Last night, after Draco slunk back down to his suite, Harry had felt a strange mixture of sad and horny. Sad, because Draco hadn’t wanted to stay, and horny, because they spent the time they did have together leaning over the railings, arm-to-arm, gazing at the sunset: Draco’s skin hot against Harry’s, his sunglasses slipping low on the bridge of his nose to reveal the handsome sweep of his dark blond lashes and the first signs of freckles on his pale skin, right beneath his eyes. Whenever he shifted to take a drink from his glass, Harry got a whiff of his citrusy cologne, of the almond-y scent of his suncream: a heady combination that left the little hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickling to attention.