GiftA drabble. Also on AO3 here.“—and they were covered, I swear, hand to Hades, in these gurgling—o

GiftA drabble. Also on AO3 here.“—and they were covered, I swear, hand to Hades, in these gurgling—oh, hang on—”Draco paused mid-story to listen. The second knock on the door was unmistakable, even above the chatter of all the friends at his flat.“Right back, Pans!” he called over his shoulder, heading for the door.Draco’s quaint London flat had lots going for it. It had an amazing kitchen he was teaching himself to cook in; and it had this fantastic stone fireplace that could have been tacky but instead pulled off winsome, somehow; and—most importantly—it was not a stately familial manor with opinionated portraits in every room. But it had an extraordinarily awkward front hallway that twisted around a bend, like a turtle with a crick in its neck. Draco kept meaning to try some sort of wizardingspace spell to see if he could straighten it out—“Oh, fuck, you came,” he sputtered.Doorknob still in hand, Draco stood frozen, gaping at what the freshly-flung-open door had revealed: one Harry Potter, aged twenty four years, looking confused.“Er, yeah?” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “Was I…not actually supposed to come?”Draco loved the back of Harry’s neck, where the dark waves twisted at his nape. Sometimes after stealth training, the hair there would curl in the dampness of Harry’s sweat. Every Tuesday and Thursday between 2 and 4 p.m., Draco would stare across the dueling practice room and think, “I want to touch it.”“No!” Draco said, mentally smacking himself. “I mean, yes. You were supposed to come. Of course! You were invited! I invited you, it’s totally grand, come on. I mean, in, come in, may I take your jacket?”It was April. Harry wasn’t wearing a jacket. “I’m…good, thank you.” Harry’s tongue darted out to touch his top lip. His grin was a small flash of a thing, a gift.Draco, smiling back, let Harry in.https://archiveofourown.org/works/22809412 -- source link

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