The more affection Draco bestowed Harry, the more it undermined every effort Harry had put into trivializing the night they had spent together as a one-off mistake. Every pull of his hair sent needles down Harry’s spine, a pitiful reminder that Harry would have slept with Draco again had Draco not withdrawn. Every rational thought to talk him out of wanting Draco had only existed in Harry’s consciousness by necessity, and not by his own volition.<br/>“Yeah,” Harry replied, barely air in his lungs to speak it. It made the word catch in his throat, desperate to speak it into existence, a flush across his cheeks.<br/>The confirmation came clearer, better articulated. “Yes.”<br/>Draco’s arms around Harry were still too tight for Harry to move, his hands dropped from Draco’s waist. His palms flat against Draco, they slipped to his hip bones to push him away, urging him to move.