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summary: youâre about to pick up your things from your ex, but then a pleasant surprise opens the door instead
word count: 2.5k
masterlist
The flat felt cold, the absence of him infuriating.
You hadnât been here since the day he told you it wasnât working anymore. And the worst part? Youâd felt a flicker of relief when he admitted there was someone else.
You and Ron were never meant to last. Youâd known that from the beginning. Still, youâd stayed, letting yourself sink into a relationship you knew youâd 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 youâd always known was meant for someone else.
It had been over a week since you left the flatâharsh 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. Youâd waited until you were certain Ron wouldnât be here.
At least, thatâs what you thought. But the faint glow of light spilling from the living room told another story.
âRonniekins, have you finally found your way home?â
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.
âHey, long time no see,â he said, moving forward like he was about to pull you into a hug. But his steps faltered when he caught your expression. âWhat happened to you?â
âI thought you were Ron.â
Fredâs brow furrowed, though the corners of his mouth still twitched upward. âSorry to disappoint. Just big old me.â His voice was light, but his eyes studied you carefully.
And thatâs when it hit you.
âRon didnât tell you.â The words werenât a question.
Fredâs confusion deepened. âTell me what?â
You hesitated, the weight of it all suddenly crashing over you. But there was no point in sugarcoating it.
âHe broke up with me,â you said quietly. âFound someone else.â
Fred stared at you, his grin fading as your words settled in the space between you. For a moment, he didnât say anything, his expression shifting from confusion to shock, and thenâas the weight of the situation became clearâto something else entirely.
âWait,â he said slowly, his voice quieter now. âHe what?â
You shifted on your feet, arms folding instinctively across your chest. âRon broke up with me,â you repeated, your voice steadier this time. âThereâs someone else. Someone whoâs apparently a better fit for him.â
Fred blinked, the lines of his face hardening. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. âThat git,â he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. âI mean⌠sorry, but⌠what the hell, Ron?â
You let out a humorless laugh. âWell, he didnât exactly send you an owl about it, did he?â
Fredâs jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of anger simmering behind his eyes. âYouâre telling me he just⌠tossed you aside? For someone else?â
You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. âPretty much. Said it wasnât working, that it hadnât been for a while. And heâs not wrong.â
Fred frowned, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer. âThat doesnât make it okay.â
There was something in his voiceâa quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
âIt doesnât matter,â you said softly. âItâs done now. I just need to get my things and move on.â
âDoesnât matter?â Fred repeated, his voice rising slightly. âOf course it bloody matters. Heâs my brother, but⌠Merlin, what an absolute tosser. You didnât deserve that.â
You flinched at his words, guilt and something else knotting in your stomach. You didnât deserve itânot the betrayal, not the way it endedâbut you also couldnât ignore the truth. âItâs not as black-and-white as that,â you murmured, shaking your head.
Fred crossed his arms, studying you carefully. âWhat do you mean?â
You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. âRon and I⌠we werenât exactly perfect. We fought more than we laughed toward the end. Maybe itâs better this way. For both of us.â
Fred tilted his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. âYou canât tell me youâre okay with this. Not after two years.â
âI didnât say Iâm okay,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. âBut Iâm not heartbroken either. Not in the way you think I should be.â
Fredâs 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. âAnyway, like I said, Iâm just here to grab my things. I⌠I didnât think anyone would be here.â
Fredâs gaze softened, the sharp edges of his anger giving way to something gentler. âYou shouldâve sent me an owl,â he said. âI couldâve⌠I donât know, helped.â
âHelped with what?â you asked, forcing a small smile. âPacking up my regrets?â
Fred didnât laugh. Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. âYou donât have anything to regret. If anything, Ron does. And if he canât see what he had, then⌠thatâs his loss.â
Your breath caught in your throat. There was a warmth in his voice, a sincerity that made it hard to look at him. You hadnât come here for comfort, but somehow, Fred was giving it to you anyway.
You cleared your throat, glancing toward the hallway. âI should⌠I should get started.â
Fred stepped aside, giving you space. âYeah, sure. Iâll⌠Iâll just be out here if you need anything.â
As you moved past him, you couldnât help but feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you. There was something in the way he looked at youâsomething you couldnât 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 Fredâs words stayed with you, echoing in your mind: If he canât see what he had, thatâs 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.
âGot everything?â he asked quietly.
You nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag. âYeah. Thatâs the last of it.â
Fred straightened, stepping closer. âYou alright?â
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.
âI donât know,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. âItâs⌠weird. Leaving. I know itâs over, and I know it wasnât right, but it still feels likeâŚâ You paused, struggling to find the words. âIt feels like I failed.â
Fred frowned, his expression tightening. âYou didnât fail. Relationships end. Thatâs not failure. Thatâs just⌠life.â
You let out a bitter laugh. âEasy for you to say. You werenât part of it.â
Fred hesitated, his gaze flickering as if he was weighing his words carefully. âMaybe not directly. But I noticed things.â
âWhat kind of things?â you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
Fred stepped closer, his arms falling to his sides. âYou didnât laugh as much when you were with him,â he said softly. âNot like you used to.â
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. âHow would you even know that?â you asked, though you werenât sure you wanted to hear the answer.
Fred gave a small, almost sheepish smile. âItâs hard not to notice,â he said, his voice quiet but steady. âYou have this laugh⌠itâs ridiculous, honestly. Loud and completely unfiltered. Itâs the kind of laugh that makes everyone else want to laugh, too. But it was different with Ron. Like you were holding back.â
Your heart twisted painfully, and for a moment, you couldnât meet his gaze. Youâd held back more than your laughter. There had always been a wall between you and Ron, one that youâd built yourself because youâd knownâdeep down, even if you didnât want to admit itâthat your heart wasnât entirely his.
Fredâs words stirred memories youâd buried, moments youâd told yourself didnât 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 youâd caught yourself wondering what it would feel like to have his attention on youâreally on youâinstead of Ron.
You cleared your throat, trying to push those thoughts aside. âIt doesnât matter now,â you said softly. âItâs done.â
Fred studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took another step forward. âDoesnât matter?â he repeated, his voice quiet but firm. âOf course it matters. Heâs my brother, butâŚâ He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. âYou deserved better. You still do.â
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.
âFredâŚâ you started, unsure of what you were even going to say.
He gave you a small, almost self-deprecating smile. âDonât worry about it. Iâm just glad youâre out of there. You shouldnât have to settle for someone who doesnât see you the way you deserve to be seen.â
âAnd in what way do I deserve to be seen?â
âLike youâre everything.â His gaze was fixated on your face, his next words almost too quiet for you to hear, but you still did. âLike I do.â
Your chest tightened at his words, but before you could respond, he shifted, glancing toward the window. âItâs getting late,â he said, his voice quieter now.
You nodded, the tension between you suddenly too much to bear. âI should go.â But even you could hear the reluctance in your voice.
Fred didnât 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.
Fredâs 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.
âYou could always stay,â 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.
âThis is a bad idea,â you whispered, your words brushing against his lips. You werenât sure who you were trying to convinceâhim or yourself.
