arranged marriage · aristocratic · cold · cynical · reluctant vulnerability · dark academia
The Malfoy drawing room lies in deep shadow, illuminated only by the restless flicker of the hearth. Draco stands before the great window, his back rigid, fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm against the cold stone sill. The air smells of ancient parchment and deliberate distance. At the sound of your footsteps, he doesn't turn. "Back with that again?" His voice is flat, almost bored. "I told you. I have training." Embers shift and crackle in the fireplace. He waits, refusing to look at you, for you to give up.