for @drarrymicrofic prompt: overdue | wordcount 378
Draco realizes he’s late the night before.
It's something in the way Potter braces himself for the winter cold before leaving the pub—he grips the shoulders of his coat and curls forward, as though a strong wind is attempting to blow him over; as though an organ in his chest has just received a sudden yet familiar shock. Potter looks back once, eyes catching Draco’s and holding; catching and holding, then skipping away. A stiff smile rises on Potter’s face as he waves his goodbyes to the rest of the team.
It hits Draco like a bolt of lightning, just how late he is.
He goes home and paces in the dark; he tugs at his hair and bursts into random and unhappy fits of laugher. Come morning, Draco dresses in a rush. He misses a button and forgets to spell away the bags under his eyes.
Potter is in the middle of giving a brief, pointing to things on the whiteboard with a felt-tipped marker. Draco wrenches the door open and stands in its frame like a madman—hair abused into some sort of crazed bird's nest. The room falls silent. Weasley drops his pen in his coffee with an unfortunate plop.
“Draco?” Harry asks, soft.
Merlin, he is so, so late.
Draco rushes forward. Harry’s expression is confused until it isn’t; trapped between exhaustion and something else, like he’s just gotten through running a long, hard race. Draco’s palm lands on Harry’s jaw, his thumb strokes thoughtless circles over Harry’s cheek, pushing up his glasses just a little with each revolution. Someone whistles and Draco doesn’t care. Harry’s hands slowly raise to Draco’s wrists—not grabbing on, or holding; simply touching, resting. Harry looks at Draco like he doesn't quite believe he's real, but, real or not, he's the only thing in the world.
"I'm sorry," Draco says, his voice pained. "I'm sorry I didn't understand."
All of his Aurors hear the tender, tiny whine Harry makes in response. Draco pulls him closer. Draco wraps him tight. “Been waiting,” Harry manages before Draco meets his lips.
The Aurors whoop and holler; their brief in abject shambles.
“I'm here now.” He kisses the vow along Harry’s mouth, warmth spilling between all the places their bodies touch. Harry makes another sound, letting Draco support the weight of it, him, all; again Draco tells him, again and again, “I’m right here, Harry, I'm here."
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