#autumnsnugglingwrites

“You weren’t in so I signed for your parcel,” he says.

Scowling isn’t polite in these situations, but it’s all he can do right now. 

“Th—thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugs slightly. Draco fiddles with a bit of brown tape. “You can look at me, you know. I’m not going to burn your retinas with my ugliness.”

The forced lightness in his voice fails to hide a deeper ring of something, and it’s unmooring. He never used to play games like this, and it makes Draco’s hair stand on end.

“If that’s all…”

There's a beat, but then he sighs heavily. “Yeah, that’s all.”

*

“Hey, Malfoy, you’re okay.” 

He’s not okay, how can he be okay? He can’t find his keys and he dropped his change and his coat is too old so rain’s dripping down his back and there were all these kids and where the fuck are his keys—

“Draco.” 

He blinks, bright eyes suddenly there while warmth holds his elbows. Which appear to be shaking.

“I’ve got you, breathe with me, okay?”

He can barely swallow, let alone breathe, but he chases that voice regardless, the praise so kind his knees tremble and ungodly noises crawl up his throat. 

“Better?” 

Too much time has passed when he asks, and now too much tiredness weighs down each slower, steadier breath. Bronze hands still hold him gently, and he squirms at the wetness on his face. 

“I— I have to go.”

*

His smile is tentative yet blinding, and his ‘Hey,’ is low and private, like they’re sharing a secret instead of passing on the stairs. 

“I got your note.” He stops, so Draco has to stop too, right on the stain on the carpet. It looks like a hippo from this angle.

“You’re welcome, Draco.”

It sends shivers down his spine, hearing his name like that, and he sounds so real, so genuine, he can’t stop his eyes from flicking back to his. They’re just as dazzling as ever, and happier than should be humanly possible. He feels his cheeks heat.

“I want you to know, I’ll always help you if I can. So, if you need something, just—” he shrugs, “knock on my door.” Then, when Draco’s brow pinches, as it always does, “I mean it, Draco. I’m not going to make you move. You can trust me.”

And when his voice is so gentle, he really wants to believe him.

*

“Fuck, sorry.”

Footsteps run towards him as he bends to pick up the apple.

“Apparently one of my shopping bags broke, and, well, decided to attack my neighbours with fruit.”

“Maybe they’re trying to escape your horrendous hair.”

His bark of laughter covers Draco's choke at his reckless words, and Draco's stomach does a weird flippy thing at the sound. 

“Maybe.” His grin could light up an entire city. “It’s either that or it’s trying to escape the crumble it’s destined for.”

Crumble. His mouth waters, and from the quirk of his lips, it’s far too obvious.

“You could come over for some, if you wanted?”

“Uh— I— I don’t— Um—”

He chuckles softly, and it shouldn’t sound fond. 

“Just think about it,” he says, and there’s that soft, too-beautiful-to-be-real smile making his head spin again. “I’ll save you a bit.”

*

He swallows hard. “I'm returning your bowl.”

“I can see that,” he grins too easily, lounging against his door frame. “Did you enjoy it?”

Too much. “It was pleasantly surprising.”

The answering laugh curls his toes and flips his stomach. “I'm honoured to receive such high praise.”

“Don't get used to it.”

“Oh, no,” he smirks. “Of course not.”

Draco bites his lip as the silence extends, hands too empty, cheeks growing hot.

“I could make some tea, if you'd like?”

It's quieter than the other requests—more gentle. Devoid of all pressure but cushioned by tentative hope, and Draco begins to want. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, tongue too traitorous for his heart. But he gives a light huff, and through his lashes, Draco glimpses that sugar-sweet smile.

“Okay, not yet.” And it's a promise Draco knows he'll have to keep. 

*

The bass drums through the walls, into his skull, and his fingers clench.

'Get some space. Take a break,' his head whispers. But outside is too dark, and his chest tightens.

'It's just a bad night. Just one party.’ He tells himself, trying to stay calm. Then fails when his thoughts run away from him.

His feet landing in his hall tell him he's moved, as do his shoes, now on his feet, and his jacket in his hand, but he can't tell how they got there. Someone knocks on the door before he reaches it.

“Sorry, I didn't want to startle you,” he says, hair wild enough for birds to nest in and just as cozy. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with— this.”

He doesn't mean to whimper, or sway on the spot, but another shriek of laughter lances through him and it's so loud it hurts. 

“Obvolvere,” he murmurs, and then it's barely there, just a distant thud beneath his feet, and his eyes flutter closed.

“Thank you.”

He says it before he can think through the lingering buzz, but he can't summon the energy to care. 

“It's nothing.” His molten emeralds shine only with concern, and for the first time in months, he feels cared for. “Get some sleep, Draco.” 

“Wait—” He blinks, panic hissing at the threat of him leaving. “Um, would— would you like— t—tea?”

A slow smile warms him from the inside out.

