AN: this piece is unbeta'ed, all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter (sadly) does not belong to me, but to the genius of J.K. Rowling. I'm just having fun.
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Draco sighed as he closed the front door quietly behind him, and smiled as the familiar surrounded him. Was he ever tired, after a morning filled with meetings, and a full afternoon and evening of travel, but it felt good to be back in England. Not that Draco minded travelling for work, but it was draining, and even staying at the nicest hotels just couldn't compare to being surrounded by his own belongings. Which is why, despite the late hour of his arrival, Draco was glad he'd decided not to wait till the next day to travel home.
Shrugging his cloak off, and kicking his shoes in the corner, Draco made his way up stairs towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. Reaching the door, Draco leaned against the frame, amusement playing at his features at the scene that met his gaze. Mussed black hair was just visible above the comforter; an open book and wire rimmed glasses lay forgotten on the pillow, the lamp slowly burning down on the bedside table, entirely forgotten.
It was a miracle Harry hadn't burned the house down yet, for all the times Draco found him in similar situations. But this thought was eclipsed as Draco marvelled, yet again, that he and Harry had actually overcome their difference and found themselves in a long-term, albeit interesting, relationship.
Reflecting on the past few years, Draco got lost in thought, memories coming to mind in little snapshots. One of his favourite memories was from just after he and Harry has started seeing each other. It had been a Saturday, and despite having booked it off, an emergency at worked forced him to go into the office. He had invited Harry to wait for him at his flat, not really expecting Harry to accept since the crisis could take several hours to settle. Needless to say, when Draco arrived home close to midnight, he was pleasantly surprised to find Harry curled up in his bed, reading one of his books, and sipping his wine. And when Draco asked him why he'd waited, Harry told him that he'd waited because he loved him. It was the first time Harry told Draco that.
Smiling wider at the memory, Draco was pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of Harry shifting beneath the covers. Pushing away from the door, Draco walked over to the bed, moving Harry's glasses and book to the end table before removing his unbuttoned shirt, and unceremoniously dropping it on the floor, his trousers soon joining it.
Draco blew out the lamp, and doing his best not to disturb Harry, he pulled back the covers and slid into bed, but to no avail—Harry had always been a light sleeper, and Draco couldn't help but laugh a little as Harry rolled over and looked up at him, his eyes blurry and unfocused from sleep.
"Draco, you're back." Harry's voice was thick with sleep and groggy sounding.
Settling down, Draco's head came to rest on Harry's chest, and he cuddled closer as Harry's arms wrapped around him tightly. Draco breathed in, the familiar scent of Harry surrounding him, and he smiled as he felt Harry's heartbeat, strong and stead, against his cheek.
"Yeah," he said contently, "I'm home."
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The End.
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