kim ✧･ﾟ

You and Ron were never meant to last. You’d known that from the beginning. Still, you’d stayed, letting yourself sink into a relationship you knew you’d never fully love. Maybe Ron had known it too.

The end was just the same as the beginning. You were fighting more than laughing.

And yet, disappointment lingered. Two years of your life, gone. Two years of bending yourself to fit into a space he carved out, a space you’d always known was meant for someone else.

It had been over a week since you left the flat—harsh words and cruel comments the last things you remembered before closing the door behind you.

Now you were back, intent on collecting the last of your things. You’d waited until you were certain Ron wouldn’t be here.

At least, that’s what you thought. But the faint glow of light spilling from the living room told another story.

“Ronniekins, have you finally found your way home?”

You froze in the hallway, recognizing the voice instantly.

Fred Weasley.

Before you could react, Fred appeared around the corner, his grin as wide and carefree as always. The sight of him knocked the breath out of you.

There he was, the reason you could never truly let yourself fall for Ron.

“Hey, long time no see,” he said, moving forward like he was about to pull you into a hug. But his steps faltered when he caught your expression. “What happened to you?”

“I thought you were Ron.”

Fred’s brow furrowed, though the corners of his mouth still twitched upward. “Sorry to disappoint. Just big old me.” His voice was light, but his eyes studied you carefully.

And that’s when it hit you.

“Ron didn’t tell you.” The words weren’t a question.

Fred’s confusion deepened. “Tell me what?”

You hesitated, the weight of it all suddenly crashing over you. But there was no point in sugarcoating it.

“He broke up with me,” you said quietly. “Found someone else.”

Fred stared at you, his grin fading as your words settled in the space between you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his expression shifting from confusion to shock, and then—as the weight of the situation became clear—to something else entirely.

“Wait,” he said slowly, his voice quieter now. “He what?”

You shifted on your feet, arms folding instinctively across your chest. “Ron broke up with me,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “There’s someone else. Someone who’s apparently a better fit for him.”

Fred blinked, the lines of his face hardening. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “That git,” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean… sorry, but… what the hell, Ron?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Well, he didn’t exactly send you an owl about it, did he?”

Fred’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of anger simmering behind his eyes. “You’re telling me he just… tossed you aside? For someone else?”

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “Pretty much. Said it wasn’t working, that it hadn’t been for a while. And he’s not wrong.”

Fred frowned, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

There was something in his voice—a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said softly. “It’s done now. I just need to get my things and move on.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Fred repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Of course it bloody matters. He’s my brother, but… Merlin, what an absolute tosser. You didn’t deserve that.”

You flinched at his words, guilt and something else knotting in your stomach. You didn’t deserve it—not the betrayal, not the way it ended—but you also couldn’t ignore the truth. “It’s not as black-and-white as that,” you murmured, shaking your head.

Fred crossed his arms, studying you carefully. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Ron and I… we weren’t exactly perfect. We fought more than we laughed toward the end. Maybe it’s better this way. For both of us.”

Fred tilted his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “You can’t tell me you’re okay with this. Not after two years.”

“I didn’t say I’m okay,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not heartbroken either. Not in the way you think I should be.”

Fred’s frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to puzzle something out.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Anyway, like I said, I’m just here to grab my things. I… I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

Fred’s gaze softened, the sharp edges of his anger giving way to something gentler. “You should’ve sent me an owl,” he said. “I could’ve… I don’t know, helped.”

“Helped with what?” you asked, forcing a small smile. “Packing up my regrets?”

Fred didn’t laugh. Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t have anything to regret. If anything, Ron does. And if he can’t see what he had, then… that’s his loss.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There was a warmth in his voice, a sincerity that made it hard to look at him. You hadn’t come here for comfort, but somehow, Fred was giving it to you anyway.

You cleared your throat, glancing toward the hallway. “I should… I should get started.”

Fred stepped aside, giving you space. “Yeah, sure. I’ll… I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”

As you moved past him, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you. There was something in the way he looked at you—something you couldn’t quite place. But whatever it was, it made the air feel heavier, the space between you charged with an unspoken tension.

You tried to shake it off as you headed into the bedroom, but the memory of Fred’s words stayed with you, echoing in your mind: If he can’t see what he had, that’s his loss.

You emerged from the bedroom carrying the last of your things, the weight of it all heavier than the bag slung over your shoulder.

Fred was still there, leaning against the wall by the window, his arms crossed and a faraway look in his eyes. His gaze lifted when he heard your footsteps, and the soft look he gave you was so at odds with everything you were feeling that it made your chest ache.

“Got everything?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Yeah. That’s the last of it.”

Fred straightened, stepping closer. “You alright?”

The question hit harder than it should have. You wanted to shrug, make a joke, anything to brush past the tangled mess of emotions threatening to choke you. But there was no avoiding it, not with Fred watching you like that, his concern plain on his face.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… weird. Leaving. I know it’s over, and I know it wasn’t right, but it still feels like…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It feels like I failed.”

Fred frowned, his expression tightening. “You didn’t fail. Relationships end. That’s not failure. That’s just… life.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t part of it.”

Fred hesitated, his gaze flickering as if he was weighing his words carefully. “Maybe not directly. But I noticed things.”

“What kind of things?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Fred stepped closer, his arms falling to his sides. “You didn’t laugh as much when you were with him,” he said softly. “Not like you used to.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. “How would you even know that?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer.

Fred gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s hard not to notice,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “You have this laugh… it’s ridiculous, honestly. Loud and completely unfiltered. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone else want to laugh, too. But it was different with Ron. Like you were holding back.”

Your heart twisted painfully, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet his gaze. You’d held back more than your laughter. There had always been a wall between you and Ron, one that you’d built yourself because you’d known—deep down, even if you didn’t want to admit it—that your heart wasn’t entirely his.

Fred’s words stirred memories you’d buried, moments you’d told yourself didn’t mean anything: the way your heart raced when Fred made you laugh, the way his smile lingered in your mind longer than it should have, the way you’d caught yourself wondering what it would feel like to have his attention on you—really on you—instead of Ron.

You cleared your throat, trying to push those thoughts aside. “It doesn’t matter now,” you said softly. “It’s done.”

Fred studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took another step forward. “Doesn’t matter?” he repeated, his voice quiet but firm. “Of course it matters. He’s my brother, but…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “You deserved better. You still do.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were set like he was holding something back.

“Fred…” you started, unsure of what you were even going to say.

He gave you a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re out of there. You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who doesn’t see you the way you deserve to be seen.”

“And in what way do I deserve to be seen?”

“Like you’re everything.” His gaze was fixated on your face, his next words almost too quiet for you to hear, but you still did. “Like I do.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but before you could respond, he shifted, glancing toward the window. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, the tension between you suddenly too much to bear. “I should go.” But even you could hear the reluctance in your voice.

Fred didn’t move at first. His gaze lingered on you, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, closing the space between you.

Your breath hitched as he raised a hand, his fingers brushing the side of your jaw. His touch was so gentle it made your heart ache, and when you looked into his eyes, you saw something there that made the air between you feel impossibly heavy.

Fred’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his lips parting slightly before his eyes met yours again. He leaned forward, not all the way, just enough to make it clear you had every chance to pull away.

“You could always stay,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sliding the pad of his thumb along your jaw while his other hand braced against the wall beside your head. You swore your already racing heart was about to pound its way out of your chest.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, your words brushing against his lips. You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince—him or yourself.

“Probably,” Fred admitted with a wry smile, his head tipping just slightly closer to yours. His closeness was overwhelming, his warmth and scent clouding your senses. “Stay anyway.”

The weight of Fred’s words, his presence so close, became unbearable. Your thoughts blurred into feelings—raw and unguarded. Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.

The moment your lips touched, it was like everything else faded away. Fred’s breath hitched in surprise, but only for a heartbeat. Then his hand on your jaw shifted to cradle your face, the other slipping to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The kiss was intoxicating, the kind that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. Fred kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment forever, and you poured everything you had into it—the what-ifs, the unsaid words, the ache you hadn’t even realized had been building.

Fred tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and a small sound escaped your throat as his thumb brushed your cheek. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, forgotten as your hands gripped his shirt, grounding yourself in him.

For a moment, it was everything you’d ever wanted. And then the sound of the door opening shattered the moment.

You broke apart instantly, both of you breathing heavily, your hands still clinging to the front of his shirt as his eyes locked with yours.

“Fred?” Ron’s voice called from the hallway.