âProbably,â 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. âStay anyway.â
The weight of Fredâs words, his presence so close, became unbearable. Your thoughts blurred into feelingsâraw 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. Fredâs 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 hadnât let yourself imagine. Fred kissed you like heâd been waiting for this moment forever, and you poured everything you had into itâthe what-ifs, the unsaid words, the ache you hadnât 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 youâd 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.
âFred?â Ronâs 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 couldnât quite nameâa mixture of regret, longing, and something heavier.
âI should go,â 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 youâintense, searching, and almost bittersweetâleft 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 wouldnât notice anything. But as you reached for the strap, his voice stopped you.
âYou know,â Ron said, his tone lighter than you expected, âIâm happy for you.â
You froze, slowly straightening to face him. âWhat?â
Ron gave you a small, lopsided smile, leaning casually against the doorframe. âI mean, I might be slow sometimes, but Iâm not blind.â
Your mouth opened, but no words came out.
Ron shrugged. âLook, I know things ended badly with us, but weâre both at fault, don't you think? And honestly?â He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine. âI think Fredâs been waiting for a chance with you for a long time.â
Your chest tightened, warmth and guilt and a strange kind of relief swirling together. âRon, Iââ
He held up a hand. âYou donât have to explain. Just⌠make sure he doesnât mess this up, yeah?â
Despite yourself, a small laugh escaped, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it didnât feel forced. âThanks, Ron.â
He nodded, the grin returning to his face. âDonât mention it. Just⌠donât tell Mum. Sheâs going to have an opinion, and you know how she is.â
You laughed again, lighter this time, and when you left the flat, the warmth of Ronâs words stayed with you. It wasnât perfect, not yet, but for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe it could be.
And Fredâs last look? Youâd be seeing that in your dreams for a long time.
oh my gosh you're back!! âšď¸đ¤ how have you been?
i am!! đ¤ itâs so lovely to see messages like this, seriously. makes me so glad to be back!!
iâve been good, mostly. workâs been a lot, but i just got back from a little vacation (london yay) with a friend, which helped a ton. hope youâve been doing well too!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
how did you start writing? (I love your writing so much and you inspired me to also start writing one shots since I've made up so many scenarios with Fred and stuff. RGAHHGBFDBDB I love you so much you're my idol and favorite writer and omg I'm so sorry I'm yapping đ)
not yapping at all!! this is honestly the sweetest message and i adore you right back đĽşđ also the fact that youâve been in my notes before?? just know that i notice and appreciate it every time
as for how i started writing⌠iâve always kind of made up little stories in my head (especially the what if fred did this kind at night), and eventually i just⌠couldnât not write them down anymore. it started messy and self-indulgent and unpolished, but it felt right, you know?
it took me like almost a year before posting my first fic, and funnily enough the first one I wrote is still the most loved one on my blog (shoutout: a touch that never hurts)
iâm so happy to hear youâve started. if you ever post them, please know iâm cheering you on endlessly đ§Ą
i had to say this, your writing is amazing, really, and its soooo easy to understand, and english isnt even my first language!! your fred weasley x reader were just chefs kiss, i read them all in a single night, really enjoyed it đđ
if you could pleaaaseee tell me when youre going to write more about fred or oliver wood i would be so grateful because really, i adore how u write, its seriously breath-taking!! have a nice day/ night!!!
ahh thank you so much!! i really appreciate you saying that â especially since english isnât my first language either, it means a lot to hear that my writing still feels clear and easy to connect with đĽš
also the image of you reading all the fred fics in one night?? iâm actually grinning. iâve definitely got more fred coming soon (some emotional chaos, naturally), and oliverâs been on my mind too đ so stay tuned!
seriously, thanks again for taking the time to send this â it means more than i can put into words đ hope youâre having a lovely day / night wherever you are â¨
summary: sneaking into fred weasleyâs room was never meant to mean anythingâuntil it suddenly did
word count: 3.9k
masterlist
The sun was barely peeking through the curtains when you stirred, tangled in a mess of warm sheets and Fredâs arm slung across your waist.
His dorm was quiet, save for his soft breathing and the occasional creak of wood as one of his dormmates shifted in their sleep.
For a long moment, you didnât 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 constellationsâquietly, foolishly hoping they might lead to something more certain.
It felt safe hereâlike nothing else existed but the two of you.
âYouâre staring,â he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
You flinched, caught, and his grin widened without even opening his eyes. âWas not,â you whispered back, careful not to wake anyone else.
âWas too,â he countered, finally cracking one eye open. His hand slid to your hip, fingers curling slightly as if to keep you there.
âI have to go,â you said, but you didnât move, and he knew it.
Fredâs grip tightened. âDonât.â
His voice carried a teasing lilt, but something in it made your breath hitch. You didnât want to give it a nameâbut it wasnât nothing.
âFred,â you warned gently, trying not to laugh as his leg draped over yours, pinning you in place.
âStay,â he whispered, leaning closer until his nose brushed against your temple. âWhatâs the worst that could happen? We get caught? Big deal. Iâll tell them you were helping me study.â
âThis early? And for what, exactly?â you teased, finally turning to meet his gaze.
Fred smirked, mischief lighting up his features. âAdvanced Wandwork. Youâre an excellent teacher, you know.â
You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet, here you are.â His hand skimmed down your arm, catching your wrist and tugging you closer. âDonât go.â
Your resolve wavered. It always did when he looked at you like thatâunguarded, 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 breakâdonât hope, donât ask, donât want too muchâwere already fraying at the edges.
âIf I donât leave now, Lee will wake up and start asking questions,â you whispered.
Fred groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. âFine, but only because I care about your reputation or whatever.â
âOr whatever,â 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 didnât say anything until you were pulling on your shoes, your back to him.
âHey,â he called softly.
You turned, and he was watching you againâclosely this time, like he might miss something important if he blinked.
He grinned, boyish and bright. âIâll miss you.â
Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to hide your smile. âIâll see you at breakfast.â
âDoesnât mean I wonât miss you.â
You rolled your eyes again, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little harder in your chest. âGo back to sleep, Fred.â
âCome back tonight?â he asked, quieter now. Less playful. Like a question with layers.
Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.
âGood,â he said, sinking back into the pillows. âSee you later.â
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 Fredâs 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 boysâ staircase, your steps instinctively light, avoiding the creaky spots youâd learned to memorize through too many nights like this.
Fredâs 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 awakeâwaitingâhis head lifting from the pillow as you slipped inside and eased the door shut behind you.
âTook your time,â 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. âYou try sneaking past Angelina without a plan. Sheâs like a human Secrecy Sensor.â
Fred smirked, his hair sticking up in every direction as he sat up. âWell, we wouldnât want her catching you, would we?â
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 tonightâsomething quieter, more watchful. A pause you didnât quite know how to name.
âCome here,â he murmured.
You didnât 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.
âHi.â
âHi,â 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. âYou didnât wake the others, did you?â
âOf course not,â you said, mock-offended. âIâm stealthy, remember?â
His eyes sparked with amusement. âLike a thestral in a china shop.â
âWould you rather I didnât come?â
âNot a chance.â
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 youâd grown used toâthe 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 itâthe hesitation, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Like he wasnât sure if he should hold you so tightly. Like he was always half-waiting for the moment you might pull away.
