As Draco undeterred peeled layers off of Harry, it was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between intent and touch. Harry understood he was alone in that; he saw the same focus in Draco’s eyes as he had grown accustomed to from the tens of tests they had done in the study, and his touches didn’t linger as they otherwise tended to. It made Harry want to combust, the weight of Draco’s gaze just as thrilling as the weight of his body.<br/>“Yeah,” he breathed, though he wasn’t actually sure he was. In the very back of his mind Harry recognized that there was a daunting possibility that the results of the test would be unsatisfactory, that his condition hadn’t improved enough for Draco to stay.<br/>It made Harry’s throat knot up, realizing he wasn’t prepared to face that loss as he watched Draco’s hair fall loose around his face. In a subtle attempt to combat it, Harry’s hands fell from Draco’s hips, trailing a few inches down his thighs before settling in the creases of his knees, desperate to keep Draco for another bit longer.