Fred stepped back, his hand lingering on your waist for just a second before falling away. His gaze lingered too, filled with something you couldn’t quite name—a mixture of regret, longing, and something heavier.

“I should go,” Fred said quietly, his voice steady but low.

You nodded, your throat tight, unable to form words.

Fred turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders stiff, but before he stepped into the hallway, he glanced back at you. The look he gave you—intense, searching, and almost bittersweet—left you breathless. Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall.

You took a shaky breath, bending to pick up your bag, hoping Ron wouldn’t notice anything. But as you reached for the strap, his voice stopped you.

“You know,” Ron said, his tone lighter than you expected, “I’m happy for you.”

You froze, slowly straightening to face him. “What?”

Ron gave you a small, lopsided smile, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I mean, I might be slow sometimes, but I’m not blind.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Ron shrugged. “Look, I know things ended badly with us, but we’re both at fault, don't you think? And honestly?” He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I think Fred’s been waiting for a chance with you for a long time.”

Your chest tightened, warmth and guilt and a strange kind of relief swirling together. “Ron, I—”

He held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. Just… make sure he doesn’t mess this up, yeah?”

Despite yourself, a small laugh escaped, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel forced. “Thanks, Ron.”

He nodded, the grin returning to his face. “Don’t mention it. Just… don’t tell Mum. She’s going to have an opinion, and you know how she is.”

You laughed again, lighter this time, and when you left the flat, the warmth of Ron’s words stayed with you. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe it could be.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Fred was warm behind you, his bare chest rising and falling against your back, his hand resting just under your ribs like he had every right to be there. It was easy to pretend, in moments like this, that the space you occupied in his bed was the same as the one you occupied in his life.

You turned your head, catching sight of his tousled hair and the faintest hint of a smile on his face, even as he dozed. There was a tenderness to him in sleep, a kind of softness you rarely got to see when he was fully awake and full of mischief. You let your gaze trail over the freckles scattered across his shoulder, letting yourself trace invisible constellations—quietly, foolishly hoping they might lead to something more certain.

It felt safe here—like nothing else existed but the two of you.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You flinched, caught, and his grin widened without even opening his eyes. “Was not,” you whispered back, careful not to wake anyone else.

“Was too,” he countered, finally cracking one eye open. His hand slid to your hip, fingers curling slightly as if to keep you there.

“I have to go,” you said, but you didn’t move, and he knew it.

Fred’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”

His voice carried a teasing lilt, but something in it made your breath hitch. You didn’t want to give it a name—but it wasn’t nothing.

“Fred,” you warned gently, trying not to laugh as his leg draped over yours, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning closer until his nose brushed against your temple. “What’s the worst that could happen? We get caught? Big deal. I’ll tell them you were helping me study.”

“This early? And for what, exactly?” you teased, finally turning to meet his gaze.

Fred smirked, mischief lighting up his features. “Advanced Wandwork. You’re an excellent teacher, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” His hand skimmed down your arm, catching your wrist and tugging you closer. “Don’t go.”

Your resolve wavered. It always did when he looked at you like that—unguarded, open in a way that made it hard to breathe. Like maybe this meant more to him than you were allowed to believe. Like maybe the rules you told yourself not to break—don’t hope, don’t ask, don’t want too much—were already fraying at the edges.

“If I don’t leave now, Lee will wake up and start asking questions,” you whispered.

Fred groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “Fine, but only because I care about your reputation or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you echoed, sliding out from beneath the covers. The chill of the dormitory hit you immediately, and you shivered as you gathered your clothes from the floor.

He watched you, propped up on one elbow, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked absurd. He looked perfect. And you hated how much you wanted this to mean something more.

He didn’t say anything until you were pulling on your shoes, your back to him.

“Hey,” he called softly.

You turned, and he was watching you again—closely this time, like he might miss something important if he blinked.

He grinned, boyish and bright. “I’ll miss you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to hide your smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little harder in your chest. “Go back to sleep, Fred.”

“Come back tonight?” he asked, quieter now. Less playful. Like a question with layers.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

“Good,” he said, sinking back into the pillows. “See you later.”

You slipped out the door, your steps careful and quiet, but your thoughts were loud. You told yourself not to read into it. Not to get carried away. But Fred’s voice lingered, soft and stubborn in your head.

⸻

The common room was eerily quiet, the hour so late it bordered on early. A chill hung in the air, and the last embers in the fireplace had died to ash. The silence felt heavier than usual, like the castle itself was holding its breath.

You glanced over your shoulder before ascending the boys’ staircase, your steps instinctively light, avoiding the creaky spots you’d learned to memorize through too many nights like this.

Fred’s door was slightly ajar. The moonlight spilled through the high windows, casting silver shadows across the floor and tracing the outlines of the beds. He was already awake—waiting—his head lifting from the pillow as you slipped inside and eased the door shut behind you.

“Took your time,” he whispered, voice rough and low, soft enough to blend into the quiet.

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the room, your movements fluid, familiar. “You try sneaking past Angelina without a plan. She’s like a human Secrecy Sensor.”

Fred smirked, his hair sticking up in every direction as he sat up. “Well, we wouldn’t want her catching you, would we?”

His tone had lightened, teasing as always, but his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath catch. There was something else behind his gaze tonight—something quieter, more watchful. A pause you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Come here,” he murmured.

You didn’t hesitate. The bed creaked softly beneath you as you slid in beside him, his arms winding around your waist like second nature. His lips found yours in a kiss that was brief but grounding, like an unspoken reassurance. You felt him smile against your mouth before he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whispered back, matching his smile without even thinking.

His fingers traced lightly along the back of your neck, his touch feather-soft and easy. “You didn’t wake the others, did you?”

“Of course not,” you said, mock-offended. “I’m stealthy, remember?”

His eyes sparked with amusement. “Like a thestral in a china shop.”

“Would you rather I didn’t come?”

“Not a chance.”

The stillness returned, settling around the two of you like a blanket. He lay down beside you, and you curled into him, his arm pulling you close, your head tucked beneath his chin. It was a rhythm you’d grown used to—the way your bodies fit together, how his warmth filled the spaces the cold left behind.

But even as you relaxed into him, even as his fingers brushed gently along your arm, you still sometimes felt it—the hesitation, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Like he wasn’t sure if he should hold you so tightly. Like he was always half-waiting for the moment you might pull away.

“Cold?” he asked, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your sleeve.

You shook your head. “No. You’re warm.”

“Good.” His hand stilled, thumb brushing back and forth in slow, lazy arcs. You listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, willing yourself to sink into it, to let it lull you into sleep.

And for a while, it did.

But sometime later, you startled awake, breath caught in your throat, chest tight in a way that had no name. The room was dark, the world too quiet, and you felt unmoored.

“Hey.” Fred’s voice slipped into the quiet, groggy but alert. He stirred beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You paused, unsure. “I don’t know. A nightmare, I think.”

He was silent for a long beat. Then his hand moved to rub soothing circles over your back. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

Fred shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. Moonlight outlined his profile—his furrowed brow, the crease between his eyebrows, the softness in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling suddenly small, the edges of the dream already fading but leaving something raw behind. “No. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he said lightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re terrible at lying, you know.”

You gave a weak smile. “I’m not that bad.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “You always do this thing with your nose when you’re lying. It scrunches up, just a little.”

Your brow furrowed. “It does not.”

“It does.” He grinned and reached out to tap your nose. “See? There it is.”

You batted his hand away, the gesture soft and half-hearted. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?”

His tone was warm, teasing—but gentler than usual. His hand ghosted over your shoulder, grounding you.

“Fred, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His voice quieted. “Look, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But if I see your nose scrunch up again, I’m going to assume you’re secretly plotting against me.”

You laughed—a small, real sound that surprised even you. You buried your face in his shirt, muffling it.

“There it is,” he said again, softer now, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

For the rest of the night, Fred didn’t fill the silence with jokes or mischief. Instead, he whispered half-thoughts and soft nonsense, his voice like a hand held out in the dark.

You didn’t sleep again, not really—but it didn’t matter. He stayed with you, the space between you full of warmth, and care, and the quiet ache of something too tender to name.

⸻

The corridor was unusually quiet for midday, the usual crowd thinned by lunch and looming N.E.W.T. panic. The air had that soft, golden glow of early spring—sunlight catching on dust motes and making even the dull stone floors feel a little warmer.

Fred was walking beside you, arms crossed behind his head like he hadn’t a care in the world. He nudged you lightly with his elbow every few steps, clearly enjoying himself. You’d been laughing for the last five minutes straight.