âCold?â he asked, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your sleeve.
You shook your head. âNo. Youâre warm.â
âGood.â 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.
âHey.â Fredâs voice slipped into the quiet, groggy but alert. He stirred beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. âWhatâs wrong?â
âIââ You paused, unsure. âI donât know. A nightmare, I think.â
He was silent for a long beat. Then his hand moved to rub soothing circles over your back. âYou okay?â
âI think so.â
Fred shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. Moonlight outlined his profileâhis furrowed brow, the crease between his eyebrows, the softness in his eyes. âYou want to talk about it?â
You shook your head, feeling suddenly small, the edges of the dream already fading but leaving something raw behind. âNo. Iâm fine.â
âLiar,â he said lightly, though his gaze didnât waver. âYouâre terrible at lying, you know.â
You gave a weak smile. âIâm not that bad.â
He hummed, unconvinced. âYou always do this thing with your nose when youâre lying. It scrunches up, just a little.â
Your brow furrowed. âIt does not.â
âIt does.â He grinned and reached out to tap your nose. âSee? There it is.â
You batted his hand away, the gesture soft and half-hearted. âYouâre making that up.â
âAm I?â
His tone was warm, teasingâbut gentler than usual. His hand ghosted over your shoulder, grounding you.
âFred, Iâm serious.â
âSo am I.â His voice quieted. âLook, if you donât want to talk, thatâs fine. But if I see your nose scrunch up again, Iâm going to assume youâre secretly plotting against me.â
You laughedâa small, real sound that surprised even you. You buried your face in his shirt, muffling it.
âThere it is,â he said again, softer now, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.
For the rest of the night, Fred didnât 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 didnât sleep again, not reallyâbut it didnât 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 springâsunlight 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 hadnât a care in the world. He nudged you lightly with his elbow every few steps, clearly enjoying himself. Youâd been laughing for the last five minutes straight.
âAnd then he goes, âFred, thatâs not a Flobberworm, thatâs my shoe!ââ
You gasped, half-disbelieving, half-dying of laughter. âYou didnât.â
Fred looked smug. âIn my defense, it was dark, and the shoe was moving.â
âNo, it wasnât!â
âWell, it could have been,â he said, grinning. âIt mightâve been cursed.â
You shook your head, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. âYouâre an idiot.â
âOnly for you,â he shot back, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Just that quick silence that hangs between two people who arenât quite sure if something has shifted.
You looked away first, cheeks warm, smile lingering as you both rounded a corner.
âI was thinking,â he said after a beat, nudging your shoulder again. âAbout tonight.â
You raised a brow. âOh?â
Fred looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes before he smirked again. âCome to the Astronomy Tower with me.â
âWow,â you deadpanned. âSo romantic. Gonna push me off?â
He laughed. âNah. I was thinking something more subtle. Like poison.â
âGood to know youâve been planning this.â
âAlways.â His voice was warm, teasing, but then he added, more softly, âJust come. We wonât get caught. And itâs supposed to be clear out tonight. You like stars, right?â
You blinked, thrown by the sudden sincerity underneath the mischief. âI do.â
âGood. Then itâs a date.â
He said it easily, like he didnât think about it too hardâbut your stomach still fluttered.
âA date, huh?â you echoed.
But before he could answer, you heard a loud echo of footsteps behind you.
âOi, Fred!â
The sound of running footsteps broke the moment as Lee and George rounded the corner, both slightly out of breath.
âThere you are,â George said. âYouâre gonna make us late.â
Fred gave you an apologetic smile. âDuty calls.â
âSee you later,â you said, still smiling, a little dazed.
Fred started to walk backward again, that grin of his never fading. âYou better.â
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.
Untilâ
âWait, wait, hold on,â you heard Lee say, his voice drifting down the corridor. âAre you twoâare you dating?â
Fredâs answer came a beat later, casual and light. âNo. Itâs nothing serious.â
The words landed like a slapâso 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 hadnât lodged itself somewhere under your ribs.
Behind you, George or Lee said something elseâmaybe a joke, maybe nothingâbut the words blurred in your ears, drowned out by the sudden quiet inside your chest.
You didnât look back.
You just walked, his voice echoing in your mind.
âItâs nothing serious.â
Funny how everything could feel so serious only seconds before.
⸝
You didnât 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 waitingâhands 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.
âItâs nothing serious.â
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 detoursâFred 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 âstayâ like it was the easiest thing in the world.
⸝
Fred cornered you four days later.
Youâd 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 heâd been waiting for the exact moment youâd try to vanish again.
âOkay,â he said, voice tight, eyes sharp. âWhat the hell is going on?â
You blinked up at him, heart crashing against your ribs.
âI donât know what you mean,â you said quickly, the lie scraping against your tongue.
Fred narrowed his eyes. âReally? Because I havenât seen you in days. You didnât show up the other night. Youâre avoiding me.â
You tried to step around him. He stepped with you.
âTalk to me,â he said, softer now. Pleading.
The dam cracked. Just a little.
âIâm busy,â you said. âThatâs all.â
He scoffed, taking a step closer. âBusy avoiding me, maybe. Did I do something? Because if I did, just tell me. Donât shut me out.â
Your jaw tightened. âIt doesnât matter.â
âYes, it does,â he insisted. âYouâre acting like Iâlike I hurt you.â
That did it.
You laughed, bitter and breathless, the sound cracking down the middle. âWell, thatâs funny.â
Fredâs expression faltered. âWhat?â
Your hands curled around the edges of your books, knuckles white. âYou donât get to act confused, Fred.â
He took a step back, like your words had physically shoved him. âIâI donât understand.â
âNo. You donât,â you said, the anger bubbling up now, hot and sharp. âYou donât get to ask me whatâs wrong after saying it wasnât serious. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.â
Fred blinked. âWait. What are you talking about?â
âYour friends asked if we were dating,â you said. âAnd you justâjust brushed it off. âItâs nothing serious.â Thatâs what you said.â
Silence.
He stared at you, mouth slightly open, like he couldnât quite believe what he was hearing. Like it hadnât even occurred to him.
And that hurt worst of all.
âYou looked me in the eyes and made plans with me right before,â you went on, voice rising, cracking. âYou kissed me. You asked me to stay. And then the second someone askedâyou couldnât deny it fast enough.â
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. âWhy do you care if I disappeared? You made it pretty clear Iâm just some secret youâre not willing to admit to.â
âThatâs not what I meant,â he said, but it was too quiet. Too late.
You stepped back, throat tight, vision blurry around the edges. âWell, congratulations. Message received.â
And before he could find the wordsâor maybe just admit that he didnât have themâyou turned and walked away.
This time, he didnât 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 didnât try to talk to you againânot 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 didnât know how to cross.
And youâwell, 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 didnât 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, wasnât it?
Because youâd known. Deep down, youâd always known. Fred Weasley didnât 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 believeâfor a whileâthat 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 hadnât seen him coming.
He didnât speak at first, just stepped into your path, not blocking youâjust⌠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.
