Nowhere Else to Go

Chapter 2

Draco was the first to wake up in the morning. He had fallen asleep on his side, facing away from Harry. There was no arm around his waist, no sign of Harry's touch at all. He rubbed his eyes and turned to look at the other side of the bed, where Harry was fast asleep. The sunlight really did look gorgeous on his golden complexion. He closed his eyes again and tried to make sense of what had happened the night before. He wished he could say he was too drunk to remember, but that wasn't anywhere near the truth. He remembered Harry glaring down at him, his eyes full of lust. He remembered the heat between them. The tension, the undeniable need for sex they both possessed. The desire that ran through his veins as Harry touched him in every right spot, like he knew his body better than Draco himself. Fuck he wished someone really did know him that well.

He was sure Harry had his reasons for their little encounter, just as Draco had his own. He was simply upset. He just needed a drink and a quick fuck to get out of that depressed state he'd been living in for the past few months. And as for whatever the hell Harry's reason was, he didn't give a flying fuck.

He sat up in the bed and glanced down at his own body, his cheeks immediately turning a shade of pink. Amongst the old scars and marks left from both his father and his battles in Hogwarts, were quite a few new marks from Harry himself. For starters, there was a bruise in the shape of Harry's hand on his hip, and a few bite marks on his inner thighs. He shuddered at the thought of Harry Potter down between his legs. He stopped looking any further, pushed the thought out of his mind, and stood, going to dress himself before Harry woke. Last night Harry didn't seem to notice his scars, and he didn't plan on Harry actually taking a good, sober look.

He swiftly got dressed, his shirt carelessly buttoned unevenly, and his hair was quite unruly. He would've tried hiding his fresh hickeys under the collar of his shirt but honestly, he had no reputation to protect. He went to put on his shoes when Harry stirred in bed and sat up a bit, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked over Draco. "Off to your lovely rich boy manor then?" He teased with a smirk, entirely oblivious that he'd struck a nerve, deep. Draco stiffened, dreadfully reminded of his dingy, small apartment. He focused a little too hard on putting on his shoes. "Shove off Potter" he muttered, his eyes fixated on the top of his left shoe.

"What? Obviously you've got Daddy's money to spend, and a massive Manor all to yourself. Hell, I'd be thriving if I were in your place" he said with a soft smile, entirely unaware of Draco's living situation.

Draco had his fist balled up, nails digging painfully into his palm. He held his tongue. If he bit back, yelled at Harry and proved to him just how horribly wrong he was, he'd be ridiculed and teased by him for the rest of eternity. With not another word, stung and quite hurt, Draco walked out of Harry's flat, swearing to himself never to return.

As he made his exit, he was surprised to see that his own place wasn't far at all from Harry's. Just a few blocks down. He didn't even bother calling a cab; he just walked.

He had forgotten one thing in the rush of this morning and the thrill of last night; how utterly cruel the people of this world were to him. Comments were thrown at him left and right.

"Deatheater," "Murderer," "Scum," "...Better off dead."

Outwardly, he ignored the comments and remarks; but internally, he took each and every one straight to heart. He deserved it anyways. Fourteen minutes later he arrived at his own little apartment and went up to his room, closed the door, and breathed out a soft sigh. he pulled off his shoes and took off his clothes, heading for the shower to let the hot, calming water run over his body.

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His days went on like this, with every public appearance resulting in crude comments thrown his way. Every step out of the sanctuary that was his little apartment building was agony. It got worse and worse as time progressed, causing him to rarely leave his room, even for food.

He stayed there, with no job. And he was running out of money - fast. And fucking Potter's comment about his money made the whole situation just all the more sickening. He stayed inside, reading books, searching for job listings (of course, everywhere he applied to he was rejected almost immediately), and walking around tidying what little space he had. Soon enough, draco had run out of food entirely, but he managed a quick run to the market to get enough for another week or so.

He sat alone in silence, simply doing his best to get by. He wished he could reach out, ask for help; but the only two people he had left in his life were together across the continent, probably living their best lives on the coast of whatever country they were visiting now. He sighed and laid back on his bed, closing his eyes and praying that some miracle would happen.

Just at that moment, there was a knock at his door. He sat up, staring at the door for a good few seconds before the knock came again. He never got visitors. He got to his feet and made his way to the door, letting out a soft breath before pulling it open.

"Mr. Malfoy, I regret to inform you that this is your three days' notice. You haven't paid the rent and it's been two weeks overdue. You're being evicted."