“And then he goes, ‘Fred, that’s not a Flobberworm, that’s my shoe!’”

You gasped, half-disbelieving, half-dying of laughter. “You didn’t.”

Fred looked smug. “In my defense, it was dark, and the shoe was moving.”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Well, it could have been,” he said, grinning. “It might’ve been cursed.”

You shook your head, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “You’re an idiot.”

“Only for you,” he shot back, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Just that quick silence that hangs between two people who aren’t quite sure if something has shifted.

You looked away first, cheeks warm, smile lingering as you both rounded a corner.

“I was thinking,” he said after a beat, nudging your shoulder again. “About tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

Fred looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes before he smirked again. “Come to the Astronomy Tower with me.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “So romantic. Gonna push me off?”

He laughed. “Nah. I was thinking something more subtle. Like poison.”

“Good to know you’ve been planning this.”

“Always.” His voice was warm, teasing, but then he added, more softly, “Just come. We won’t get caught. And it’s supposed to be clear out tonight. You like stars, right?”

You blinked, thrown by the sudden sincerity underneath the mischief. “I do.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”

He said it easily, like he didn’t think about it too hard—but your stomach still fluttered.

“A date, huh?” you echoed.

But before he could answer, you heard a loud echo of footsteps behind you.

“Oi, Fred!”

The sound of running footsteps broke the moment as Lee and George rounded the corner, both slightly out of breath.

“There you are,” George said. “You’re gonna make us late.”

Fred gave you an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.”

“See you later,” you said, still smiling, a little dazed.

Fred started to walk backward again, that grin of his never fading. “You better.”

You turned, starting down the corridor in the opposite direction, his laughter still echoing faintly behind you. The smile stayed on your lips, light and warm.

Until—

“Wait, wait, hold on,” you heard Lee say, his voice drifting down the corridor. “Are you two—are you dating?”

Fred’s answer came a beat later, casual and light. “No. It’s nothing serious.”

The words landed like a slap—so casual. So thoughtless.

Your breath caught, your smile freezing in place before it slowly slid away. You kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to keep walking, like the comment hadn’t lodged itself somewhere under your ribs.

Behind you, George or Lee said something else—maybe a joke, maybe nothing—but the words blurred in your ears, drowned out by the sudden quiet inside your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You just walked, his voice echoing in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Funny how everything could feel so serious only seconds before.

⸻

You didn’t go to the Astronomy Tower that night.

You meant to. You really did.

You sat on the edge of your bed with your shoes on and your jacket in hand, eyes trained on the clock as it ticked past each minute, slow and cruel. You imagined him waiting—hands shoved into his pockets, hair windblown, looking up at the stars and maybe even thinking of you.

But then you heard his voice again in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Casual. Effortless. Like it was obvious.

And suddenly, everything inside you curled up tight.

So you stayed in bed. Lights off. Eyes open.

⸻

The next morning, you skipped breakfast.

The morning after that, you took a different corridor to class. By the third day, you were running out of detours—Fred had a knack for showing up where you least expected, like the universe was conspiring against you.

But you were good at pretending. Better than you expected. You could laugh at jokes, nod at friends, sit through lessons without flinching. You could go an entire day without looking over your shoulder.

Still, you felt him everywhere.

In the way your chest tensed when you passed the Astronomy Tower.

In the way your fingers twitched every time someone said his name.

In the ache behind your ribs when you lay in bed alone, remembering how he used to say “stay” like it was the easiest thing in the world.

⸻

Fred cornered you four days later.

You’d nearly made it out of the library, arms full of books, head ducked, doing your best to blend into the late-evening crowd. But he was fast, stepping in front of you with no warning, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you’d try to vanish again.

“Okay,” he said, voice tight, eyes sharp. “What the hell is going on?”

You blinked up at him, heart crashing against your ribs.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said quickly, the lie scraping against your tongue.

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Really? Because I haven’t seen you in days. You didn’t show up the other night. You’re avoiding me.”

You tried to step around him. He stepped with you.

“Talk to me,” he said, softer now. Pleading.

The dam cracked. Just a little.

“I’m busy,” you said. “That’s all.”

He scoffed, taking a step closer. “Busy avoiding me, maybe. Did I do something? Because if I did, just tell me. Don’t shut me out.”

Your jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted. “You’re acting like I—like I hurt you.”

That did it.

You laughed, bitter and breathless, the sound cracking down the middle. “Well, that’s funny.”

Fred’s expression faltered. “What?”

Your hands curled around the edges of your books, knuckles white. “You don’t get to act confused, Fred.”

He took a step back, like your words had physically shoved him. “I—I don’t understand.”

“No. You don’t,” you said, the anger bubbling up now, hot and sharp. “You don’t get to ask me what’s wrong after saying it wasn’t serious. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

Fred blinked. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“Your friends asked if we were dating,” you said. “And you just—just brushed it off. ‘It’s nothing serious.’ That’s what you said.”

Silence.

He stared at you, mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Like it hadn’t even occurred to him.

And that hurt worst of all.

“You looked me in the eyes and made plans with me right before,” you went on, voice rising, cracking. “You kissed me. You asked me to stay. And then the second someone asked—you couldn’t deny it fast enough.”

Fred opened his mouth.

No words came out.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest swelling so big you could hardly breathe around it. “Why do you care if I disappeared? You made it pretty clear I’m just some secret you’re not willing to admit to.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, but it was too quiet. Too late.

You stepped back, throat tight, vision blurry around the edges. “Well, congratulations. Message received.”

And before he could find the words—or maybe just admit that he didn’t have them—you turned and walked away.

This time, he didn’t stop you.

And it was worse than if he had.

⸻

The days that followed passed like a slow bruise.

Nothing dramatic. No storm. No outbursts.

Just silence.

Fred didn’t try to talk to you again—not really. Not in the corridors, not in the common room. He looked, though. You felt it. In every hallway. Across every meal. Like he was watching from across some invisible line he didn’t know how to cross.

And you—well, you tried not to let it show.

You sat with your friends. You laughed at the right moments. You handed in assignments. You did everything you were supposed to do. And still, it felt like something inside you was holding its breath.

You didn’t cry. Not really. Just stared at the ceiling some nights with your chest hollowed out and your throat tight and told yourself this was better.

It was better, wasn’t it?

Because you’d known. Deep down, you’d always known. Fred Weasley didn’t do serious. Not with you. Not with anyone.

He never said forever. Never promised anything. Never used any of those words people use when they mean more. He was fun and warm and reckless, and it had been easy to believe—for a while—that maybe you were the exception. That maybe, just maybe, this was something real.

But now, you knew better.

And still, every time the door opened, some small, stupid part of you looked up. Hoping.

⸻

He found you again in the corridor outside the Charms classroom, just after the bell had rung and most students were still filtering out in clusters of noise and motion.

You hadn’t seen him coming.

He didn’t speak at first, just stepped into your path, not blocking you—just… there.

You froze.

Fred looked awful. Hair a little messier than usual. Circles under his eyes. And a strange kind of stillness that made you nervous, because Fred never stood still. Not like this.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he said, softer now. “I—I don’t know how else to fix this.”

You looked away. “I don’t think you can.”

Fred’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

He tried again. “What I said. That day. About us not being serious. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You forced a laugh, bitter and quiet. “How else could you have meant it, Fred?”

“I panicked,” he admitted, eyes searching your face. “They asked, and I said the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t want them to start teasing or asking questions—I just didn’t think. I didn’t mean for it to sound like you don’t matter.”

“But that’s how it sounded,” you said, voice low. “And you didn’t come after me. You didn’t say anything until now.”

“I didn’t know how,” Fred said. “I didn’t know if I had the right to.”

You met his gaze then, and for once, he didn’t smile. Didn’t try to joke. Just looked at you like he’d run out of masks to wear.

“I like you,” he said, the words breaking open something in his chest. “I’ve liked you for a while. And I never said it because I didn’t want to mess it up. I thought if I just—if we kept things easy, it’d be enough. But it wasn’t. Not for me. And obviously not for you, either.”

You felt your throat tighten.

Fred stepped closer, careful, slow, like you might vanish again. “You matter to me. You’re not nothing. You’ve never been nothing. I didn’t know how to say that before, but I’m saying it now.”

You stared at him.

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But something inside you still bristled, still remembered how easily he’d brushed it off when someone else was listening.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said, voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind.”