âCan we talk?â he asked.
Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag. âI donât think thatâs a good idea.â
âPlease,â he said, softer now. âIâI donât know how else to fix this.â
You looked away. âI donât think you can.â
Fredâs mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.
He tried again. âWhat I said. That day. About us not being serious. I didnât mean it like that.â
You forced a laugh, bitter and quiet. âHow else could you have meant it, Fred?â
âI panicked,â he admitted, eyes searching your face. âThey asked, and I said the first thing that came to mind. I didnât want them to start teasing or asking questionsâI just didnât think. I didnât mean for it to sound like you donât matter.â
âBut thatâs how it sounded,â you said, voice low. âAnd you didnât come after me. You didnât say anything until now.â
âI didnât know how,â Fred said. âI didnât know if I had the right to.â
You met his gaze then, and for once, he didnât smile. Didnât try to joke. Just looked at you like heâd run out of masks to wear.
âI like you,â he said, the words breaking open something in his chest. âIâve liked you for a while. And I never said it because I didnât want to mess it up. I thought if I justâif we kept things easy, itâd be enough. But it wasnât. Not for me. And obviously not for you, either.â
You felt your throat tighten.
Fred stepped closer, careful, slow, like you might vanish again. âYou matter to me. Youâre not nothing. Youâve never been nothing. I didnât know how to say that before, but Iâm saying it now.â
You stared at him.
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But something inside you still bristled, still remembered how easily heâd brushed it off when someone else was listening.
âI donât know if I can go back to how things were,â you said, voice trembling. âI donât want to feel like Iâm waiting around for you to make up your mind.â
Fred shook his head. âI 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 donât believe me. But Iâd rather wait for you, even if it takes ages, than pretend I donât care. Because I do. So much more than Iâve ever said out loud.â
You didnât respond right away.
Because even now, you werenât sure if letting him in again would break you all over. But you werenât sure if walking away would hurt any less.
And yet⌠when you looked at himâreally lookedâyou saw it.
Not the cocky grin. Not the easy charm. Just Fred, stripped down to something raw and honest. He wasnât trying to win you back with clever words. He was just standing there, hoping youâd still let him try.
You swallowed hard, blinking past the tightness in your throat.
âI believe you,â you said softly.
Fredâs shoulders dropped, like heâd been holding his breath without realizing it. He took a small step forwardâand this time, he didnât stop himself.
âI do,â you repeated, steadier now. âBut if this is going to mean somethingâif weâre going to tryâI need you to take it seriously. No more hiding. No more brushing it off when it gets inconvenient.â
Fred nodded immediately, eyes locked on yours like he didnât want to miss a single word.
He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. âAlright. No more hiding.â
A pause.
âUnless itâs you sneaking into my room again. I think we should keep that part.â
You tried not to smile. Failed completely. âOh, do you?â
âAbsolutely. Itâs the only way I get any decent sleep.â
You rolled your eyes, but when he stepped closer, you didnât stop him. And when his arms slid around you, careful and warm, you let yourself lean into him.
It wasnât 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 didnât feel uncertain.
It felt like a beginning. One you actually wanted.
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summary: an old friend starts showing up every time you need him
word count: 5.6k
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The corridors of St. Mungoâs were quieter than usual, but there was still a hum of urgency in the air.
Since the war had ended, the hospital had been inundated with patientsâsome still recovering from physical wounds, others battling the mental scars left behind. Youâd been working there for weeks now, throwing yourself into the chaos as a way to avoid the memories.
The war was over.
That was what everyone said.
But it didnât 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, thatâs what you told yourself.
The familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.
âWell, well. Fancy seeing you here.â
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.
âFred?â Your voice cracked, disbelief threading through it.
âIn the flesh,â he said with a grin. âYou werenât expecting me, were you?â
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 youâve last seen him.
âIâno,â you said finally, your hand gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it hurt. âWhat are you⌠what are you doing here?â
âVisiting,â he said easily, jerking his chin toward one of the nearby rooms. âSomeone needed cheering up, and you know meâIâm the best man for the job.â
You laughed, a soft, disbelieving sound. âYou havenât changed a bit.â
âAnd you have,â Fred said, his eyes sweeping over you. There was something softer in his tone, something unspoken. âYou look tired.â
âIâve been busy,â you said, shrugging.
âI can see that,â he replied, the smile tugging at his lips dimming just slightly. âBut donât let it wear you down too much, alright? Youâve always been better at taking care of everyone else than yourself.â
You swallowed, his words hitting somewhere deeper than you wanted to admit. âItâs⌠good to see you.â
Fred grinned again, bright and wide. âGood to see you too, love. Itâs been too long. Letâs change that, yeah? You know where to find me.â
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.
âWho were you talking to?â
The voice startled you, and you turned to see Elena, a fellow Healer, approaching with a curious look.
âOh,â you said quickly, your pulse still racing. âJust⌠an old friend.â
Elena smiled, tilting her head. âNice to see familiar faces, isnât it? Especially after everything.â
You nodded faintly, but something about her tone didnât 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.
âYou should take a break, let me take over some of your patients,â you told her, a warm smile on your face.
Elena watched you closely, before shaking her head. âDonât throw yourself into more work, you need to rest too.â
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 morningâs 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 youâhope, relief, a flicker of happiness you hadnât 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. Mungoâs was a lifeline, sure. It gave you purpose. But it also drained you, leaving little room to process everything youâd 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.
âWell, youâre a sight for sore eyes,â he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
âFred?â you said, blinking at him. âWhat are you doing here?â
âYou didnât come find me,â he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Your brows furrowed. âIâve been busy.â
âAnd Iâve been bored,â he replied, throwing himself onto your couch like he owned the place. âWhatâs a bloke got to do to get a little attention around here?â
Despite yourself, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. Fred had always been like thisâeffortless, larger than life. He had a way of making everything else fade into the background.
âI didnât know you were keeping tabs on me,â you said, heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
âWell, someoneâs got to,â he called after you.
You rolled your eyes but couldnât 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 didnât reach for the mug right away, instead leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His gaze was intent, but not unkind.
âHow are you holding up?â he asked.
You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. Fred rarely veered into serious territoryâhe was the king of deflection, the master of keeping things light.
âIâm fine,â you said automatically.
He raised an eyebrow. âReally?â
You sighed, sinking back into the cushions. âWhat do you want me to say, Fred? That Iâm tired? That Iâm still trying to figure out how to keep going when it feels like everythingâs fallen apart? Because I am. But whatâs the point of talking about it? It doesnât change anything.â
Fred leaned back, his expression softening. âMaybe not. But bottling it up doesnât help either. Trust me.â
You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
âI justâŚâ He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away for a moment. âI hate seeing you like this. You used to light up every room you walked into, you know? Now itâs like⌠youâre barely there.â
His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didnât know what to say.
âSorry,â he said quickly, holding up his hands. âI didnât mean to make it heavy. I just⌠I miss you, thatâs all.â
You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile. âI miss you too.â
For the next hour, Fred did what he did best: distracting you. He told you ridiculous stories about the shop, about Georgeâs 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.
