Harry retrieved his mobile phone from where he'd left it lying around by the hob earlier, then fished out the first aid kit from a drawer. It was a mess as usual, but he found the tube of cream he was looking for soon enough.

The man had finished his glass of water by the time Harry came back, and had the ice pressed to his eye once more. "I'm Harry, by the way," he said as he sat down, placing the phone on the table. "I've taken the lock off, so you can call whoever you want."

He smiled and was pleased to see the stranger smile back. "Thank you," he said sincerely, and held out his hand to shake. "I'm Draco."

Draco was used to getting a reaction when he introduced himself, and the guy with the glasses, Harry, didn't disappoint. His hand stilled mid-shake and his mouth fell open a little. He had lovely full lips, Draco noticed as he laughed.

"Yeah, I know, it's not the most usual name."

"Can't say I've heard it before," Harry grinned as he took his hand back, and Draco was grateful. You never knew who was going the take the piss.

"My mum's a Latin professor," Draco explained. "It means dragon, so I'm not quite sure what she was thinking when she named me that. Probably still high on gas and air."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "It could have been worse," he conceded. "At least she didn't call you Smaug or something."

Draco blinked, and Harry wondered if he'd embarrassed himself, but the other man seemed impressed. "Tolkien fan?" he asked.

"Sort of," Harry admitted. "More Benedict Cumberbatch."

The horror probably showed on his face. Oh nice one Potter, he screamed internally. Do straight guys say things like that? You might as well shout it out. He didn't know this man from Adam, he might not appreciate a remark like that.

Draco grinned though, and lounged back in his now slightly soggy chair. "Ah," he said, taking the ice away from his face and gently touching his eye. "Our Benedict is quite the crumpet now isn't he?"

Harry wasn't too certain what to make of that reply, but Draco hadn't looked at him in disgust or called him a poof, so he allowed himself to relax a little bit. "Er, so," he held up the tube of cream. "This is Arnicare, great for bruises. Once you're dry you can use as much as you like, I've got a few of these lying around."

Draco considered the man before him, and reached out to take the cream. "Thanks," he said. "You certainly know your first aid." There was something a little sad there, a little hesitant, he could tell.

Harry forced himself to grin. Little gaylords learn quickly at schools like mine, he thought. First they learn to heal. Then they learn to fight back.

"Well the amount of accidents that happen around here," was what he said out loud. "I have to look after the minions – even when they call in sick and leave me to lock up by myself."

Draco decided he'd probably had the ice on his face long enough and put it down on the table. "You the boss or something?" he asked impressed. Harry seemed pleased by this, and smiled. Draco was going to have to watch himself. He was becoming a little enthralled with those lips.

"This is my place," Harry said. "I was lucky, one of the sous-chefs I trained under decided he had too many restaurants to manage, so offered it to me for a bargain."

"Wow," said Draco, looking around again with renewed interest. "I barely make it to the office on time with matching socks, and here you've got your own business."

Harry cleared his throat. "It's just a little place," he said uncomfortably. "We do alright." Draco wasn't sure why he was being so bashful, but he decided not to push the matter.

"I guess I should call the police," he said, picking up Harry's phone. "Get out of your hair."

Harry blinked at the sudden change in topic. "Oh, call who you like," he insisted. He had to admit he wasn't exactly desperate for this guy to get out of his hair just yet. "Battery is pretty full. Our address is here," he added, fishing a menu out from a nearby holder. "In case you need it."

Draco smiled at him, and Harry thought, yes, he could let him hang around just a little longer. So much for not getting too involved.

"Thanks," said Draco. "You've been a real life saver."

Harry stood, in two minds about what he was going to say. Bollocks to it, he thought. Life's too short. "How about I give you some privacy for a minute? I could make us some tea."

"Er," Draco said, guiltily. "That's really nice of you, but I don't actually drink tea."

Harry feigned outrage. "I'm surprised they haven't revoked your passport for that," he told him.

Draco laughed, properly, and something squirmed in Harry's abdomen. "I know, it's an affront to the queen herself."

"Coffee then?" Harry tried. "To warm you up."

Draco ran his hand through his hair, unplastering it from his head and ruffling it up into a sort of halo. "I think the caffeine might shred what's left of my nerves."

Draco cursed inwardly. He should have just said yes! He could have not drunk the blasted thing, he was being rude! Sod that, he was missing an opportunity to stay longer.

Harry nodded and drummed his fingers on the back of his chair. One last attempt, he thought. Then I'll take the hint. "Well," he said. "There's a rather nice bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape out back that I was thinking might-" he tilted his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Have an unfortunate accident."

Draco gave him that lop-sided grin again. "You'd swipe a bottle of your own wine?"

Harry felt his insides warm. "Hey, these things happen," he said, holding his hands up in his defence.

Draco took in the restaurant owner properly; his crisp white shirt, his well-fitting soft blue jeans, the leather belt that matched the tan colour of his loafers. "Well," he said raising his eyebrows. "It would be rude to let something like that go to waste." He was pretty sure he was still talking about the wine.

