And Harry’s heart was pounding all over again. His eye caught on a petal in Draco’s hair, and he picked it out carefully, smoothing Draco’s hair down and pressing a kiss to his crown. Suddenly, all he could think about was Draco. About wanting Draco. Wanting to touch him and be with him. But it wasn’t lust - no, it wasn’t a want of the flesh, but rather a need of his very soul. If Draco was the sun, then Harry was the polar night, desperate for the dawn.