âYou should come by the shop sometime,â he said, pausing in the doorway.
âMaybe I will,â you replied, leaning against the doorframe.
He grinned, his eyes twinkling in that way they always did. âGoodnight, love.â
âGoodnight, Fred.â
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 wasnât until you were cleaning up the living room that you noticed Fredâs untouched mug of tea sitting on the coffee table.
You frowned, picking it up. It was still full, the liquid cold to the touch.
âHe mustâve been too busy talking to drink it,â 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 wasnât the sterile white walls of St. Mungoâs.
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.
âFred,â you said softly, pushing the door open further.
He looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. âFinally off work, then?â
You nodded, stepping inside and leaning against the doorframe. âBarely. Thought Iâd stop by, but it looks like I missed the fun.â
âYeah, George closed up a while ago. Youâve got terrible timing,â he teased, his tone light.
Your gaze flicked to the desk where a photo caught your eye. It was the three of youâFred, George, and yourselfâarms slung over each other, laughing like you didnât have a care in the world. You picked it up, your fingers brushing over the glass.
âI remember this,â you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.
âGood times, werenât they?â Fred said, leaning back in his chair. âYou and George couldnât stop arguing that day. Think you were fighting over whoâd get the last treacle tart.â
Your smile widened despite the ache in your chest. âHe cheated, though.â
Fred snorted. âHeâs a Weasley. Comes with the territory.â
Setting the photo down, you slid into the chair across from him. âFeels like it was forever ago.â
Fredâs expression softened, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to settle on his features. âIt wasnât that long ago. Weâre just⌠different now.â
You studied him, a lump forming in your throat. He looked the same as he always hadâbright eyes, a smirk that never quite left his lipsâbut there was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that felt heavier.
âYeah,â you said quietly. âThings change.â
Fred gave a small nod, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. âSo, howâs it really going? With the hospital, I mean.â
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. âItâs⌠a lot. I thought I was ready for it, but some days it feels like Iâm drowning.â
âYouâre not, though,â he said, his tone firm. âYouâre stronger than you think.â
You rolled your eyes. âDonât start.â
âIâm serious,â he said, his gaze locking onto yours. âYouâve been through hell, and youâre still here. That counts for something.â
You opened your mouth to argue, but the sincerity in his voice made the words stick in your throat.
âThanks,â you said instead, the word barely above a whisper.
Fred gave you a small smile, leaning back in his chair. âAnyway, Iâve got to run. Things to do.â
âLike what?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked. âYou donât get to know all my secrets.â
âRight,â you said, rolling your eyes as you stood. âWell, donât let me keep you.â
âDonât work too hard,â he said as he stood, heading for the door. âIâll see you soon.â
âYeah,â 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.
âGeorge?â you said, startled.
He looked at you, his expression tight and guarded. âThought Iâd locked up.â
âIâuhâyeah. I was just⌠stopping by,â you said vaguely, clutching your bag.
He raised an eyebrow but didnât press further. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
âYou look terrible,â you said before you could stop yourself.
George gave a dry laugh. âThanks. Just what I needed to hear.â
âSorry,â you muttered, shifting on your feet.
He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. âYou werenât at the ââ
Before he could say what he wanted to say, the picture of the three of you slid from your hands. You hadnât 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.
âI do that too, you know?â
The question caught you off guard, your chest tightening. âWhat do you mean?â
George shrugged, his gaze flickering toward the back office. âFeels real, you know?â
You frowned, unsure how to respond.
âRight,â George said, his tone unreadable.
An awkward silence stretched between you before he cleared his throat. âIf you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.â
âThanks,â 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. Thatâs all it was.
&
The air outside St. Mungoâs 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 chaoticâhealers rushing from patient to patient, the hum of spells and the faint scent of antiseptic filling the halls. It wasnât 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.
âMind if I join?â
The voice was unmistakable, and you whipped around to see Fred grinning at you, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his jacket.
âFred!â you exclaimed, relief washing over you like a balm. âWhat are you doing here?â
âJust thought Iâd check in,â he said, falling into step beside you. âYouâre impossible to track down these days, you know that?â
âIâve been busy,â you said with a shrug. âWorkâs been⌠a lot.â
âStill havenât figured out how to clone yourself yet, then?â he teased, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.
You couldnât help but laugh, shaking your head. âNot quite. Maybe Iâll work on that next.â
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.
âSo,â he said, breaking the silence, âwhat do you do to unwind after a day of saving lives?â
âSleep, mostly,â you admitted. âIf Iâm lucky, maybe eat something that doesnât taste like parchment.â
Fred gave a mock gasp. âBlasphemy! This is why I shouldâve brought you something from the shop. Maybe a bag of Canary Creams to keep things interesting.â
You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. âPretty sure my coworkers would kill me if I turned anyone into a bird on hospital grounds.â
âSounds like they could use a laugh,â Fred said, smirking. âYouâre too serious these days.â
You looked at him, the warmth of his presence easing the tension that had been knotting your chest all day. âMaybe. Itâs hard not to be, though. Things⌠arenât how they used to be.â
Fredâs expression softened, and for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimmed. âNo, theyâre not. But that doesnât mean youâve lost who you are. Youâre still you, even if it feels different now.â
The words hit you harder than you expected, and you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.
Fred gave you a crooked smile. âAnyway, I should get going. Donât want to keep you from your heroics.â
âRight,â 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.
âHey,â she said. âYou alright? You looked⌠I donât know, distracted earlier.â
âDistracted?â you echoed, frowning.
âYeah,â she said, tilting her head slightly. âYou seemed⌠off. Just wanted to say, if you ever want to talk, Iâm here.â
Her words gave you pause, confusion prickling at the back of your mind. âIâm fine,â you said quickly, managing a small smile.
âOf course,â Elena said, her tone warm but cautious. âJust remember, youâre not alone, okay?â
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 couldnât shake the strange feeling in your chestâthe faint but growing sense that something wasnât 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 lateâtoo late for visitorsâbut you dragged yourself up to answer it.
When you opened the door, Fred stood there, leaning casually against the frame with a lopsided grin.
âHope Iâm not interrupting your riveting evening plans,â he said, his voice light but warm.
âFred,â you said, your fatigue melting into a mix of relief and surprise. âWhat are you doing here?â
âCame to check on you,â 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. âLooks like I got here just in time. Youâre living the dream, arenât you?â
You rolled your eyes, shutting the door behind him. âNot all of us get to play with fireworks and sweets all day.â
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.
âYou look awful,â he said cheerfully.
âThanks,â 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 smiledâit was all so painfully Fred.
âItâs been a while,â you said softly. âSince we sat like this.â
âYeah,â Fred said, his voice quieter now. âFeels like a lifetime ago, doesnât it?â
You nodded, your chest tightening. âDo you ever think about it? About how everyone just assumed we wereââ
âA couple?â Fred interrupted, smirking. âAll the time. George used to place bets on when weâd finally âadmit it.ââ
You laughed, though it felt hollow. âThey werenât wrong, though, were they? We were close.â
Fredâs expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. âWe were. Still are.â
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. âFred⌠why didnât it ever happen? Why didnât we everâ?â
He looked at you then, his gaze steady but distant, as if he were searching for the right words. âYou know,â he said after a moment, his voice low, âsometimes you donât get closure. Sometimes things just⌠are.â
The answer left you reeling, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest.