Harry tried not to let his glee show as his heart leapt in his chest. "Indeed," he agreed. He nudged the phone over to Draco and smiled. "Take your time, I'll be back."

He walked casually out into the store cupboards, wanting to get a bottle that was exactly the right temperature, and tried to make himself calm down. "He's just been mugged," he whispered to himself as he looked for his favourite vintage amongst the racks and ignored the fifty quid loss he was giving himself. "He's probably straight, don't get your hopes up." But it wasn't much use. He kept picturing that half grin, the soft, almost translucent hair, the way he'd made him laugh. Harry hadn't had a date in a long while, and even if this wasn't a date, it would be nice to share a drink with a bloke in possession of such excellent cheekbones.

He dawdled, making sure the two glasses he picked were utterly smudge free. He went for his favourites, the large delicate ones with substantial bowls. That way you could pour only an inch or so of wine and still give it plenty of room to breathe.

After five minutes or so of slowly uncorking the bottle, he returned to the restaurant, the rain still pattering softly against the windows. But was dismayed to find Draco looking forlorn, toying listlessly with his phone. "What's wrong?" he asked in concern, carefully placing the open bottle and two glasses down on the table. "What did the police say?"

"Oh it's not that," said Draco, rousing his spirits and looking up at Harry with a smile. He took that as a cue that he was okay to sit down and decant the wine, so he did. "They were great, I need to go down and make a statement tomorrow and they'll do what they can. It's just..." he fingered the stem of the glass Harry had put in front of him. He didn't want to act like a prat in front of some guy he'd just met, but he couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat. "They asked me how long ago it happened, and that's when I realised those little shits took my watch too."

He ground his teeth and flicked his gaze back up to see Harry's emerald eyes widen in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said, but Draco shook his head, eager to clarify.

"It wasn't expensive, it really wasn't worth much at all. But it was from my mum, she doesn't earn much teaching and it's just the two of us you know, it was a graduation gift."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, before throwing his hands down and letting out a guttural snarl. Harry bit his lower lip. Now wasn't the time for the tale of poor arryHHarry the orphan, but he felt Draco's remorse quite keenly. "Fuck those little shits," he said emphatically and held up his wine glass. "Here's hoping they O.D. on whatever cheap smack they trade your phone in for."

It could have been the wrong thing to say, but Draco barked out another one of his delicious laughs and held up his own glass with fingers Harry realised were beautifully long and slim. "Too right. Fuck them and their bloody ASBOs."

The wine was very good indeed. Draco normally just got the house red when they went out, as in his opinion that was crazy money anyway when you considered the same bottle was probably only a fiver down the supermarket, but he had to admit this was pretty special. "You certainly know your plonk," he said to Harry. His buzz from the earlier beers down the pub was already back, humming softly round his head, and he felt a little better about losing his watch.

"Well I do run a restaurant," Harry said with a wink. Draco licked his lips, tasting the wine and realising he was fixating on Harry's mouth again. And his green eyes. Oh lord.

"So," he said, taping a well-manicured nail on Harry's phone. Harry never bothered with his nails other than keeping them short for work, and now he sort of wished he did. "I checked the number 8 and it does go from round the corner, about five minutes' walk from here, and the next one's in about half an hour."

He smiled but Harry couldn't hide his mild horror. "You're still going to get the night bus?" he said. "In this weather?" As if to prove his point lightning forked across the sky and thunder boomed not far off.

Draco blinked. "Well, yeah," he said. "I've got no money for a cab, and they may have got my oyster card but night buses are free aren't they?"

Harry swallowed his sip of wine. "I know it's late, but couldn't someone come pick you up, I don't mind keeping the place open, your mum maybe?"

To his surprise, Draco laughed. "I don't know anyone's number," he admitted. "Isn't that stupid? Not a single one, I barely remembered my own, and my mum moved recently so I just changed it on the phone and never bothered to memorise it." He took another sip of his wine and then grinned at Harry, but it didn't quite reach his grey eyes. "So the number 8 it is."

Harry obviously didn't look impressed at that, because Draco waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine," he insisted. "It gets me pretty near home."

Harry though was feeling protective, and couldn't help but look at his watch. Damn it, if he'd said something earlier he could have maybe driven him, but he was pretty sure he was already over the limit. This wine was quite strong. "It's almost 1am," he said. "On a Saturday night. You've already met one lot of weirdoes – do you even still have your keys?"

Draco frowned, and Harry guessed not. "My housemate can let me in," he said though. "I'm sure I can wake him up if I bang loud enough."

But Harry shook his head. He wasn't having that. "Look," he said as he topped up their glasses. "My flat is right above, it's part of the restaurant. You can sleep on the couch, I can lend you some clothes whilst your ones dry and then I'll drive you to the police station in the morning."

Draco stared at Harry, guilt creeping up through his innards that washed away his alcohol buzz and any lustful thoughts he'd been brewing in one fell swoop. "Harry," he said, fingertip gliding uneasily up the cool stem of the glass. "You've already helped me out so much."

