Prompt by almonds13

Harry's hands were shaking again.

It was a fun side effect of his anxiety.

He sighed, setting down his cup of tea. There was no point in trying to hold it, he would just spill it everywhere with how badly he was shaking.

Loud noises were the worst. Bangs, crashes, anything loud and sudden really, could send Harry right back to the war.

It had gotten better since he had moved to Muggle London and away from the hundreds of reporters asking him what if felt like to die.

He hadn't seen Hermione and Ron in two years. Well, not really seen them, not in person, but every time he looked at the little otter winding around his right forearm or the chess piece on his right wrist he remembered them.

Maybe saying he hadn't heard from them in two years would be a more accurate statement.

Well, it would be more accurate if he didn't hear Hermione's screaming in his dreams.

The otter and the chess piece weren't the only tattoos he had. He had a full moon on his left shoulder blade, a lily on his collarbone, a black dog that ran circles around his right ankle, and the antlers of a deer framing the lily. 

To say he was a regular at the tattoo shop across the street would be an understatement. He practically lived there. They knew him by name.

He went there when he was anxious and got little pieces of his tattoos done at a time until his anxiety faded. People usually did tattoos in parts, because they only had a certain about of time. Harry did it because he only needed little parts at a time. He had the money to pay for it.

Harry put his head down as his anxiety started getting overwhelming. His hand was tapping against the table, making an annoying noise, and Harry decided fuck it, it's not like I have anything to do today.

"Hey, Harry," Jackie greeted as he walked in. "What are you getting done today? We've already got... let's see, best friends, parents, guardians. Are we finally getting one for a boyfriend?"

Oh yeah, and Harry was gay.

He had realized it shortly after moving here, when he went to the wrong kind of bar by accident and met a very handsome man who proved to Harry that maybe him coming there wasn't an accident.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend and you know it," Harry grumbled. Jackie's grin widened.

"I can set you up-"

"No." Harry sighed. His anxiety was becoming almost unbearable. Jackie's smile faded. She recognized the signs of his anxiety attacks, usually just before they happened, and would always help him through them.

"Alright, so what are we doing today?"

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "I think I've run out of meaningful ones."

"What about me?" Jackie pouted. "I'm your friend. Get a trash can on your ass for me."

Despite his anxiety, Harry laughed. "You're an idiot."

Jackie was studying him thoughtfully.

"You know, you've already started a sort of rocker vibe, with your tattoos and the nose piercing you let me give you. Why don't you try dying your hair?"

Harry blinked. He had never really considered it before. His hair had always been a signature of him looking like his father, but now that he was 22 and had outlived him, it was just a painful reminder.

"Okay," he said, shrugging.

Jackie positively lit up, and Harry should have recognized the devious look on her face as she shouted "Draco!"

No. No way.

And yet there he was, staring at Harry with just as much shock as Harry was staring at him with.

Draco Malfoy was here. In Harry's favorite tattoo parlor.

And his hair was lavender.

"Potter," Draco whispered, grey eyes wide and stunned.

"You know each other?" Jackie gasped "Small fuckin' world! That's awesome. Dray, Harry wants to dye his hair."

"I thought I told you not to call me that," Draco murmured, eyes still locked on Harry.

"Hello," Harry said quietly. Well, this wasn't helping his anxiety at all.

"I'm not stalking you," Draco replied. "I didn't know you live here."

Harry was just nodding, not sure what to think. When had Draco dyed his hair that gorgeous color?

Draco ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly as if out of habit before dropping his hand.

"Are you still willing to get your hair done? Even if it's me?"

Jackie's self-satisfied smile was starting to fade as she put together the pieces of their conversation to realize they weren't friends.

"I guess so," Harry replied quietly.

"What color would you like?"

"Purple," Harry murmured, still focused on Draco's hair. Then he blinked. "Dark purple. Mixed with my natural hair."

"Ah. Highlights. Sounds good, follow me." Draco was very awkward as he bumped into a table turning around, mumbling an apology (which was incredibly cute) and guiding Harry to a room in the back.

God, seeing him just threw Harry back to eighth year, when Harry's obsession with Draco had turned into one that was less about trying to catch him being a terrible person and more about Harry's hand, the locker room showers, and a lot of inappropriate dreams.

The last time he had seen him was the last day of eighth year, when Draco had quietly thanked him for speaking at his trial and left.

That was four years ago.

And now Harry was sitting in a chair as Draco rinsed his hair and then put something on it, and then a lot of tinfoil, which made him look fucking stupid, a fact that he mentioned to Draco that had the other boy grinning and agreeing.

After a bit of staring at Draco and how pretty he was while Draco did various things and didn't notice Harry, Draco finally started taking the tinfoil out of his hair and explained that he was going to wash it.

It was a wonderful feeling, really. The cool water on his head, Draco's fingers massaging his scalp, Harry could almsot fall asleep with this feeling.

This was so much more relaxing, he was dying his hair instead of getting a tattoo next time he felt overwhelmingly anxious.

Harry noticed Draco had paused in his work for a second, before curious fingers returned, winding around Harry's hair and tugging lightly.

Harry made a small noise of surprise... and maybe something more.

Okay, he had always known he had a hair-pulling thing, but he never expected Draco Fucking Malfoy, with his stunning purple hair and his gorgeous fucking face to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

There was a longer pause now, and Harry refused to look in the mirror and see Draco's face.

Then Draco pulled his hair again. Harder.

And this time, Harry fucking moaned.

He actually fucking moaned, and immediately slammed his hand over his mouth, but it was far too late.

He glanced in the mirror and met Draco's eyes.

Draco was staring at him with an expression Harry had never seen on the blonde before, alarmed and surprised and...turned on?

There was no way.

"I'll be right back," Draco said hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly. He rushed off.

Harry stared in the mirror at himself.

"You're a fucking idiot," he whispered to his reflection.

A few moments later Draco returned, looking very awkward and nervous. He tilted Harry's head back without speaking and continued to rinse his hair.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out.

Draco paused. "Don't be sorry."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

Draco looked frozen now. He was shifting slightly and seemed very off. Harry sat up, running his fingers through his wet hair and ignoring the way Draco winced when it came off purple.

"Look, I don't want to make things weird between us, especially if we're both living here, and-" Harry cut himself off as he glanced down. His eyes widened.

"Did I do that?"

Draco shifted to the side. "This is very unprofessional of me, I'm so sorry-"

"Damn," Harry murmured. Then he grinned and met Draco's eyes.

"Wanna be a little more unprofessional?"