Fred stood abruptly, his hands sliding into his pockets. âAnyway, I should go. You need sleep, and I need toââ He trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
âRight,â 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.
Fredâs 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 thisâa 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.
âFancy meeting you here,â he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
âFred,â you said, sliding into the seat. âYouâve got a habit of turning up exactly when I need someone to talk to.â
âCall it a gift,â he said, shrugging. âWhatâs got you looking like you just ran headfirst into a Hippogriff?â
You sighed, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic of your cup after ordering a simple black tea. âRough day yesterday. Lost someone.â
Fredâs teasing expression softened immediately. âIâm sorry,â he said, his voice gentler now.
You shrugged, your throat tightening. âIt happens. Doesnât make it easier, though.â
Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. âYou ever think about doing something else? Something less⌠heavy?â
âSometimes,â you admitted. âBut itâs not that simple, is it? I like helping people.â
âAnd whoâs helping you?â he asked, his tone pointed but kind.
You looked away, his words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. âIâm fine,â you said quietly. âReally.â
Fred didnât press further, instead leaning back in his chair and letting the conversation shift to lighter topics. He told you a ridiculous story about Georgeâs 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 didnât exist.
Eventually, Fred glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up. âI should get going,â he said, his tone reluctant. âGeorge will have my head if Iâm late again.â
You nodded, watching as he turned toward the door. âFred,â you called after him.
He paused, looking over his shoulder.
âThanks,â you said simply.
His smile was soft, genuine. âAnytime.â
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 strangeâpeople were staring at you.
Their gazes werenât hostile, but curious, as if youâd 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.
âJust tired,â you muttered to yourself. âThatâs all it is.â
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 werenât 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.
âGeorge,â you said, blinking at him in surprise. âWhat are you doing here?â
He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. âMumâs been asking about you,â he said, his voice careful. âShe says she hasnât seen you in ages.â
You frowned, closing the door behind him. âIâve been⌠busy.â
âYouâre always busy,â 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. âYouâve been avoiding us.â
âThatâs not true,â you said defensively.
âIsnât it?â he said, raising an eyebrow. He looked at you closely, his sharp eyes narrowing. âYouâre not okay, are you?â
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.
âIâm fine,â you said quietly, looking away.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. âYou know,â he said, his voice softer now, âweâre all trying to figure out how to move forward. Itâs hard, isnât it? Finding a way to keep going withoutââ
He stopped himself abruptly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
âWithout what?â you asked, your chest tightening.
George shook his head. âNever mind,â he muttered. âForget I said anything.â
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.
âCome with me,â he said suddenly.
âWhat?â
âJust⌠come with me,â he repeated, already heading toward the door.
âGeorge, itâs lateââ
âI know,â he said, turning to face you. âBut this is important. Please.â
Something in his tone made you hesitate. Reluctantly, you grabbed your coat and followed him out into the chilly night.
He didnât 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.
âGeorge,â you said, your voice catching. âWhat is this?â
He stopped in front of a particular spot, his back to you. For a long moment, he didnât move, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, shaky breath.
When he finally turned to face you, his expression was unreadable. âI just thought⌠maybe this would help,â he said quietly.
You didnât understand what he meant, not fully, but something in his eyesâsomething raw and achingly familiarâmade your chest tighten.
âIâm not sure what youâre trying to say,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
George didnât 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.
âItâs okay,â he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. âItâs okay to miss him.â
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 hadnât 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. âYou donât have to go through this alone,â 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 couldnât go yet, you were still standing in the middle of the graveyard.
Thatâs when Fred walked up next to you, looking down at the grave in front of you.
âYouâre not real,â you whispered, your voice trembling.
Fred tilted his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. âNo,â he said simply, âIâm not.â
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 hadnât said and everything you now understood.
âWhy?â you finally asked, your voice barely audible.
Fredâs gaze softened, but there was something unshakably sad in his eyes. âYou needed me,â he said. âSo I was here.â
You swallowed hard, your hands shaking. âBut youâre gone,â you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.
âI am,â he said, his voice steady but quiet.
The world felt impossibly still, the air heavy with unspoken grief.
âI donâtââ you started, your voice cracking. âI donât know how to do this, Fred. I donât know how to let you go.â
Fred turned to you. âYou donât have to,â he said gently. âNot really. Iâm always going to be here, just not like this.â
Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. âItâs not fair,â you whispered. âYou were supposed to have so much more time. We were supposed to have more time.â
Fredâs smile wavered, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. âLifeâs not fair,â he said, his voice tinged with a bitterness you rarely heard from him. âBut you know that already, donât you?â
You nodded, the tears spilling over now. âI love you, Fred,â you said, your voice breaking. âI loved you, and I never even told you. I never got the chance toââ
âYou didnât have to tell me,â Fred interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. âI knew.â
You looked up at him, your breath catching. âHow?â
He smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips. âYou think I didnât 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?â
You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your tears.
âI knew,â he said again, his tone softer now. âAnd you know, deep down, that I loved you too.â
Your chest ached, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it felt like you might break under the weight of it. âI just wanted more time,â you whispered, your voice cracking. âAnother chance.â
Fredâs expression grew serious, his gaze locking with yours. âI know you do,â he said quietly. âBut if you had it, would it ever be enough?â
You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat.
Fred leaned back, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. âYou would always want more,â he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. âBecause thatâs how it is with love. Itâs never enough time. Not really.â
Your hands trembled as you struggled to process his words.
âI donât want to say goodbye,â you said, your voice breaking again.
âYou donât have to,â he said, his voice impossibly gentle. âIâll always be a part of you. Iâll always be in your memories, in the things that make you laugh, in the things that remind you of me.â
Tears streamed down your face, your chest heaving with the force of your sobs. âBut itâs not the same,â you choked out. âItâs not the same as having you here.â
Fredâs expression softened, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache even more. âI know,â he said. âBut you have to keep living, love. You have to keep going, even if it hurts.â
You looked at him, your vision blurred with tears. You reached out your hand, close enough to touch his face, but you didnât, too scared of what might happen if you tried.
Fredâs smile was soft, tinged with sadness. âItâs okay,â he said. âYou donât have to.â
You clenched your fists, the ache in your chest almost unbearable.
âI donât know how to say goodbye,â you whispered.
Fred looked down at you, his gaze filled with a love that you could feel in every fiber of your being.
âYou donât have to say it,â he said. âJust⌠let me go.â
You sobbed, the sound raw and broken, as you watched him turn around.
âFred,â you called, your voice cracking.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. âYeah?â
âI love you,â you said, the words tumbling out of you like a confession, like a plea.
Fred smiled, his eyes glistening. âI know,â he said. âI love you too.â
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.
summary: casual. no strings. just something to forget the loneliness. right?
word count: 7.6k
masterlist
The air at the party feels heavier than usual, like everyone is trying too hard to pretend theyâre having a good time.
