Draco woke later to the sound of the door opening once more. He stared at the dark ceiling and realized a little embarrassingly that he'd slept for at least four or five hours. So much for a quick nap.

When he looked over, Harry stood nervously in the doorway.

"They, um, are all heading out soon. If you're sure you don't need to be checked over..."

Draco blinked at him, drowsiness finally slipping away. "No, I feel fine. Are you driving me home?"

"If you want," Harry said, "though you could stay the night, too. You don't have to get up now."

Draco shook his head as he scooted up into a sitting position and began to rub at his eyes. "No, I slept longer than I intended to already."

Harry stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. He flicked on the light as well, and Draco squinted for a moment until his eyes adjusted.

"It might not be safe at your house."

Draco stared at him, and Harry stared back.

"I wasn't abducted from my house."

"I know-"

"You know?"

Harry went red. "I, um, went back to your house, but your parents said you hadn't been home in hours. So I, uh, sniffed you out with my pack."

Draco stared down at the hands clasped in his lap. "You got your pack to track me down, because I wasn't home."

"Your parents seemed a little confused, is all, because we all know you only run for an hour, not four or five without even contacting them-"

"We all know? What you're doing is called stalking. You know that, right? You know that this is fucking weird?"

Harry set his jaw a little mulishly, but he still looked ashamed, like he couldn't help himself — like he'd looked after admitting he'd peed on Draco's lawn. "We rescued you, didn't we?"

"A rescue which was only necessary because of you in the first place!" Draco yelled.

Harry ducked his head, shoulders coming up around his ears. "I know." His voice was quiet. "I'm trying to... to make up for my selfishness. I knew the risks, but..."

"But?" Draco snapped.

"I was angry," Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. He didn't look miserable, or even guilty, so much as resigned. "I thought, fuck it, I'll just confess to you anyway. What are the chances anything will happen? But then, that night, you were kind of nice to me, for once."

"For once," Draco echoed, voice incredulous, though a small part of him agreed with that description.

"And then I was worried that something would happen, and you were actually talking to me again, and... I don't regret it," Harry finally said, and his face was fierce, as though he refused to take it back. "I'm sorry that my world is intruding on yours, but I'm not even all that sorry about that, honestly."

"You're so fucking selfish," Draco hissed. "What, so you're getting something out of this, and that's all that matters?"

"And you're perfect?" Harry growled. "I offered you something out of this, but you'd rather be an asshole and just play with my feelings, isn't that right? Lead on the stupid bastard sad enough to like you, and then toss him away again. Isn't that it?"

Draco turned away from Harry with a snarl twisting of his features, but his superego chimed in agreement. Yes, actually, that's exactly what he was doing. Because he wanted to, because he could. Because Harry would keep falling for it, and Draco could get drunk off of that power, off of having something Harry wanted so dearly, but couldn't actually have.

If he looked too deeply into it, it was almost like love. Draco wanted Harry to want him and only him. Why was that? It had to be because of something Draco saw in Harry. Why was Harry's attention so important? Because Harry had all of Draco's attention, and always would, if Harry so much as glanced back at him. Why? Why? Harry had hurt him, yes, but he had hurt Harry back. It was petty, but he had succeeded. Numerous times. Why did he still feel this hot, heady need to take everything Harry could give? Why was he so insecure with himself?

Cold washed over him like ice water, like truth. Did Draco like Harry? Like that? It was impossible. There was only lust there. That's all there could be. He was just a kinky bastard, it turned out. Right? But Draco wasn't attracted to other guys. He'd never wanted someone to worship him like he did with Harry. He'd never wanted anything like he wanted with Harry. This strange, toxic relationship they shared... Harry claimed to like him, maybe even to love him, but Draco didn't feel like that. Like he would throw everything away for Harry's attention. He wanted Harry to come to him.

Draco didn't know. He didn't know what any of this meant, but he didn't like the implications, either.

"Maybe I'm just a wretched person," he said.

"Undoubtedly," Harry said, but his voice was soft, almost affectionate, though he wasn't that suicidal. It was a watered-down version, almost amusement, almost candidness. It was the right combination, apparently, because when he approached the bed, Draco didn't look at him, but didn't tell him to back off, either. "But," Harry continued, "so am I."

Draco snorted before he could stop himself. He could think of several examples of Harry being a selfish, almost-possessive-but-not-overly-so piece of shit (except when he was), but somehow, Draco still thought of Harry was pure. Somehow, someway. Harry wasn't perfect, but he was a good guy. Mostly.

"Stay the night," Harry insisted. "I'll drive you home tomorrow."

"My parents are home, Potter. Don't you think they'll want me home? Or at least wonder where I am?"

"I already called them," Harry assured.

Draco felt anything but. "How fucking dare you."

"You were asleep," Harry insisted, and he sounded unamused and tired. "I just told them you were with me. You can still go home today if you'd like, but I think it's best to let things settle while you're here. So your parents won't be targeted."

"What if they're still targeted?"

"Then we'll help them, of course, but at least you couldn't blame it on your presence."

"And if they aren't targeted at all?"

"Then you'll be home soon anyway. What can it hurt?"

"I want to go home now," Draco insisted, but it sounded more like whining than actual protests to his own ears, so it was practically guaranteed that Potter, accustomed to his ways by now, also picked up on it.

"How about we reevaluate tomorrow?" he suggested carefully, fully aware that Draco would throw a fit if he knew (which he did, unbeknownst to Harry) that Harry knew how close we was to simply staying over. "I doubt Ginny has anything nefarious planned, but abductions and the like can still stir things up in our, erm, community. We can just make sure that things are calm before sending you home."

"I think you just like me in your bed," Draco snarked before thinking better of it.