"Which is why I couldn't possibly send you packing back out into the rain with nothing but the shirt on your back. Literally." He raised an eyebrow. "So what do you say?"

Draco swallowed and licked his lips. "I'd pay you back," he began, but Harry waved him off.

"Don't even think about it," he said.

Draco could see he was really sincere, and blew out a breath in defeat. "Alright," he said, and relief filled him up at not having to trek it home for hours only to end up sleeping on his own doorstep. "I know I've said it a hundred times already, but thank you so much." He picked up his glass again. "You really are my own White Knight."

Harry scoffed and stood, picking up his glass and the bottle. "You're hardly the damsel in distress," he said.

"I don't know," said Draco playfully, arching the eyebrow on the good side of his face. "I can be a right queen bitch when I want to be."

Harry laughed, and Draco liked how that made him feel. "Come on your highness," Harry said. "Let me show you up. You can have a shower if you like to warm you up, and I'll finish closing the place down."

"A shower would be nice," Draco admitted as he followed Harry through the back of the restaurant, and something clenched inside him as they pushed through the door at the back of the store room and up a flight of stairs. Behave, Draco scalded himself. Just because you're going to be sleeping in his flat doesn't mean anything's going to happen. He might not even be gay!

Draco was actually pretty sure he was, but he still didn't let himself get too hopeful as he watched Harry stop in front of the door at the top of the steps and pull out some keys. Even if he was, he'd been nothing but kind and generous towards Draco, and here he was thinking of repaying him by jumping his bones. He was such a slut.

"It's not much," Harry admitted as he flicked some of the lights on. He wished he'd tidied up a bit, but there was nothing he could really do about that now.

Draco stepped over the door's threshold and took in the small apartment. It was open plan, with the kitchen on the left and doors to the bathroom and bedroom on the right. But the windows behind the sofa in front of them looked out over what Draco guessed to be Vicky Park, and even in the dark it made it feel very spacious.

Harry seemed to be a bit of a Francophile, which wasn't too surprising considering he ran a French bistro. He had beautiful posters of the Eiffel Tower and Champs Elysees framed on his wall, as well as those famous retro Au Chat Noir and Moulin Rouge postcards pinned on his fridge. There were mismatching throws on the sofa, and magazines and guide books strewn over his coffee table. Draco had a mental image of Harry backpacking through Europe, trying local dishes, getting recipe ideas for his restaurant, and he swallowed the lump that was suddenly in his throat.

"It's lovely," he said quietly.

Harry looked bashful and rubbed the back of his neck, his glasses glinting in the lamplight. "Like I said, I got really lucky, getting this place."

Draco was starting to suspect he was really in trouble here. Harry's humility was truly endearing. He snapped himself out of his reverie before he did something embarrassing, and took another sip of the wine that was warming his blood quite nicely. "Well," Draco declared. "I live in a shoebox in Farringdon above a terrifying Chinese woman with several cats and a late-night karaoke bar across the road." He winked at Harry. "You win."

Harry tried to take the compliment, but he was still anxious that his home wasn't good enough. Why was he so preoccupied with Draco's approval, he'd only met him an hour ago?

He didn't have people over often he guessed. His best mate Ron lived with his girlfriend Hermione, and they always insisted on having him round to fuss over him and let someone else cook for him for a change. And as for guys...

He cleared his throat. "I'll just grab you some things," he said, and hurried into his bedroom. Before he did anything, he scooped up some of the clothes from the floor and chucked them in the wash basket. Why? he berated himself. Are you expecting him to come in here? Harry decided not to answer himself.

He re-emerged to find Draco had topped both their glasses up and was inspecting Harry's bookcase. He was ashamed to admit it was mostly full of trashy high fantasy, tales of sorcerers in mystic lands with dragons and elves and not a small amount of smuttiness between knights and virgins. "Are you one of those insufferable people," Draco began with a playful smile. "Who read Game of Thrones before it was all cool?"

Harry pushed his glasses up from where they'd slipped and arched an eyebrow. "Be nice to me," he warned. "Or I'll tell you who dies next."

Draco shuddered. "Gods no, anything but that."

Harry held out his offering of a towel, clean clothes and even a spare toothbrush he'd forgotten he'd bought. "Here you go," he said, and Draco placed his wine down to accept.

"Help yourself to anything in the bathroom," Harry carried on as Draco looked at what he'd given him, then trailed off when he realised he was holding something up.

"You even gave me socks?"

Harry shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "My feet get cold. I always have to have socks."

Draco knew he was staring, but the word 'adorable' was wafting around his brain like a bumblebee in a honeysuckle. "Right," he said finally, regaining his senses. "I'll just have a quick shower. Will it take long to sort out the restaurant?"

Harry wasn't sure if he'd made a mistake with the socks. They were clean, but maybe Draco thought that was a bit too intimate. Or just gross. Well, he didn't have to wear them if he didn't want to. "About fifteen minutes?" he guessed. He really had about half an hour's work left to do, but what was the point of dragging in several minions tomorrow if not to give himself a bit of a break after holding down the fort all evening.

"See you then," said Draco, and headed to the bathroom.