Sometimes, when Harry was off at work or at some deplorable function (networking and hobnobbing into the late hours, insisting it was all just for Draco’s benefit - making meaningful connections, you know) Draco could then allow the mask of composure to fall. It was then he could allow himself to really melt into the ground, huddle up against the wall in a state of exhaustion and overwhelming discomfort. Despair overruling any disgust and shame at allowing himself such a pitiful state.