Fred shook his head. “I have made up my mind. I just made a mess of showing it. I get it if you need space. I get it if you don’t believe me. But I’d rather wait for you, even if it takes ages, than pretend I don’t care. Because I do. So much more than I’ve ever said out loud.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because even now, you weren’t sure if letting him in again would break you all over. But you weren’t sure if walking away would hurt any less.

And yet… when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it.

Not the cocky grin. Not the easy charm. Just Fred, stripped down to something raw and honest. He wasn’t trying to win you back with clever words. He was just standing there, hoping you’d still let him try.

You swallowed hard, blinking past the tightness in your throat.

“I believe you,” you said softly.

Fred’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. He took a small step forward—and this time, he didn’t stop himself.

“I do,” you repeated, steadier now. “But if this is going to mean something—if we’re going to try—I need you to take it seriously. No more hiding. No more brushing it off when it gets inconvenient.”

Fred nodded immediately, eyes locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single word.

He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Alright. No more hiding.”

A pause.

“Unless it’s you sneaking into my room again. I think we should keep that part.”

You tried not to smile. Failed completely. “Oh, do you?”

“Absolutely. It’s the only way I get any decent sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he stepped closer, you didn’t stop him. And when his arms slid around you, careful and warm, you let yourself lean into him.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. No dramatic declarations. Just the quiet press of his forehead against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the strange, wonderful feeling of finally being in the same place at the same time.

You closed your eyes for a moment, and for the first time, it didn’t feel uncertain.

The war was over.

That was what everyone said.

But it didn’t feel like it. Not to you.

You rubbed the back of your neck as you turned the corner, the exhaustion of the day dragging at your heels. Healing was rewarding, but it was unrelenting too. Your own grief, your own loss, had been shoved to the side so you could focus on fixing others. It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you turned toward the sound.

Fred Weasley was leaning casually against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets, his hair messy but bright as ever. His smile stretched across his face like it always did, a bit crooked, a bit mischievous.

“Fred?” Your voice cracked, disbelief threading through it.

“In the flesh,” he said with a grin. “You weren’t expecting me, were you?”

You stared at him, your mind fumbling to piece together what was happening. He was here. Alive. Whole. Standing in front of you as though nothing had changed.

It had been too long since you’ve last seen him.

“I—no,” you said finally, your hand gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it hurt. “What are you… what are you doing here?”

“Visiting,” he said easily, jerking his chin toward one of the nearby rooms. “Someone needed cheering up, and you know me—I’m the best man for the job.”

You laughed, a soft, disbelieving sound. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you have,” Fred said, his eyes sweeping over you. There was something softer in his tone, something unspoken. “You look tired.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, shrugging.

“I can see that,” he replied, the smile tugging at his lips dimming just slightly. “But don’t let it wear you down too much, alright? You’ve always been better at taking care of everyone else than yourself.”

You swallowed, his words hitting somewhere deeper than you wanted to admit. “It’s… good to see you.”

Fred grinned again, bright and wide. “Good to see you too, love. It’s been too long. Let’s change that, yeah? You know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he gave you a wink and strolled away down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

You stood there for a moment, frozen. It had felt so normal, so effortless. Just like before.

“Who were you talking to?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Elena, a fellow Healer, approaching with a curious look.

“Oh,” you said quickly, your pulse still racing. “Just… an old friend.”

Elena smiled, tilting her head. “Nice to see familiar faces, isn’t it? Especially after everything.”

You nodded faintly, but something about her tone didn’t sit right.

The exhaustion in her eyes was clear, and you felt it too. Sometimes it was hard to be kind to yourself when you put it all on another person.

“You should take a break, let me take over some of your patients,” you told her, a warm smile on your face.

Elena watched you closely, before shaking her head. “Don’t throw yourself into more work, you need to rest too.”

The rest of the day passed in a haze. You went through the motions, treating patients, mixing potions, and doing your best to avoid lingering too long on the morning’s encounter.

But the more you thought about it, the harder it became to focus. Seeing Fred again had felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. It had stirred something in you—hope, relief, a flicker of happiness you hadn’t felt in ages.

&

You sank into the couch the moment you walked through the door to your flat, kicking off your shoes with a groan. Another day of potions, poultices, and endless rounds of patients, each one a stark reminder of what had been lost in the war.

St. Mungo’s was a lifeline, sure. It gave you purpose. But it also drained you, leaving little room to process everything you’d been through.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, savoring the quiet.

The knock on your door startled you.

Frowning, you dragged yourself to your feet, wondering who it could be at this hour.

When you opened the door, Fred Weasley was standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets and that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Fred?” you said, blinking at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come find me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your brows furrowed. “I’ve been busy.”

“And I’ve been bored,” he replied, throwing himself onto your couch like he owned the place. “What’s a bloke got to do to get a little attention around here?”

Despite yourself, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. Fred had always been like this—effortless, larger than life. He had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

“I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me,” you said, heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“Well, someone’s got to,” he called after you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face.

A few minutes later, you brought two steaming mugs of tea into the living room, handing one to Fred before sitting down across from him.

He didn’t reach for the mug right away, instead leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His gaze was intent, but not unkind.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. Fred rarely veered into serious territory—he was the king of deflection, the master of keeping things light.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

You sighed, sinking back into the cushions. “What do you want me to say, Fred? That I’m tired? That I’m still trying to figure out how to keep going when it feels like everything’s fallen apart? Because I am. But what’s the point of talking about it? It doesn’t change anything.”

Fred leaned back, his expression softening. “Maybe not. But bottling it up doesn’t help either. Trust me.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away for a moment. “I hate seeing you like this. You used to light up every room you walked into, you know? Now it’s like… you’re barely there.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to make it heavy. I just… I miss you, that’s all.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile. “I miss you too.”

For the next hour, Fred did what he did best: distracting you. He told you ridiculous stories about the shop, about George’s questionable taste in merchandise and the chaotic customers who made running a joke shop anything but boring. He had you laughing until your sides hurt, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.

By the time he stood to leave, it was late, and you were feeling more at ease than you had in weeks.

“You should come by the shop sometime,” he said, pausing in the doorway.

“Maybe I will,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling in that way they always did. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Fred.”

You closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. For the first time in a long while, you felt… lighter.

It wasn’t until you were cleaning up the living room that you noticed Fred’s untouched mug of tea sitting on the coffee table.

You frowned, picking it up. It was still full, the liquid cold to the touch.

“He must’ve been too busy talking to drink it,” you murmured to yourself, shaking your head. You poured the tea down the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher, before heading to bed.

&

The shop was eerily quiet as you stepped inside, the familiar jingle of the bell sounding oddly out of place in the stillness. You glanced around at the dimly lit aisles, the shelves a kaleidoscope of colors even in the low light. It was strange seeing the shop like this, so empty, so lifeless.

You had worked late again, but something about the thought of going straight home made your skin itch. You needed to be somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the sterile white walls of St. Mungo’s.

Your feet carried you to the back office without much thought, and you paused at the slightly open door.

Fred was there, hunched over the desk, his fingers toying with a quill as he stared down at a piece of parchment.

“Fred,” you said softly, pushing the door open further.

He looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Finally off work, then?”

You nodded, stepping inside and leaning against the doorframe. “Barely. Thought I’d stop by, but it looks like I missed the fun.”

“Yeah, George closed up a while ago. You’ve got terrible timing,” he teased, his tone light.

Your gaze flicked to the desk where a photo caught your eye. It was the three of you—Fred, George, and yourself—arms slung over each other, laughing like you didn’t have a care in the world. You picked it up, your fingers brushing over the glass.

“I remember this,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Good times, weren’t they?” Fred said, leaning back in his chair. “You and George couldn’t stop arguing that day. Think you were fighting over who’d get the last treacle tart.”

Your smile widened despite the ache in your chest. “He cheated, though.”

Fred snorted. “He’s a Weasley. Comes with the territory.”

Setting the photo down, you slid into the chair across from him. “Feels like it was forever ago.”

Fred’s expression softened, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to settle on his features. “It wasn’t that long ago. We’re just… different now.”

You studied him, a lump forming in your throat. He looked the same as he always had—bright eyes, a smirk that never quite left his lips—but there was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that felt heavier.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Things change.”

Fred gave a small nod, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “So, how’s it really going? With the hospital, I mean.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It’s… a lot. I thought I was ready for it, but some days it feels like I’m drowning.”

“You’re not, though,” he said, his tone firm. “You’re stronger than you think.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here. That counts for something.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the sincerity in his voice made the words stick in your throat.

“Thanks,” you said instead, the word barely above a whisper.

