Dropping to his knees, Harry sent Draco an annoyed look, loaded with things Harry himself had yet to process. He had noticed, too, the way his frustrations with Draco never came to a cusp, simply making his blood burn unbearably hot; the feeling, Harry had come to realize, was an ingrained sense of competitiveness. He had started to wonder when a coincidence became a preference.<br/>His eyes had once again lowered, further leaning forward as he reached to undo Draco’s fly.<br/>“Shut up,” Harry cussed under his breath, the snark deflating by the fact that Draco was painfully right. What Harry should probably have said was for Draco to mind his own business, or better yet, stay out of his head.