"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have."

"I said I was sorry."

Draco slammed the bin shut, mouth tight. "And I said to just leave it be."

"It wasn't all that bad." Ron stood at the door of the kitchen, arms crossed.

"Sod off." Draco leaned against the sink, fingers curled against the rust-streaked porcelain. He stared out of the tiny, grimy window into the narrow London street below, watching with utter disinterest as a battered Muggle lorry clattered down the cobblestones, belching grey-black fumes. He exhaled slowly.

Ron sighed and rubbed his palm against Draco's back. "If you really want to learn, Mum could teach you."

Draco jerked away. "Fuck you, Weasley."

"I thought you rather liked that," Ron snapped back.

They glared at each other.

Draco looked away first, scowling at the scorched saucepan.

Ron touched Draco's cheek, fingertips stroking across pale skin. "Tomorrow I cook."

Draco kissed him and smirked. "Of course you will."

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