Fred gave you a small smile, leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. Things to do.”

“Like what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “You don’t get to know all my secrets.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes as you stood. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said as he stood, heading for the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” you said, watching as he left.

You lingered in the office for a moment before shaking your head and making your way toward the exit.

As you reached the front door, someone stepped inside.

“George?” you said, startled.

He looked at you, his expression tight and guarded. “Thought I’d locked up.”

“I—uh—yeah. I was just… stopping by,” you said vaguely, clutching your bag.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“You look terrible,” you said before you could stop yourself.

George gave a dry laugh. “Thanks. Just what I needed to hear.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, shifting on your feet.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You weren’t at the —”

Before he could say what he wanted to say, the picture of the three of you slid from your hands. You hadn’t realized that you were still holding it.

The shards of glass were everywhere, you immediately went to pick them up, but George grabbed your hand before you could hurt yourself.

“I do that too, you know?”

The question caught you off guard, your chest tightening. “What do you mean?”

George shrugged, his gaze flickering toward the back office. “Feels real, you know?”

You frowned, unsure how to respond.

“Right,” George said, his tone unreadable.

An awkward silence stretched between you before he cleared his throat. “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

As you stepped out into the night, the cool air prickling your skin, his words lingered in your mind.

You shook your head, trying to brush off the strange feeling settling in your chest. The conversation with George left you feeling unsettled.

You told yourself it was just George grieving. Everyone was grieving. That’s all it was.

&

The air outside St. Mungo’s was brisk, carrying the crisp bite of autumn. You tugged your coat tighter around yourself, grateful for the rare quiet moment on your break. The day had been chaotic—healers rushing from patient to patient, the hum of spells and the faint scent of antiseptic filling the halls. It wasn’t exactly the type of environment that allowed for deep breaths or calm thoughts.

You wandered down a quiet path near the hospital, letting the cool breeze soothe your frazzled nerves. Your eyes scanned the rows of trees, their branches shedding golden and crimson leaves onto the cobblestone.

“Mind if I join?”

The voice was unmistakable, and you whipped around to see Fred grinning at you, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his jacket.

“Fred!” you exclaimed, relief washing over you like a balm. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in,” he said, falling into step beside you. “You’re impossible to track down these days, you know that?”

“I’ve been busy,” you said with a shrug. “Work’s been… a lot.”

“Still haven’t figured out how to clone yourself yet, then?” he teased, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Not quite. Maybe I’ll work on that next.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the leaves crunching underfoot. Fred was always like this, effortlessly pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts, making the world feel lighter somehow.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “what do you do to unwind after a day of saving lives?”

“Sleep, mostly,” you admitted. “If I’m lucky, maybe eat something that doesn’t taste like parchment.”

Fred gave a mock gasp. “Blasphemy! This is why I should’ve brought you something from the shop. Maybe a bag of Canary Creams to keep things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Pretty sure my coworkers would kill me if I turned anyone into a bird on hospital grounds.”

“Sounds like they could use a laugh,” Fred said, smirking. “You’re too serious these days.”

You looked at him, the warmth of his presence easing the tension that had been knotting your chest all day. “Maybe. It’s hard not to be, though. Things… aren’t how they used to be.”

Fred’s expression softened, and for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimmed. “No, they’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost who you are. You’re still you, even if it feels different now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Fred gave you a crooked smile. “Anyway, I should get going. Don’t want to keep you from your heroics.”

“Right,” you said, watching as he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing down the path.

When you returned to the hospital, you spotted Elena near the staff break room. She was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, and her expression almost concerned when she saw you.

“Hey,” she said. “You alright? You looked… I don’t know, distracted earlier.”

“Distracted?” you echoed, frowning.

“Yeah,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You seemed… off. Just wanted to say, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Her words gave you pause, confusion prickling at the back of your mind. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, managing a small smile.

“Of course,” Elena said, her tone warm but cautious. “Just remember, you’re not alone, okay?”

You nodded, though her words lingered uneasily in your mind as you made your way back to your duties.

Why did Elena think something was wrong?

You pushed the thought away, chalking it up to exhaustion. But as you dove back into your work, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling in your chest—the faint but growing sense that something wasn’t quite right.

&

Your flat was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. You had collapsed onto the sofa after a long day, still wearing your healer robes, too tired to change. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily against your chest, but your mind refused to quiet.

A knock at the door startled you, your heart leaping in surprise. It was late—too late for visitors—but you dragged yourself up to answer it.

When you opened the door, Fred stood there, leaning casually against the frame with a lopsided grin.

“Hope I’m not interrupting your riveting evening plans,” he said, his voice light but warm.

“Fred,” you said, your fatigue melting into a mix of relief and surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to check on you,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He glanced around your flat, his eyes landing on the cluttered coffee table and the half-empty mug of tea. “Looks like I got here just in time. You’re living the dream, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door behind him. “Not all of us get to play with fireworks and sweets all day.”

Fred laughed, a sound that filled the room and wrapped around you like a blanket. He plopped down onto the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“You look awful,” he said cheerfully.

“Thanks,” you muttered, sinking back onto the sofa.

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, the kind you only shared with someone who had known you forever. You tilted your head to look at him, the familiar lines of his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled—it was all so painfully Fred.

“It’s been a while,” you said softly. “Since we sat like this.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, his voice quieter now. “Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, your chest tightening. “Do you ever think about it? About how everyone just assumed we were—”

“A couple?” Fred interrupted, smirking. “All the time. George used to place bets on when we’d finally ‘admit it.’”

You laughed, though it felt hollow. “They weren’t wrong, though, were they? We were close.”

Fred’s expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “We were. Still are.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. The question had been buried deep in your mind for years, but now it rose to the surface, demanding to be spoken. “Fred… why didn’t it ever happen? Why didn’t we ever—?”

He looked at you then, his gaze steady but distant, as if he were searching for the right words. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice low, “sometimes you don’t get closure. Sometimes things just… are.”

The answer left you reeling, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest.

Fred stood abruptly, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Anyway, I should go. You need sleep, and I need to—” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the door.

“Right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As he left, the silence in your flat felt deafening. You stared at the spot where he had been sitting, your thoughts a chaotic tangle of emotions.

Fred’s words echoed in your mind, and for the first time, you wondered if you were chasing something that could never truly be found.

&

The bell above the door of the tea shop jingled softly as you stepped inside. The warm scent of cinnamon and chamomile washed over you, momentarily easing the tension that had weighed heavily on your shoulders since the previous night. It was your first day off in weeks, and after losing a patient yesterday, you had needed this—a quiet space to think, or perhaps, to not think at all.

Your eyes scanned the room, landing on Fred sitting by the window, a steaming cup in front of him. His head was tilted slightly, gazing out at the bustling street outside.

You hesitated for a moment before walking over to him. His face lit up when he noticed you, and he gestured to the empty seat across from him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fred,” you said, sliding into the seat. “You’ve got a habit of turning up exactly when I need someone to talk to.”

“Call it a gift,” he said, shrugging. “What’s got you looking like you just ran headfirst into a Hippogriff?”

You sighed, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic of your cup after ordering a simple black tea. “Rough day yesterday. Lost someone.”

Fred’s teasing expression softened immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gentler now.

You shrugged, your throat tightening. “It happens. Doesn’t make it easier, though.”

Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You ever think about doing something else? Something less… heavy?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But it’s not that simple, is it? I like helping people.”

“And who’s helping you?” he asked, his tone pointed but kind.

You looked away, his words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “I’m fine,” you said quietly. “Really.”

Fred didn’t press further, instead leaning back in his chair and letting the conversation shift to lighter topics. He told you a ridiculous story about George’s latest experiment at the shop, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses. You laughed in spite of yourself, grateful for the distraction.

The two of you sat there for what felt like hours, reminiscing about old times and trading jokes. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the tea shop didn’t exist.

Eventually, Fred glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up. “I should get going,” he said, his tone reluctant. “George will have my head if I’m late again.”

You nodded, watching as he turned toward the door. “Fred,” you called after him.

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” you said simply.

His smile was soft, genuine. “Anytime.”

And then he was gone, leaving the air around you feeling oddly still.

You stayed a few minutes longer, finishing your tea in silence. When you finally stood to leave, you noticed something strange—people were staring at you.

Their gazes weren’t hostile, but curious, as if you’d done something out of the ordinary. You met a few of their eyes, but no one said anything. A couple seated near the door exchanged whispers, their eyes flicking toward your table.

