The weight of Draco’s arms clasped around Harry’s shoulders had ghosted there for the entirety of the afternoon. It was greatly distracting, sending Harry’s mind reeling with connotations that made his stomach turn, the inappropriate nature of it amplified by the formality of wearing his uniform.<br/>It had made Harry realize it might have been a mistake ever shedding that layer of professionalism, coming to terms with the fact that it might have softened or blurred their interactions unnecessarily. It felt like it had only perpetuated misinterpretations, and the phantom weight of Draco’s embrace was nothing more than the latest among them.<br/>When Draco spoke, it was the first time Harry had looked up in hours, having made a point of distracting himself with his work. He had grown accustomed to the coming and going of a conventional workday, Harry’s eyes darted to the clock, surprised to find it was only five.<br/>“I can be, yeah,” Harry said, his voice easy despite his lack of footing in time nor space. It wasn’t uncommon for them to work uninterrupted from breakfast to supper, and Harry had paid the hour no mind until Draco pointed it out to him.<br/>Definitively abandoning his work, Harry leaned back in his chair, eyes finding Draco.<br/>“Are you?” he asked, the unspoken<span style="font-style: italic">already?</span>clear in his infliction. It made Harry increasingly unsteady, suddenly sensitive to even minor derivations to their tentative routine.