Harry liked taking baths.
He never really bothered with it as a teenager (and as a child it wasn’t like he was allowed to use the bathroom for more than five minutes) but ever since he started dating Draco he couldn’t get enough of them.
He liked to sit in the water, Draco behind him, lazily stroking up and down Harry’s torso, candles floating around them midair, giving everything a soft glow.
He liked to sit in the water, Draco’s head tucked on his shoulder, lazily kissing Harry’s skin wherever he could reach, their legs tangled together, invisible under the layer of soap.
Because in that little bathtub of their lousy apartment, it was just them.
Just him and Draco.
The world, the Daily Prophet and its lousy articles, the stress of their jobs and all the prejudices - it didn’t matter.
The world didn’t matter to Harry when he was in the tub - only Draco did.