“I'd love some.”

—

“You should sleep.”

He knows this. Knows from the way his eyes are heavy and itchy and weeping. Knows the disappointment at the idea of letting him leave, the fear of the noise—the gap between them—returning.

“You're one to talk.”

Potter snickers, and it's unfairly pretty. “I'm not the one falling asleep on his sofa.”

“Hmm.” It's all he can say, eyes drifting closed once again. 

“C'mon,” he murmurs, and then there's a hand, solid but gentle, at his elbow. “Bed.”

He stumbles willingly into Potter's solid warmth and sighs. Safe.

“I won't come in,” Potter murmurs, chivalrous to the core. “Just wanted you to get some decent rest.”

“Will you—? Um, I mean, when will—? Can we—?” His brow hurts from wrinkling.

“Can I come see how you slept, tomorrow?”

He shivers at the care in his voice.

“Yes.”

*

He's always kept his word. Draco knows this—scorned him mercilessly for it in a previous life. Yet still his heart leaps, relieved, when Potter smiles at him as he opens his door.

“Hey,” Potter breathes, and butterflies, beautiful and wild, explode everywhere in Draco's chest. 

“Hi.“

*

“A movie I wanted to watch just came out on video,” Potter says. “Want to watch it together?” 

Draco barely knows what movies are. He nods immediately. 

Potter’s too-bright smile is impossible not to return, Draco’s stomach jumping like the kernels of corn Potter shoves in the microwave. They smell almost as good as him. 

“Okay,” Potter soon sits beside him, remote in one hand, bowl of popcorn in another. He flashes Draco another smile, a hint of nerves hiding in the dimples of his cheeks. “I hope you like it.”

He nods, knowing he won’t be able to focus on anything but the warmth coming from just centimeters away.

The buttery smell emanating from the bowl is too alluring, and after Potter’s crunched on a few mouthfuls, it seems socially appropriate to reach for some popcorn too. His fingers brush Potter’s. Electricity crackles on his skin. 

“After you,” Potter murmurs, his smile as sweet as the kernels. Draco thinks kissing him would be even sweeter.

*

His mouth waters at the scent wafting from the oven, and he bites his nails. 

The last three haven’t been right—too burned; too flat; too bland. But this one smells dangerously promising. 

He still jumps when the timer dings, despite watching the final seconds tick down, and the heat of the oven takes his breath away. But these lemon cupcakes are golden, springy, and perfectly risen. 

He flits from the sofa to read, to the radio, to the bathroom to clean whilst waiting for them to cool, then painstakingly slathers on the lemony icing. Once they’re arranged just so on a plate, he sucks in a deep breath, hesitantly walking up the corridor.

“I made cupcakes,” he blurts as soon as the door starts to open, Potter’s face not yet fully in view. Potter’s kind chuckle threatens his already shaky grip on the plate.

“I can see that. They look amazing.” Potter leans forward, inhaling deeply. Draco curses the heat rushing to his cheeks. “I could make some tea for us both, if you want?”

Heart rabbiting in his chest, he nods once. “Y-yes, please.”

Potter’s beam warms him down to his toes. 

*

Cooler air teases at his cheeks, the first hues of autumn painting the leaves. He burrows further into his thick scarf, letting his eyes fall closed.

“You look so cozy,” Potter audibly smiles as scuffed his trainers crunch on the gravel path.

“Not everyone can be a walking radiator,” he snips, knowing the scarf doesn’t hide his smile at Potter’s chuckle.

“Well excuse me for having good circulation and a bit of meat on my bones.” A shoulder knocks into Draco’s, then stays much closer than before. He has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re not excused.”

Potter’s laugh seems to dance on the breeze, loud, and carefree, and infectious, and Draco wants to bottle the sound; to clutch it close and bask in it. Then the shoulder knocks into him again, and this time long, sure fingers hook around his gloved ones, halting the earth in its path. 

“Hmm, what if we get a hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun?” Potter asks, low and private. “Would I be excused then?”

Tentatively intertwining his fingers with Potter’s, Draco forces his voice to stay steady.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we.”

*

“I should probably get going,” Harry frowns. “Apparently, I have to be up in the morning.”

“However will you cope?” Draco rolls his eyes, his heart sinking slightly all the same. 

“Your kind words support me endlessly, did you know?” 

Draco pokes his tongue out. Still, the warmth of Harry’s leg pressed against his disappears, and he rushes to stand too. To delay the inevitable. Harry just smiles, slots their fingers together. Squeezes tight. 

“I’ll come round tomorrow? After 3?” he asks, standing in front of the open door but facing Draco, emerald eyes sparkling and kind and reassuring. 

“After 3,” Draco nods. “And we’ll make pasta?”

“We will,” Harry promises. “I’ve already got the garlic bread.”

“Good.”

