When Draco returned to the table, Harry shifted with him rather than to let go of his hand. It was barely a deliberate decision, the relief he felt drawing him to Draco as if tied to him with string. The slight extension of their evening had Harry’s mind reeling, wanting to say so much more for Draco to understand that this had been so much more than fun – it had been perfect.<br/>Draco got to it first, and the explanation he offered completely floored Harry, washing away any words dancing on his tongue.<br/>It was the most spectacularly sincere compliment Harry had ever received in his life, without comparison. The slow realization was visible in real time on his features, a blinding smile spreading across his lips, utterly unable to contain the whirlwind of emotions it had invoked within him.<br/>The degree and nature of Draco’s interest had always been a mystery to Harry, and really, the compliment solidified nothing except Harry’s own infatuation with Draco. Nothing confirmed any of the doubts and hesitations Harry had carried for weeks, and yet the one thing that came apparent was the fact that Harry was more drunk on Draco than on the wine.<br/>In a split-second decision, Harry allowed himself to indulge, willing to wager it all on nothing more than the fact that Draco’s hand remained in his.<br/>Harry stood, grinning. Intertwining his fingers with Draco’s, Harry’s grip around Draco’s hand became purposeful, urging him to lean down as Harry himself stretched and his lips met Draco’s in a kiss, finally.