𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

DRACO shifted uncomfortably in his bed as his eyes laid closed.

He had been unable to rest since he escaped from Astoria's prison. Not properly, not himself — he had been drugged out or stunned by one of the healers, but he had never manually fallen asleep.

He couldn't — he was in too much pain.

His hands had been festering from the scalds the candle had brought upon him. The blisters constantly held friction with the white bandages enveloping them and it soars through him as though his entire body was wounded from daggers. The pain was distracting and craved too much attention, Draco couldn't even breathe.

And he loathed it, that he had to trade his peaceful night sleep and his day-to-day activities in exchange for his freedom from captivity.

He loathed how he had to pay consequences for succeeding in a goal that only a percentage of people have to suffer through.

Draco was clueless about how to cure it.

Originally, he hoped he could leave them cool in a bitter shower but the healers always ensured the protection of the bandages before he had the chance to do so.

He hadn't met a cold surface that could perform the service he needed it too. And in the meantime of that limited search, he was forced to hold himself together — to suppress the scalds that screamed at his skin.

Draco peeled his eyes open after accepting the conclusion that he held no chance of rest during this time.

It wasn't even nighttime, but there was nothing else he could do that would distract his exhausted mind from his injuries.

But, of course, he couldn't do that either.

He stared up at the ceiling, blank. He kept his hands separated, cleverly avoiding the flammable spreading of the heat radiating from them.

Draco blinked, a breath trapped in lungs setting itself free as he stretched his spine, swinging his body around until his feet met the flat plane of floor.

His toes wiggled briefly, the cool surface rippling through the bandages. His feet had been burned too, but they seemed to be healing faster than he imagined.

Still, they ached as he walked through the room and underneath the frame of the bathroom. He leveled himself with his mirror, boring his eyes into his reflection.

His sight had been met with a complete stranger — someone he failed to recognize.

His face looked beaten and damaged, the features he wore so broadly slenderer now, carrying the dark purple rings underneath his eyes.

He hated this version of himself.

Draco forced his eyes away, and they fell onto the sink below. He realized it had been a cool surface a while back, but not nearly enough for him. He shifted in his stance as he found himself focusing on the faucets.

He stretched one of his hands, gently pressing it against the metal of the faucet. Relief tore through him as the cold lasted longer. He had no understanding as of why he never thought to do this before.

He desperately mirrored his motions with the other hand, the same sensation rippling through his skin with his doings.

He groaned, allowing his head to slowly fall back, his eyes instantly shutting. He forced himself to concentrate before he missed the comfort completely.

And just as he found that feeling of escapism, the sensation was ripped away from him. He snapped his eyes open as his head lunged forwards.

The metal had lost its cool touch, now it had been swallowed in the warmth from the blonde man's hands.