The sound of his own name on Draco’s lips felt foreign, but then again, it had never really been a sound that had existed to begin with. Harry could count the times Draco had addressed him by his given name, and most of them were condensed into a single night of poor judgements.<br/>It made Harry stall, uncertain how to interpret it and looking at Draco for answers. Though he understood it to be an olive branch, Draco’s clear remorse seemed to negate the gesture; Harry hadn’t existed to Draco as<span style="font-style: italic">Harry</span>any other time.<br/>“Of course,” he replied on an exhale, eyes once again to the room as he straightened the hem of his sweater.<br/>His voice wasn’t unkind, but matter of factly. Despite the turn their relationship had taken, Harry had trusted Draco throughout it all. He didn’t want to give the impression of the contrary.<br/>With that, Harry would be able to leave the kitchen; he didn’t. It was only when Draco had put it into words that Harry seemed to narrow down the root cause of his nausea.<br/>“Do you trust me?” he asked, against all instincts, but needing to know. His eyes only found Draco after speaking.