Frowning, you pulled your cloak tighter around yourself and stepped out into the chilly air. The feeling of being watched clung to you as you made your way home, an unease settling in your chest.

When you reached your flat, you locked the door behind you and leaned against it, trying to shake the strange sensation.

“Just tired,” you muttered to yourself. “That’s all it is.”

But the memory of their stares lingered, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

&

It was late when you heard the knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it. But when the knock came again, heavier this time, you reluctantly got up and opened the door.

George stood there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his face pale and drawn.

“George,” you said, blinking at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. “Mum’s been asking about you,” he said, his voice careful. “She says she hasn’t seen you in ages.”

You frowned, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been… busy.”

“You’re always busy,” he said, looking around your flat as though trying to make sense of the chaos. His gaze lingered on a pile of unopened letters on the table, a half-empty cup of tea on the counter. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“That’s not true,” you said defensively.

“Isn’t it?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He looked at you closely, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re not okay, are you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. George had always been perceptive, too perceptive, and you suddenly felt stripped bare under his scrutiny.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, looking away.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “we’re all trying to figure out how to move forward. It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding a way to keep going without—”

He stopped himself abruptly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Without what?” you asked, your chest tightening.

George shook his head. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

You frowned, confused and slightly unnerved by the way he was looking at you, like he was trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Just… come with me,” he repeated, already heading toward the door.

“George, it’s late—”

“I know,” he said, turning to face you. “But this is important. Please.”

Something in his tone made you hesitate. Reluctantly, you grabbed your coat and followed him out into the chilly night.

He didn’t say much as you walked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. You tried to make sense of his sudden appearance, the strange tension in his voice, but the silence between you felt too fragile to break.

Finally, he led you to a quiet, secluded area, the air around you growing heavier with each step. You glanced around, the faint outlines of headstones barely visible in the moonlight.

“George,” you said, your voice catching. “What is this?”

He stopped in front of a particular spot, his back to you. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, shaky breath.

When he finally turned to face you, his expression was unreadable. “I just thought… maybe this would help,” he said quietly.

You didn’t understand what he meant, not fully, but something in his eyes—something raw and achingly familiar—made your chest tighten.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

George didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped closer and pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you. The unexpected gesture caught you off guard, and for a moment, you froze.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “It’s okay to miss him.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt the air leave your lungs in a sharp gasp.

You clung to him, your mind reeling, the weight of his words pressing down on you.

For a moment, it felt like something inside you was unraveling, pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t realized you were trying to solve falling into place.

But the full picture remained just out of reach, the truth lingering at the edges of your mind like a shadow.

George pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes.

You nodded silently, unable to find the words to respond.

&

George left after a while, a long time that was filled with silence. But you couldn’t go yet, you were still standing in the middle of the graveyard.

That’s when Fred walked up next to you, looking down at the grave in front of you.

“You’re not real,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Fred tilted his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “No,” he said simply, “I’m not.”

The weight of those words hit you like a tidal wave.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin, taut with everything you hadn’t said and everything you now understood.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice barely audible.

Fred’s gaze softened, but there was something unshakably sad in his eyes. “You needed me,” he said. “So I was here.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking. “But you’re gone,” you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

“I am,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

The world felt impossibly still, the air heavy with unspoken grief.

“I don’t—” you started, your voice cracking. “I don’t know how to do this, Fred. I don’t know how to let you go.”

Fred turned to you. “You don’t have to,” he said gently. “Not really. I’m always going to be here, just not like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. “It’s not fair,” you whispered. “You were supposed to have so much more time. We were supposed to have more time.”

Fred’s smile wavered, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. “Life’s not fair,” he said, his voice tinged with a bitterness you rarely heard from him. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

You nodded, the tears spilling over now. “I love you, Fred,” you said, your voice breaking. “I loved you, and I never even told you. I never got the chance to—”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” Fred interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “I knew.”

You looked up at him, your breath catching. “How?”

He smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me? Or how you always laughed at my terrible jokes, even when no one else did? Or how you always saved me a seat, even when it meant you had to stand?”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your tears.

“I knew,” he said again, his tone softer now. “And you know, deep down, that I loved you too.”

Your chest ached, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it felt like you might break under the weight of it. “I just wanted more time,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Another chance.”

Fred’s expression grew serious, his gaze locking with yours. “I know you do,” he said quietly. “But if you had it, would it ever be enough?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat.

Fred leaned back, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “You would always want more,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. “Because that’s how it is with love. It’s never enough time. Not really.”

Your hands trembled as you struggled to process his words.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” you said, your voice breaking again.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice impossibly gentle. “I’ll always be a part of you. I’ll always be in your memories, in the things that make you laugh, in the things that remind you of me.”

Tears streamed down your face, your chest heaving with the force of your sobs. “But it’s not the same,” you choked out. “It’s not the same as having you here.”

Fred’s expression softened, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache even more. “I know,” he said. “But you have to keep living, love. You have to keep going, even if it hurts.”

You looked at him, your vision blurred with tears. You reached out your hand, close enough to touch his face, but you didn’t, too scared of what might happen if you tried.

Fred’s smile was soft, tinged with sadness. “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

You clenched your fists, the ache in your chest almost unbearable.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” you whispered.

Fred looked down at you, his gaze filled with a love that you could feel in every fiber of your being.

“You don’t have to say it,” he said. “Just… let me go.”

You sobbed, the sound raw and broken, as you watched him turn around.

“Fred,” you called, your voice cracking.

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” you said, the words tumbling out of you like a confession, like a plea.

Fred smiled, his eyes glistening. “I know,” he said. “I love you too.”

And then he was gone.

You turned around again, staring yet again at the grave in front of you.

You stood there for a long time, the silence deafening. Until you took a step forward, your fingers tracing the engraved letters.

Fred Gideon Weasley

You’ve spent most of the night nursing a drink you don’t particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. It’s not your scene, but you came anyway because that’s what friends do—they drag you out, convince you it’ll be “fun,” and leave you regretting it by the second hour.

You’re just about ready to slip away when you spot him—Fred Weasley.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but there’s something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. He’s talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like he’s only half paying attention.

You consider leaving without a word. After all, you’ve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike him—quite the opposite.

Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasn’t quite fizzled out, no matter how much time has passed.

And of course, there was the matter of his latest relationship, a whirlwind romance with someone you considered a friend, Leah.

It would be wrong to approach him now, wouldn’t it?

But then Fred’s eyes land on you, and there’s no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. It’s an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Alicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.”

Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. “Sounds like something she’d say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.”

The comment surprises you. Fred doesn’t usually talk like that—so openly, so vulnerable. It’s enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. “You don’t seem miserable,” you say, testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’d be surprised,” he finally says, his tone softer now.

It’s an opening, one you hadn’t expected but can’t ignore. “What happened?”

Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. “Do you mind? It’s a bit loud in here.”

You follow him outside, where the night air is cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside. He leans against the railing, staring out at the city lights, and you stand beside him, unsure of what to say.

“She left,” he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about her—his ex.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Fred smiles faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just… stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasn’t enough for her.”

The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.

You’ve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like this—guarded, almost uncertain—it’s disarming.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you mean it.

He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think you’re fine, and the next, it’s like you can’t breathe.”

You nod, because you understand more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. It’s awful.”

Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. “You get it.”

The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, “Maybe we’re just terrible at choosing the right people.”

Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Maybe we are.”

It feels like an unspoken agreement, a quiet acknowledgment of shared pain. And when he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, you don’t pull away.

&

The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fred’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth is on yours again, urgent and consuming, and the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

You’re not sure how it started—or maybe you do—but you’re too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like he’s unraveling a part of himself he’s never shown anyone.

Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesn’t stop. He moves with you, stumbling through the dark like neither of you can think beyond each other.

You barely make it to the bedroom. A trail of discarded shoes and jackets marks the path, forgotten in the haze.

He pauses only briefly, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “This…” he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “This is what I needed. Something… easy. No expectations.”

The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he means—casual, uncomplicated, something to dull the ache of loneliness he spoke of earlier.

Your heart lurches, but your mind, clouded with want and the intoxicating proximity of him, nods before you can think it through. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The lie tastes bitter even as the kiss resumes, as his lips trail down your neck, as his hands find your skin. You tell yourself you’re fine with this. It’s Fred, and it’s what he wants. Isn’t it better to have this than nothing at all?

When morning comes, he’s gone.

You’re not surprised—he doesn’t strike you as the type to linger—but the silence in the room feels deafening. The sheets are cold where he was, and you stare at the ceiling, replaying his words in your head.

