β’ Λββ βκ³ π΄ππ πππππ πΉππππππ β’ β± π£onight, at the Farewell Ball, a confession loomed β friendship's end, a secret he'd keep no longer. Yet he was bound, still tethered to a love once true. Draco's distance grew, and you filled the space, a quiet comfort. Did he mistake your heart for his own? The ache of uncertainty: was it mutual longing, or kindness masquerading as desire? And if the truth was spoken, would you yield?
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