Youâve spent most of the night nursing a drink you donât particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. Itâs not your scene, but you came anyway because thatâs what friends doâthey drag you out, convince you itâll be âfun,â and leave you regretting it by the second hour.
Youâre just about ready to slip away when you spot himâFred Weasley.
Heâs leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but thereâs something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. Heâs talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like heâs only half paying attention.
You consider leaving without a word. After all, youâve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike himâquite the opposite.
Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasnât 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, wouldnât it?
But then Fredâs eyes land on you, and thereâs no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. Itâs an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.
âFancy seeing you here,â he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.
You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. âAlicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.â
Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. âSounds like something sheâd say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.â
The comment surprises you. Fred doesnât usually talk like thatâso openly, so vulnerable. Itâs enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. âYou donât seem miserable,â you say, testing the waters.
He doesnât answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like heâs trying to find the right words. âYouâd be surprised,â he finally says, his tone softer now.
Itâs an opening, one you hadnât expected but canât ignore. âWhat happened?â
Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. âDo you mind? Itâs a bit loud in here.â
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.
âShe left,â he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize heâs talking about herâhis ex.
âOh.â Itâs all you can manage.
Fred smiles faintly, but thereâs no humor in it. âYeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just⌠stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasnât enough for her.â
The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.
Youâve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like thisâguarded, almost uncertainâitâs disarming.
âIâm sorry,â you say quietly, and you mean it.
He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like heâs seeing you for the first time. âItâs funny, isnât it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think youâre fine, and the next, itâs like you canât breathe.â
You nod, because you understand more than youâd like to admit. âYeah. Itâs awful.â
Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. âYou get it.â
The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, âMaybe weâre just terrible at choosing the right people.â
Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. âMaybe we are.â
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 donât pull away.
&
The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fredâs 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.
Youâre not sure how it startedâor maybe you doâbut youâre too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like heâs unraveling a part of himself heâs never shown anyone.
Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesnât 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. âThisâŚâ he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. âThis is what I needed. Something⌠easy. No expectations.â
The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he meansâcasual, 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. âYeah,â you murmur, barely above a whisper. âMe too.â
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 youâre fine with this. Itâs Fred, and itâs what he wants. Isnât it better to have this than nothing at all?
When morning comes, heâs gone.
Youâre not surprisedâhe doesnât strike you as the type to lingerâbut 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 youâve made a mistake you canât undo?
You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around youâa shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. Itâs 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 wasnât the right decision. But you canât change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasnât he? Maybe this is all you get.
Maybe this is all youâre 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.
Itâs 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 someoneâs recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fredâs ex.
Itâs Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without maliceâjust an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.
âYou were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,â she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.
Fredâs expression flickers, just for a second, but itâs enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. âYeah, well,â he says, voice light but guarded, âthings donât always work out the way you think they will.â
The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you canât take your eyes off him. Thereâs 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 donât 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 doesnât say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.
âCome with me,â he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost donât hear it.
You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.
He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until youâre standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.
âFred, what are youââ
He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.
Itâs messy, hurried, like heâs 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.
Itâs different this timeâmore frantic, less controlled. Thereâs 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 itâs over, youâre both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fredâs forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say somethingâsomething real, something vulnerable.
But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. âThanks,â he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.
You blink, trying to find something to say, but heâs already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.
Youâre 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, wasnât this what you agreed to?
&
Itâs 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 youâre 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 donât know why youâre waiting.
Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.
Itâs been a few days since you saw Fredâsince he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.
You hadnât known what to expect then, and you still donât 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.
âBit late for a social call, donât you think?â you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.
Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like itâs hiding something. âThought you might say that. But then, youâre still awake, arenât you?â
You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like heâs taking his time to assess the space.
Itâs not the first time heâs been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details youâd never think to notice.
âYou always keep it this tidy?â he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.
âI knew you were coming, didnât I?â you shoot back, closing the door behind him.
Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
Itâs always like this with himâthis 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 heâs sitting on your couch like heâs been doing it for years.
You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesnât matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.
âSo,â Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. âDrinking alone, are we? Rough night?â
You laugh softly, shaking your head. âNot rough. Just⌠quiet.â
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 donât.
âWell,â he says after a beat, âIâm good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?â
You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. âThat depends. What exactly do you have in mind?â
He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, youâre caught up in one of his ridiculous storiesâsomething about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.
Youâre laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like itâs shaking loose all the tension youâve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.
And for a moment, itâs 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.
Fredâs 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.
âYouâre staring,â you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.
âAm I?â he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but thereâs something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.
You donât know who moves firstâmaybe itâs him, maybe itâs youâbut 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 doesnât exist.
It starts like it always doesâfeverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fredâs 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 youâve moved.
But somewhere in the middle of itâbetween the hurried kisses and the whispered cursesâsomething 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 thereâs 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 heâs trying to figure out if you feel it too.
But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like heâs dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.
âLeaving already?â you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Fred hesitates, his back to you. âYeah,â he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. âGotta keep you wanting more, donât I?â
The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you donât call him on it.
You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and youâre 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 isnât 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. Youâre leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.
Fred.
Your breath catchesânot because you didnât expect him to be here, but because itâs the first time youâve seen him like this since everything began.
In the few weeks since that night, heâs always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, heâs 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 heâs 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 youâre 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 itâs when you least expect it that it happens.
Youâve 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 youâre the only person in the world.
âYouâve been avoiding me,â he says, low enough that no one else could hear.
You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. âYouâve been avoiding me too.â
A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. âFair enough.â
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 closerâtoo close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.
âThis is risky,â you murmur, though you donât move away.
âSince when do you mind risky?â he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. Thereâs a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when heâs let his guard down just enough to let you in.
You should push him away, but you donât.
Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like heâs about to say something important. Something real. But he doesnât. Heâs Fred, after all.
Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. âYou know I shouldnât be here,â he mutters, more to himself than to you.
You hesitate, your chest tightening. âThen why are you?â
He doesnât answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.
âI shouldnât be,â he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, âBut I am.â
The air between you feels heavier than it should. Heâs pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy heâs so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.
âYou donât have to make this so complicated,â you say, surprising even yourself.
Fredâs jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. âYou think itâs that easy?â
You donât answer, because you donât know how to.
Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. âCareful. Someone might see us.â His words are teasing, but thereâs an edge of something sharper beneath them.
And then heâs gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.
Youâre left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you canât quite unravel.
The rest of the night passes in a blur. You donât see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you canât escape.
And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you canât help but wonder if this game youâre playing is one youâll ever winâor if itâs one youâll lose before it even truly begins.
&
Itâs been days since the party.
Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if youâll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesnât call, doesnât send any owlânot that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.
When the knock finally comes, itâs 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 doesnât say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.
Itâs fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then youâre stumbling toward the bedroom. Itâs almost routine nowâthe way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.
Itâs the same pattern, the same urgency, like heâs trying to chase away whateverâs haunting him.
Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered âIâll see you,â 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.
&
Aliciaâs offer couldnât come at a better time. âYou need a reset,â she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. âSeriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.â
Itâs not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.