Something easy. No expectations.

Your agreement, muffled and uncertain, rings louder now. You agreed. This is what you signed up for. So why does your chest ache? Why does it feel like you’ve made a mistake you can’t undo?

You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around you—a shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. It’s all so mundane, yet it feels like the air has shifted in your room, like the walls are pressing in.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a slow, measured breath. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But you can’t change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasn’t he? Maybe this is all you get.

Maybe this is all you’re allowed to have.

You hope you can convince yourself of that.

&

The pub is buzzing, laughter and conversation spilling out from every corner as you sit wedged between Alicia and George.

Fred is across from you, casually leaning back in his chair, a pint of beer balanced between his long fingers. His laughter blends with the noise around you, effortlessly charming, as always.

It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that this is supposed to be casual. Easy.

You catch yourself watching him longer than you should, noting the way his hair falls into his eyes when he laughs, the way his smile lingers just enough to make your stomach twist.

You remind yourself to look away.

The conversation circles back to someone’s recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fred’s ex.

It’s Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without malice—just an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.

“You were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,” she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.

Fred’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice light but guarded, “things don’t always work out the way you think they will.”

The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s something in the way his shoulders tense, in the way he avoids eye contact, that makes your chest tighten.

The rest of the evening is a blur of noise and small talk. You find yourself gravitating toward the bar, needing space, needing air. But you don’t get far.

Fred appears beside you, leaning on the counter with a quiet sigh. His eyes are darker now, shadows of something unspoken behind them. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.

“Come with me,” he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost don’t hear it.

You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.

He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until you’re standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.

“Fred, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.

It’s messy, hurried, like he’s trying to drown something out. His hands find your waist, pressing you against the cold tile wall, and you can feel the tension in his grip, the desperation in the way he kisses you.

It’s different this time—more frantic, less controlled. There’s no room to think, no space for words, just the heat of him against you and the quiet hum of the pub muffled beyond the door.

When it’s over, you’re both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fred’s forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something real, something vulnerable.

But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “Thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.

You blink, trying to find something to say, but he’s already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, the cold tiles against your back, your pulse still racing. You stare at the empty space where he was, your mind replaying the moment in vivid detail.

Something about this feels wrong. But then again, wasn’t this what you agreed to?

&

It’s late. Later than late, really, with the kind of stillness in the air that only comes when the rest of the world is sleeping.

But you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of your couch with a half-empty glass of wine in your hand, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

You don’t know why you’re waiting.

Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.

It’s been a few days since you saw Fred—since he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to expect then, and you still don’t know now. But when you hear the knock at your door, your chest tightens in anticipation anyway.

You set the glass down and cross the room, opening the door to find him leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Bit late for a social call, don’t you think?” you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like it’s hiding something. “Thought you might say that. But then, you’re still awake, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to assess the space.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details you’d never think to notice.

“You always keep it this tidy?” he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.

“I knew you were coming, didn’t I?” you shoot back, closing the door behind him.

Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.

It’s always like this with him—this electric push and pull that leaves you feeling off-balance and exhilarated all at once.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of a chair, and then he’s sitting on your couch like he’s been doing it for years.

You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesn’t matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.

“So,” Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. “Drinking alone, are we? Rough night?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not rough. Just… quiet.”

Fred hums, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are close enough to brush your shoulder, but they don’t.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?”

You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. “That depends. What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, you’re caught up in one of his ridiculous stories—something about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s shaking loose all the tension you’ve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

And for a moment, it’s easy to forget the doubts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But then the story ends, and the laughter fades, and the room feels too quiet again.

Fred’s laughter dies in his throat first. He turns his head toward you, the space between you charged, his expression softening as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.

“Am I?” he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly, the space between you disappears. His mouth meets yours in a rush of heat and hunger, and your body reacts without thought, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer.

He tastes like mint and something else, something unmistakably Fred, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It starts like it always does—feverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fred’s hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and your back hits the cushions of the couch before you even realize you’ve moved.

But somewhere in the middle of it—between the hurried kisses and the whispered curses—something shifts.

His touch slows, his fingers trailing along your skin with an almost reverent softness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like there’s more to this than just a casual arrangement.

Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Fred pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you feel it too.

But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like he’s dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

“Leaving already?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred hesitates, his back to you. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you don’t call him on it.

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and you’re left alone again, your chest tight and your mind racing.

This is what you signed up for, you remind yourself. Casual. Fun. No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like so much more?

&

The party isn’t much different from the last one. A haze of laughter and music hangs in the air, the dimly lit living room thrumming with energy as bodies mill about. You’re leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.

Fred.

Your breath catches—not because you didn’t expect him to be here, but because it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this since everything began.

In the few weeks since that night, he’s always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, he’s here, among friends, out in the open. It feels… surreal.

His eyes catch yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks away. You should probably do the same, pretend he’s just another person at the party, someone you barely know outside of shared jokes and casual conversations.

But something about seeing him here, the same Fred everyone else knows, tangles in your chest.

The game between you feels different now. Riskier.

You manage to avoid each other for most of the night, though you’re painfully aware of him. The way his laugh carries over the music. The effortless charm in the way he leans against the kitchen counter, surrounded by people.

But it’s when you least expect it that it happens.

You’ve slipped into the quiet hallway, hoping for a moment to breathe. He appears from nowhere, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, low enough that no one else could hear.

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me too.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the party, the bass thudding like a heartbeat. Then he shifts closer—too close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.

“This is risky,” you murmur, though you don’t move away.

“Since when do you mind risky?” he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. There’s a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when he’s let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You should push him away, but you don’t.

Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like he’s about to say something important. Something real. But he doesn’t. He’s Fred, after all.

Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “Then why are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.

“I shouldn’t be,” he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, “But I am.”

The air between you feels heavier than it should. He’s pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy he’s so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.

“You don’t have to make this so complicated,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Fred’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. “You think it’s that easy?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know how to.

Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. “Careful. Someone might see us.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath them.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you can’t quite unravel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don’t see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you can’t escape.

And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you can’t help but wonder if this game you’re playing is one you’ll ever win—or if it’s one you’ll lose before it even truly begins.

&

It’s been days since the party.

Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if you’ll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesn’t call, doesn’t send any owl—not that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.

When the knock finally comes, it’s past midnight. You hesitate for a moment, standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at the door like it might vanish if you blink. Then, as if on instinct, you reach for the handle.

Fred is there, leaning against the frame, his hair tousled, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.

It’s fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then you’re stumbling toward the bedroom. It’s almost routine now—the way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.

It’s the same pattern, the same urgency, like he’s trying to chase away whatever’s haunting him.

Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered “I’ll see you,” and then the door clicks shut behind him.

The quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the familiar ache feels sharper tonight.

&

Alicia’s offer couldn’t come at a better time. “You need a reset,” she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “Seriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.”

It’s not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.

The date is fine. Fine. Paul is nice—charming, even—but there’s no spark. By the end of the night, you’re both laughing about how you’d make better friends than anything else.

It’s late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.

Fred.

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks up as you approach, his gaze flickering to the key in your hand before settling on your face.

“You’re out late,” he says, his voice casual.

“I had plans,” you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You don’t elaborate, and neither does he.

Inside, the tension follows you, crackling in the air as you set your bag down and turn to face him. He’s watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like he’s holding something back.

“How were the plans?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it you can’t quite place.

“They were fine,” you say. “We’re better off as friends.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think that’s the end of it. But then he’s stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.

This time, it’s different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but there’s something else underneath it—a quiet desperation, like he’s trying to claim something without admitting it. His hands linger longer, his lips move slower, and you let yourself lean into it, pretending not to notice the shift.

Afterward, he’s quiet again, lying beside you in the dark. The air feels heavier, and you can sense the walls going back up before he even moves to get dressed.

As he pulls on his shirt, he pauses, standing by the door with his back to you. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales softly.

Then, just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, his gaze flickering to yours. “Let me know when you’re too busy.”

It’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But there’s something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after he’s gone.

You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.

&

Angelina’s birthday party is already in full swing by the time you stumble through the door, only half-committed to being there. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it’s all too loud, too bright, too much.

But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped you’d find a distraction in the chaos.

Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. He’s impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest you’ve been trying to ignore. He hasn’t come near you, hasn’t even spared you more than a glance. But that glance—it felt like it saw too much.

You bury your feelings in your drink, letting the bitterness of it settle the knots in your stomach. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, what’s with the face?” Alicia’s voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. “You look like someone just ran over your cat.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swirling the last of your drink. “Just…thinking.”

