Stockholm Syndrome (Draco X Reader)

17. In Your Arms

*There is smut in this chapter*

As Draco left to grab our luggage from the car, I stood in the entryway, surveying the house I hadn't seen in a year. It felt strange being back after all this time, like walking into a forgotten memory. The air was heavy, still, and filled with the faint scent of dust. Barely ten minutes passed before I heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

Draco entered, pushing the door shut with his back. He was carrying both of our suitcases, his eyes locking onto mine as he walked over.

"Take me to our room," he said, his voice soft but commanding, the way it always was when he didn't want to argue.

"Give me my suitcase. I can carry it myself," I said, reaching for the handle.

Draco shook his head, his expression determined.

"I've got it. Just lead the way."

I hesitated, biting my lip. There was no use in arguing with him when he made up his mind like that. I nodded silently and turned toward the hallway.

The house wasn't much different from how I remembered it. The furniture was still where I left it—every chair, every table, exactly in its place. But dust clung to the surfaces, as though my father hadn't bothered cleaning it in months. And the bottles. Empty liquor bottles were scattered across the floor, clustered in corners and atop the coffee table. The sight of them made my stomach churn. I tried not to look too closely.

Draco followed me closely, his presence comforting yet a reminder of the reality we had stepped back into. The silence between us grew heavy as we reached the base of the stairs leading to the second floor. I stepped onto the first creaking wooden step, the sound echoing in the stillness.

I paused for a second, glancing back at Draco. He was watching me, concern etched in his features, but he didn't say anything.

I continued up the stairs, each step groaning under the weight of our footsteps. The railing felt familiar beneath my fingertips, but it too was coated in dust.

"This place hasn't been touched in a while," Draco murmured behind me, almost to himself.

I nodded.

"Yeah... My father wouldn't bother cleaning the house after I left."

He didn't respond, but I felt his gaze linger on me, as though he was studying my reaction to seeing the house like this.

As we reached the second floor, the silence between us stretched for a moment before Draco spoke.

"Your house is lovely," he said, his voice breaking through the stillness.

I turned my head to look at him, chuckling softly.

"Lovely? I always thought it was too small. I was worried you'd feel uncomfortable... maybe even dislike it."

Draco smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"No, it's cute. I like it because it's small."

His words made me smile, a warm feeling spreading in my chest.

"Our bedroom's at the end of the hallway," I said, turning to lead him down the short corridor.

The walk was brief, as my house wasn't big by any means. Before long, we stood in front of the door to my old bedroom—our new bedroom. I took a deep breath, steadying myself before slowly pushing the door open.

The familiar sight of my bedroom greeted me as I stepped inside. The bed was still in front of the large window, the small bookshelf was crammed with my old books, and everything seemed frozen in time. But the surprising part was how clean it was. Unlike the rest of the house, this room looked as if someone had been taking care of it. The bed was made, the floor free of dust. It was almost unsettling.