A/N: I think it's time for a good ol' injection of drangst – Drama / Angst. Where've you been all my life, baby? I've gone far too long without you.

Thank you to all my reviewers, again. And if I can take an opportunity to rec a song: Time After Time by Quietdrive. They are the sex.

Speaking of sex, some happens in this chapter. Non-graphic. Will NOT post the graphic version, as it will get me banned. So don't bother asking. Thank you.

.-xXXx-.

The door swung open before them, the darkness yawning ahead like an empty abyss.

"This is really awkward," Harry said, shuffling his feet and acting like the concrete was by far the most interesting thing in the entire world.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Because, you know, how do you say goodbye? I'm gay, and we're not friends, and even if we were, it's not like you kiss a friend goodnight, unless you're in the habit of doing that to Granger, even though Weasel would kill you, but if you do, I totally respect that. And it's not like this was a date. Right?"

Harry was looking at him strangely. Draco knew he was babbling, but he had a bad case of Motor Mouth and he could. Not. Stop. Talking.

"I mean, I'm not in the habit of snogging my friends, although I know that Pansy would really love that, well, she would if she wasn't married to Blaise, who is actually quite hot in a weird sort of way, but I wouldn't kiss him, and not just because he's straight, and I know Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't like it so much, but they're sort of dead anyway, which brings me to Professor Snape, who is also dead, but he was my friend, and I think that kissing him could put him in Azkaban, so –"

Harry leaned closer. Draco's throat seemed to close up completely.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, and their faces were so close that if Draco just moved the tiniest bit forward…

"Y-yeah?"

He bit his lip as Harry moved so close that his breath ghosted on Draco's cheek, sending involuntary shivers down his spine, and whispered in his ear, "Shut the hell up."

Harry stepped away, grinning madly.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well, see you."

He made to step inside the safety of his apartment, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Harry's hand, of course.

"You can't go in there," he said suddenly, and there was a note of urgency in his voice that made Draco freeze.

"Why not?"

"Because…" Harry looked deadly serious. "There's a ghost in there."

Draco snorted. "I'm not scared of ghosts. I had the Bloody Baron as my House ghost. Like I need to be afraid of anything anymore. That guy made a dozen kids wet themselves every week, just by existing."

"You should be scared of this one."

Draco laughed derisively, but he was actually pretty bloody scared. Harry's hand on his arm was making it hard for him to think straight.

"Where is it?" he laughed.

"In there." Harry pointed with his other arm.

"Where?" Draco craned his neck to peer inside. He squinted into the darkness of his lounge room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Harry's grip on his arm had tightened a bit. He smelled really good.

Draco shook his head to clear his mind and kept scanning the room.

Finally, after two solid minutes of staring into the darkness and concluding that there was absolutely nothing there, he pulled his arm free and spun round on his heel.

"There's no ghost here, you prat!" he snapped at Harry.

And, oh, no, Harry was really, really close again. He lowered his face so that they were on the same level – since when was he taller than Draco?

But now was apparently not the time for thinking, because all the blood was rushing to Draco's brain and certain other parts of his body, and it was all because of that look that Harry was giving him and oh, no. No.

"Boo," Harry whispered quietly, and no, that was far too close for comfort. Maybe if he just stepped back a bit… Or maybe if he stepped forward a bit…

Draco just gave up on thinking.

And then Harry was right there, filling his range of vision with green eyes and smooth skin and that stupid messy hair that Draco just wanted to run his hands through.

And it was okay, because the door frame was actually sort of nice when he was pressed against it like that, and Harry's hand cupping his cheek was kind of soft and rough at the same time.

And there was a desperation in the kiss that wasn't unrequited, and wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and directing him to the bedroom was the highlight of the night.

And, well, Draco hoped to Merlin that there wasn't a ghost in his apartment, because that ghost would be one pervy voyeur of an imprint by the end of the night.

.-xXXx-.

A/N: Okay, so I couldn't bear to add the drangst so soon. Wait until next chapter, guys. It'll be a shortish one.

I was irresistibly reminded of Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing during the whole Draco-babbling scene. She says to Hero, "Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither."

And when I say "one pervy voyeur of an imprint", I am of course referring to that infamous scene on page 431 of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince where Ron retorts, "When we come face to face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a shufti to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking them, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'"