“About your nonexistent love life again?” she teases, nudging your shoulder. “Seriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.”

You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesn’t know. No one does. You’ve kept Fred a secret, just as he asked. The weight of it presses heavier tonight, threatening to spill over as you down the rest of your drink and reach for another.

As the night goes on, the alcohol blurs the edges of everything. Faces blend together, voices turn to static, and you’re left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.

Fred’s there, somewhere. You’ve caught glimpses of him—his easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesn’t approach, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking too long.

By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. You’re sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.

“Let’s get you home,” Fred says, his voice low but firm.

You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but there’s something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.

You don’t resist when he helps you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you out the door. The walk home is quiet, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. Fred doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence feels heavier than usual.

When you finally reach your flat, he helps you inside, sitting you down on the couch as he disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, kneeling in front of you.

“Drink,” he says simply.

You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.

“Fred,” you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”

He looks at you, startled by the request. “I—”

“Please.” The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. “Just for the night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.

“You’ll stay?” you ask again, your voice softer now.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, the room is quiet, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, the haze of last night still clinging to your thoughts.

Then you notice it—the bed is empty.

Your stomach drops, a hollow ache blooming in your chest as you sit up. The other side of the bed is cool to the touch, and for a moment, you wonder if he left as soon as you fell asleep. The ache sharpens, and you feel foolish for believing he’d actually stay.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you bury your face in your hands. Of course, he left. Of course, this is what it always is with him—half-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.

It’s only when you lower your hands that you notice it.

A glass of water and a small packet of painkillers sit neatly on the nightstand.

Your breath catches as you reach for the glass, the pieces falling together in your mind. The bed might be cool now, but the faint warmth lingering on the pillow tells a different story.

And then you hear it—the faint click of your front door closing.

Your chest tightens, your heart pounding as you realize the truth: Fred stayed. He kept his promise.

The ache in your chest softens, replaced by something you can’t quite name. It’s not relief, not entirely. It’s something more fragile, more complicated.

He stayed.

And for now, that’s enough.

&

The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music that’s a touch too loud. You’re sitting at the edge of the booth again, nursing the remnants of your drink while the conversation at the table flows around you. Fred is there too, only a few feet away but worlds apart, as always.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

But tonight, something is different. You’ve caught him looking at you more than once, a flicker of warmth in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long before he turns away.

And then there are the little things—how he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldn’t reach, the casual way his hand brushed yours when passing the salt, and the faint smirk on his lips when you dropped your napkin, like he found your clumsiness amusing.

It’s maddening. These small, almost imperceptible gestures that would mean nothing if it were anyone else, but with Fred, they feel like everything.

You glance his way now, trying not to linger. He’s leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, who’s telling some animated story about a prank gone wrong. But then, as if he feels your eyes on him, Fred looks up.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and there it is again—that fleeting, private smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

It’s a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.

“Leaving soon?” His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize he’s speaking to you.

Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Maybe. You?”

His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Not yet.”

The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension, the way his fingers still against the table as you grab your things and step into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast of the quiet street is a relief at first, but it doesn’t last. Your thoughts churn, the familiar mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. You shake your head, trying to focus on the walk home when you see her.

Leah.

She’s leaning against the wall just outside the pub, her arms crossed, the faint glow of a cigarette in her hand. She looks up when she hears you, her face illuminated by the streetlamp above.

“Hey,” she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

You freeze, your chest tightening. “Hey.”

Her lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

She must’ve watched you—you hadn’t even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?

You force a shrug, your voice tight. “Long day.”

She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Fred seemed to have been distracted too. Must’ve been one of those days for everyone, huh?”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. “Yeah, maybe.”

Leah watches you for a moment longer, her gaze unsettlingly calm. She takes another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “You two seemed friendly tonight.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t falter. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. “Sure.”

The pub door swings open, the sound spilling into the street, and your heart sinks as Fred steps out. His hair is a little messy, his face flushed from the warmth of the pub. He glances around, his eyes landing on you almost immediately.

“There you are,” he says, his tone light as he steps closer. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d—”

His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.

His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. “Leah.”

“Fred,” she says smoothly, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flick between the two of you.

He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets as the tension thickens.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tighter now.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You glance between them, your chest tightening. You can’t do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusations—it’s too much.

“I was just leaving,” you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.

Fred’s gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait—”

“I’ll see you later,” you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.

You won’t see him later, you’re sure of it.

The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fred’s voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you can’t quite place.

“Leah, we should talk.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

&

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.

You picture them together—Fred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe they’re sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe they’re already back together.

The thought is a knife to the chest, twisting deeper with every passing second. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, but it doesn’t help. The ache is relentless, carving itself into every corner of your heart.

Hours pass. The clock on your nightstand glows faintly, marking the time you’ve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind won’t let you rest.

You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaningless—a fleeting distraction for both of you. You knew that. You agreed to it.

And yet.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, jolting you upright. For a moment, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Another knock.

You stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and shuffle to the door. When you open it, Fred is standing there, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he’d left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.

You can’t speak. You just step aside, and he walks in without a word.

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. He turns to you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t say. He just steps closer, his hands brushing against your arms before they settle on your waist, pulling you toward him.

There are no questions, no explanations. Just his mouth on yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

It’s different this time.

The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like you’re fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. His hands linger, tracing patterns on your skin, and his lips trail down your neck with an almost reverent slowness.

When he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, it’s not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.

It’s almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensity—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is goodbye. If this is Fred’s way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.

The thought makes your throat tighten, but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

When it’s over, you lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled around you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His breathing is steady, his body warm against yours, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is enough. That this could be enough.

But then he stirs, pulling away.

You turn to watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything. You just watch as he moves to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to you, his expression unreadable, and steps closer.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s the kind of tenderness he’s never shown before, the kind that makes your heart break even as it swells.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest heavier than ever.

This is goodbye, you think.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

&

The weeks without Fred are a blur of emotions, each one more exhausting than the last. Some days, you manage to feel like yourself again, like the world might not actually end without him. Other days, the grief hits you like a wave, dragging you under with the weight of all the unsaid words and the things you wished could’ve been.

Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you don’t want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But there’s a hollow ache they can’t touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.

You try to fill it with distractions—new books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted date—but nothing works. Because no matter what you’re doing, your thoughts always circle back to him. To the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you that night before he left.

The worst part is the silence.

For weeks, there’s no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. He’s just… gone. And while you tell yourself that’s what you wanted—that it’s for the best—you can’t stop wondering where he is. What he’s doing. If he’s with her.

And then, one day, the silence breaks.

It’s mid-afternoon, and you’re home, though you have no memory of how you spent the morning. The hours have blurred together in a haze of restless pacing and half-formed thoughts, none of which have brought you any peace.

When the knock comes, you almost don’t hear it. It’s soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they’re welcome.

Your heart stutters.

You tell yourself it’s probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, it’s Fred.

He looks different in the daylight. There’s no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. “Can I come in?”

You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak he’s brought into your life and walk away for good. But instead, you step aside, letting him in.

Fred moves to the middle of the room and stops, his eyes scanning the space like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in,” he admits after a moment.

“Why are you here, Fred?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—guilt, maybe, or fear. “I needed to see you. To explain.”

“Explain what? That you left? That you couldn’t give me what I wanted? What I needed?” Your voice wavers, betraying the anger you’ve been holding onto for weeks.

Fred flinches but doesn’t look away. “Yes. All of it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I was a mess when we started this,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “Leah and I were over, but I wasn’t okay. I told myself I didn’t want anything serious, that I couldn’t handle it. And then you…”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You made me feel like I could handle it,” Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didn’t deserve it.”

You blink, his words sinking in.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” he admits, meeting your eyes again. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And now? Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Fred says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “And what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like it’s too much?”

Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. “Then I’ll tell you. And we’ll figure it out together. Because I’m done running, and I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“What are you asking for, Fred?” you whisper.

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. “I’m asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what you’ve always deserved.”

You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely audible. “But we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.”

Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. “Slow. Got it.”

He steps back then, extending a hand like he’s meeting you for the first time. “Hi. I’m Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

For a moment, you let yourself smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Then you glance at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. “Though I have to say, you look a lot like this guy I used to know. Total pain in the arse, but surprisingly charming when he wanted to be.”

Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, I’m hoping I’m nothing like him. He sounds awful.”

“He was,” you say, shaking his hand firmly. “But I think you might be an improvement.”