was a joke gift from another friend when they’d noticed all the scars covering your body, but you’re not so sure you won’t need it someday.
“Leaned against an open oven?”
“With their upper arm?”
She shrugs, tossing more popcorn into her mouth. “Possible.”
“Whatever.” You dig around in the bag and find the bottle of burn cream. You’d bought it six months before and used half of it already.
Maria looks back to the record player, watching the disk spin. “You’re missing the best part of the song.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy.” You spit. You’d been having a perfectly good night before your soulmate had to go and do something stupid.
You finish applying the burn cream when a deep cut suddenly rips opens on your left forearm. A trail of blood rushes out of it, dripping onto your blanket before you can grab anything.
Draco still can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. In fact, considering everything he’s done in the past, he doesn’t deserve any of this. Yet, here he is, three years after the war, happy and content. At least theoretically.
Like most nights, Draco clutches his blanket and stares at the ceiling. Sleeping has been difficult. Not because of the nightmares. They’re not completely gone, but it’s much better now. No, it’s because his chest won’t stop hurting.
He slowly turns his head to gaze at the sleeping man beside him. Draco flinches as his heart gives another painful squeeze. He stretches out his hand and carefully buries it in the mop of black curls, relishing the softness. Harry makes a pleased sound in his sleep and his lips curl up ever so slightly. Draco presses his own lips into a tight line.
Sometimes he feels like his heart is going to burst from all the happiness he feels. It’s like his body can’t cope with it, because it doesn’t know how. He’s never felt like this before. But most importantly, he doesn’t deserve this beautiful and kind man, sleeping next to him.
He still doesn’t understand what made Harry want to go out with him. He even initiated it. And now they’re living together. Draco still has a hard time showing his feelings. How can he be open about it, when he’s so conflicted and doesn’t even know what to feel most of the time? It’s hard to just accept the happiness and the way Harry seems to love him so freely.
Draco thought about ending it numerous times. Harry could do so much better than him. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, but it’s true, Draco thinks sadly. But he is far too selfish to give up on Harry.
When Draco brushes his fingers against Harry’s cheek, the other man stirs and knits his brows together.
“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles without opening his eyes.
Draco smiles at him.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Sorry for waking you.”
Harry takes Draco’s hand and interlaces their fingers. He scoots over to him and buries his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. He inhales deeply and lets out a contented sigh.
Draco feels that familiar squeeze in his chest again. He wraps his arm around Harry and plants a kiss on his hair. In this moment, he vows something to himself. Not a day will go by without him trying to make this beautiful man in his arms as happy as possible. He will do everything in his power to show Harry how grateful he is that Harry chose him, for loving him, for making him want to be a better man. But how?
On the outside, he’s still as haughty and snarky as ever, but his friends keep telling him he’s changed. For the better.
He apologised to Granger and Weasley, but he knows he can do better and he’s determined to do so. Not only for Harry’s sake, but also his own.
And that’s when Draco realises, the only way he can make his boyfriend truly happy, is by being happy himself.
It won’t be easy. He can’t just stop feeling guilty and undeserving. But he hopes he will get there someday. He can’t erase what happened in the past, but what happens in the future, that is up to him. He’s grateful he even got the chance at having a future, let alone with Harry.
So yes, Draco thinks again, he will do everything he can to make Harry happy. And that, apparently, starts with him admitting he is truly happy himself.