"I do," Harry said, voice quiet. "But, I won't do anything," he promised, even quieter. Shame was written across his face so plainly that Draco actually began to wonder how good Harry was at controlling his urges. He seemed so repentant and, in a way, docile, most of the time. But whenever things got even a little hotter, a little sexier, he threw caution to the wind, it seemed. Or, maybe it was that he was actually learning from his mistakes? As much as he claimed to not regret them.

Harry sighed and walked towards the single window in the bedroom. He pulled the blinds shut — being thoughtful, it seemed — as he told Draco to, "Get some rest. I'll be back to wake you up in the morning so we can discuss again." Then, he turned and head towards the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, because this felt weird. He felt guilty, as Potter was somewhat known to evoke in him, but it wasn't followed by the characteristic anger. No, he felt calm, if not a little dangerous. Kind of like he had when propositioning Potter to let him mark him.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Potter told him, as if it were obvious.

"You said you wouldn't do anything," Draco said, shrugging with forced nonchalance. "Just sleep here. This bed's big enough for two guys to share. It'll be like we're roommates."

If anything, Harry looked even more displeased by that idea. "I don't think so."

"What if I asked nicely?" Draco offered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Draco didn't know, but the more adamant Harry looked, the more he wanted the other to succumb.

Harry must have seen something on his face betraying this fact, or smelt it, or something, because then he was propping a knee on the bed as if to crawl closer. He looked more nervous of what Draco would do than his own self control, which Draco found more than a little amusing.

"Why do you keep provoking me like this?"

"You think I'm provocative," Draco said, pleased with himself.

"You know you are."

"Well, just keep your hands to yourself and we'll be fine. You promised you wouldn't do anything."

Harry bit his lip, eyeing Draco from beneath his wild fringe. "Just to be clear. What constitutes as doing something?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't make me feel threatened."

Harry, if possible, looked both indignant and... interested.

"Yeah... yeah, alright. Scoot over." He turned to shut off the lights and then returned.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. "We're sleeping? Right now?"

"It's nearly three. Did you want to stay up and braid each others' hair?"

Draco scoffed and turned so his back was to Harry. He was even a little annoyed when Harry turned over as well, placing their backs together, instead of staying up to, what, watch him sleep? Draco didn't know, but whatever if was, he had admittedly expected Harry to be a little more amorous, or to at least attempt something. It seemed he'd taken Draco's rule to heart (though technically, it had been Harry's rule, first), and that, if possible, was even hotter. Everything Harry did was somehow incredibly appealing, and Draco was both frustrated sexually and mentally by the strain.

Maybe he did need some sleep. Desperately. Or, a good fuck, but he wasn't getting that tonight.

Draco woke, predictably, warm. Harry, as he had promised, kept his hands to himself. It was the fact alone that there was someone else under the covers with him emanating heat that made Draco absolutely shiver with pleasure. He loved warmth, thrived off of it, and Draco, in the darkness of early morning, finally took a breath and looked at himself. It was still pitch black out, and besides, he was beneath the covers. Nothing could get to him, nothing could see or judge him in that moment.

He was gay, at least, partially. Bi, maybe. Because he was willing to literally turn around and cuddle the man behind him, and had absolutely no hesitations about doing so. Well, not because Harry was a man. He just had minor hesitations because it was Harry, and he wasn't sure if Harry would read into it too much. He probably wouldn't.

Draco was pleased to acknowledge that they were at a point in their relationship where Draco could downright proposition Harry to fuck, and Harry wouldn't think Draco loved him, but would accurately come to the conclusion that Draco was just trying to use him selfishly. Maybe Harry didn't know how genuine Draco was when he teased Harry, when he insinuated the dirty things they could be doing — maybe Harry, though he did know how aroused Draco could become, didn't know how willing Draco actually was. But, either way, he definitely knew that what they had together was anything but love.

And so Draco didn't waver too long before turning around and looking at Harry. Harry still had his back to him, but Draco could imagine his face soft with sleep anyway.

Harry was, honestly, beautiful. The dream boy. He had green eyes, for Christ's sake. Who even had green eyes? Book protagonists, that's who. And, to go with those, Harry had freckles, and the kind of jaw so sharp it could kill. His eyebrows were thick and dark, his nose straight and just right. Not too small, not too big, but perfect for his square face. And then there was his wild hair, often unkempt, but in the right lighting, it looked like oil, with hues of purple and blue — like raven feathers — and honestly, was this guy even real?

Harry had a nice face, but even without that, he had the sort of muscle tone that would make even a real homely looking guy second-glance worthy.

Draco turned and, after a second, wrapped his arms around Harry, spooning him from behind.

It was shocking how Harry unwound, like a flower opening towards the sun. When Draco touched him, his entire body relaxed — the line of his shoulders softening, the resounding sigh of pleasure that followed. As though he'd been holding back.

Draco slowly, slowly pressed his face between Harry's shoulder blades, inhaling deeply but slowly, so he wouldn't be heard. He didn't think Harry was awake, but he didn't want to wake him, either. He just wanted to experience this moment, to live and breathe and touch Harry.

And, Christ, was he warm.

A/N: Kind of a weird, short chapter. Idk, nothing really happens in this one. The next one is good tho~

I was really surprised by which sides people have been choosing in this story! I've got comments saying Draco's clearly in the wrong, and comments saying Harry started it, and none of this drama would've happened in the first place if he'd just left Draco alone. Both are valid points I think, but it's just interesting that so many people are picking up on the small things - I'll be honest, I thought everyone was just going to 100% hate Draco (not hate hate, but just understand he's very flawed in the beginning of this fic), so it's cool to know that some people are like, "Nah, it's more 80% Draco, 20% Harry," etc.