The seconds stretch into more, but his grasp on Harry’s hands never wavers, and neither does Harry’s smile. Then those emerald eyes flicker lower, to Draco’s lips, and Draco’s breath stutters.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” Harry murmurs again, lower this time, closer too. Draco’s vision clouds as Potter creeps into his space. Just close enough for soft, plush lips to brush against his.

Draco just stands, still as a statue, barely breathing. 

He manages to gulp as Harry leans back, wanting to melt back against Harry’s lips. 

“T-tomorrow.”

*

“Cuppa?” Harry asks over his book. His hair is mussed from lying down on the sofa. Draco wants to run his hands through it.

“Cuppa,” he says, stretching. “I’ll help.”

A hand finds his, warm and soft, guiding him up from his seat and safely into the kitchen. His grasp feels empty when Harry lets go and moves towards the kettle, but he turns to dig out some mugs anyway. Harry always came back.

There are teabags already plucked from the barrel and waiting when he turns around again, and a hand on the centre of his back tells him Harry’s reaching for a teaspoon, while he gets the milk. 

“We make a good team,” Harry murmurs close to his ear, an arm snaking around his waist. 

“Hmm. Maybe you’ve just been stalking me,” he whispers back, leaning into him. 

“Always,” Harry grins, pressing his lips to his temple.

*

Warmth. Endless warmth is all he knows as he slowly floats into consciousness. 

“Morning, gorgeous,” Harry’s sleep-husky voice rumbles in his ear. 

“Mm,” he moans into Harry’s chest, purring when fingers stroke through his hair. “Too early.”

He grumbles when Harry snickers, jostling him unfairly, but then the arms holding him in place tighten around him, and maybe he can forgive the indiscretion. 

“So I guess I’m not allowed to go to the toilet yet, either?” Harry asks. Draco wraps his legs more firmly around him.

“Message received,” Harry chuckles again, lips close enough to graze his forehead. Draco sighs approvingly when they stay there; a prolonged kiss. 

Long seconds, minutes, or hours later, his hand finds Harry’s jaw, thumbing gently over the stubble that’s grown in, then leans up to capture Harry’s lips with his. 

“I really like our room,” he murmurs. 

Harry smiles against his lips, giving him another sweet kiss back.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked stiffly. Ridiculously emerald eyes sparkled in amusement.

“Uh, £12.30, but I’ll knock off the 30p as a thanks for the lesson earlier if you like?” he winked, that irritating grin flashing a set of perfect pearly teeth. Draco quickly thrust a ten and a five at him, basically snatching the proffered bag out of the man’s grasp.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” he clipped, “Keep the change.” 

“Wait!” resistance met him. Draco sighed, not quite as quietly as he’d intended too, begrudingly inching the door open again. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re gorgeous?” 

Draco sputtered, cheeks flaming.

“I beg your pardon?!” The biker grinned, a satisfied twinkle appearing in his eyes as he shifted his weight, placing one hand on his slender hip. It definitely didn’t draw attention to his lean physique. Or his muscular arms under all that leather. And Draco certainly didn’t stare or feel his mouth start to water for a whole other reason. Not at all. 

“I mean it!” The man continued, “You’re stunning! And I’m sorry I was driving like a maniac, but I’m glad it made us run into each other.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, in an almost slightly self-conscious manner. “Why don’t I thank you for sparing my life with a drink sometime?” 

Draco frowned, bewildered.

“Is this what you do every time you make a spectacle of yourself in front of someone? Ask them out?” The delivery guy merely laughed.

“No, it’s just that every time someone threatens to run me over with their car I feel like I should employ one of my three brain cells and do something fun with my life.” The smug look was back. Draco stammered as the flush that crept up his neck had nothing to do with annoyance, mouth working like a codfish. The stranger regarded him, amusement plain on his face, before taking pity on him. 

“I’m Harry,” he extended his hand. Draco stared at it, blinking, before shaking himself slightly and grasping it.

“Draco.” Emerald eyes sparkled at him. Excitement rippled through his stomach.

“Pleasure to meet you, Draco,” he exaggerated, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Likewise.” 

For a few seconds they stood, hands still clasped, the biker’s- Harry’s - warm in his, rich eyes boring into his, Draco’s breath suddenly catching in his throat slightly. But then, all of a sudden, Harry winked again, dropping Draco’s hand as he stepped back slightly.

“My number’s in the bag,” he said, grabbing his helmet and pulling it down over the bird’s nest that was supposed to be his hair. 

“Call me!”

“Uh…” Draco managed, as Harry swung a well defined leg confidently over the monstrosity. As the bike roared to life, Draco snapped his mouth shut once more, before shuffling back inside, hardly hungry anymore. 

Still, as he settled onto the sofa with a plateful of far too much food, Harry’s number on the arm of the sofa next to him, he couldn’t keep the undignified, ridiculous, and downright giddy smile off his face. Maybe this day hadn’t been so bad after all...