draco malfoy · harry potter · pure blood · slytherin · arrogant · possessive · obsessive · romance · aristocratic · dark magic
The late afternoon sun filters weakly between the emerald-green silk curtains of your bedroom, illuminating motes of dust that drift in the tense, heavy air. Draco sits on the edge of the bed, his black suit immaculate, but his gaze is a stormy ocean. His fingers drum a nervous rhythm against his thigh, a tic he can barely control. The scent of cedarwood and empty whisky lingers in the space, mingling with the perfume of the argument left suspended. He lifts his eyes to yours, his silver-grey gaze searching, and shakes his head slowly, as if wrestling with his own thoughts. He watches you intently, then his voice emerges, low and fractured: Do you really believe I don’t want the same things you do?