The date is fine. Fine. Paul is niceâcharming, evenâbut thereâs no spark. By the end of the night, youâre both laughing about how youâd make better friends than anything else.
Itâs late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. Youâre fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.
Fred.
Heâs 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.
âYouâre out late,â he says, his voice casual.
âI had plans,â you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You donât 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. Heâs watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like heâs holding something back.
âHow were the plans?â he asks, his voice steady, but thereâs an edge to it you canât quite place.
âThey were fine,â you say. âWeâre better off as friends.â
He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think thatâs the end of it. But then heâs stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.
This time, itâs different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but thereâs something else underneath itâa quiet desperation, like heâs 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, heâs 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 heâs 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. âLet me know when youâre too busy.â
Itâs barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But thereâs something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after heâs gone.
You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.
&
Angelinaâs 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 glassesâitâs all too loud, too bright, too much.
But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped youâd find a distraction in the chaos.
Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. Heâs impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest youâve been trying to ignore. He hasnât come near you, hasnât even spared you more than a glance. But that glanceâit 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 doesnât help.
âAlright, whatâs with the face?â Aliciaâs voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. âYou look like someone just ran over your cat.â
âIâm fine,â you lie, swirling the last of your drink. âJustâŚthinking.â
âAbout your nonexistent love life again?â she teases, nudging your shoulder. âSeriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.â
You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesnât know. No one does. Youâve 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 youâre left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.
Fredâs there, somewhere. Youâve caught glimpses of himâhis easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesnât approach, and you donât give him the satisfaction of looking too long.
By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. Youâre sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.
âLetâs get you home,â Fred says, his voice low but firm.
You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. âI donât need your help.â
âYes, you do.â His tone leaves no room for argument, but thereâs something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.
You donât 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 doesnât 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.
âDrink,â he says simply.
You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.
âFred,â you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. âStay.â
He looks at you, startled by the request. âIââ
âPlease.â The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. âJust for the night. I donât want to be alone.â
He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. âAlright.â
Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. Heâs careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.
âYouâll stay?â you ask again, your voice softer now.
âIâll stay,â he promises, his voice low and steady.
You donât 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 itâthe 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 heâd 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 himâhalf-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.
Itâs 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 itâthe 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 canât quite name. Itâs not relief, not entirely. Itâs something more fragile, more complicated.
He stayed.
And for now, thatâs enough.
&
The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music thatâs a touch too loud. Youâre 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, thatâs how itâs supposed to be.
But tonight, something is different. Youâve 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 thingsâhow he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldnât 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.
Itâs 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. Heâs leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, whoâs 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 againâthat fleeting, private smile that feels like itâs meant just for you.
Itâs a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.
âLeaving soon?â His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize heâs speaking to you.
Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. âMaybe. You?â
His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. âNot yet.â
The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. Youâll leave first, and heâll follow.
When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesnât 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 doesnât 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.
Sheâs 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.
âHey,â she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.
You freeze, your chest tightening. âHey.â
Her lips quirk into something thatâs not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.
âYouâve been quiet tonight,â she says, tilting her head slightly.
She mustâve watched youâyou hadnât even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?
You force a shrug, your voice tight. âLong day.â
She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. âFred seemed to have been distracted too. Mustâve been one of those days for everyone, huh?â
The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. âYeah, maybe.â
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. âYou two seemed friendly tonight.â
Your stomach twists, but you donât falter. âWeâre all friends, arenât we?â
Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. âSure.â
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.
âThere you are,â he says, his tone light as he steps closer. âWhatâs taking so long? I thought youâdââ
His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.
His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. âLeah.â
âFred,â 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.
âWhatâs going on?â 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 canât do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusationsâitâs too much.
âI was just leaving,â you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.
Fredâs gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. âWaitââ
âIâll see you later,â you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.
You wonât see him later, youâre sure of it.
The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fredâs voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you canât quite place.
âLeah, we should talk.â
You donât look back. You canât.
&
Youâre lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. Itâs too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.
You picture them togetherâFred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe theyâre sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe theyâll work things out. Maybe theyâre 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 doesnât 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 youâve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind wonât let you rest.
You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaninglessâa 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 heâd left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.
You canât 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 heâs looking for, he doesnât 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 heâs memorizing the way you feel.
Itâs different this time.
The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like youâre fragile, like heâs afraid youâll slip through his fingers if heâs 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, itâs not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.
Itâs almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensityâitâs 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 Fredâs way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.
The thought makes your throat tighten, but you donât stop him. You canât.
When itâs 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 doesnât look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.
Your chest tightens, but you donât 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 doesnât. 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.
Itâs the kind of tenderness heâs 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. Thereâs something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, heâs gone.
The door clicks shut behind him, and youâre 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 doesnât 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 couldâve been.
Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you donât want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But thereâs a hollow ache they canât touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.
You try to fill it with distractionsânew books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted dateâbut nothing works. Because no matter what youâre 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, thereâs no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. Heâs just⌠gone. And while you tell yourself thatâs what you wantedâthat itâs for the bestâyou canât stop wondering where he is. What heâs doing. If heâs with her.
And then, one day, the silence breaks.
Itâs mid-afternoon, and youâre 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 donât hear it. Itâs soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isnât sure theyâre welcome.
Your heart stutters.
You tell yourself itâs probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, itâs Fred.
He looks different in the daylight. Thereâs no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
âHi,â he says, his voice quieter than youâve ever heard it.
You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. âWhat are you doing here?â
Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. âCan I come in?â
You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak heâs 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 heâs trying to memorize it. He doesnât sit, doesnât relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.
âI didnât know if youâd let me in,â he admits after a moment.
âWhy are you here, Fred?â you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.
His eyes flicker with something you canât quite placeâguilt, maybe, or fear. âI needed to see you. To explain.â
âExplain what? That you left? That you couldnât give me what I wanted? What I needed?â Your voice wavers, betraying the anger youâve been holding onto for weeks.
Fred flinches but doesnât look away. âYes. All of it.â
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
âI was a mess when we started this,â he says finally, his voice low and steady. âLeah and I were over, but I wasnât okay. I told myself I didnât want anything serious, that I couldnât handle it. And then youâŚâ
You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.
âYou made me feel like I could handle it,â Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. âAnd that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didnât deserve it.â
You blink, his words sinking in.
âI pushed you away because I was scared,â he admits, meeting your eyes again. âBut that doesnât excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.â
You swallow hard, your throat tight. âAnd now? Are you still scared?â
âYes,â Fred says without hesitation. âBut Iâm more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.â
Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. âAnd what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like itâs too much?â
Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. âThen Iâll tell you. And weâll figure it out together. Because Iâm done running, and Iâm done pretending this doesnât mean something.â
The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.
âWhat are you asking for, Fred?â you whisper.
He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. âIâm asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what youâve always deserved.â
You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.
âOkay,â you say finally, your voice barely audible. âBut we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.â
Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. âSlow. Got it.â
He steps back then, extending a hand like heâs meeting you for the first time. âHi. Iâm Fred. Nice to meet you.â
You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. âNice to meet you, Fred.â
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. âThough 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.â
Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. âWell, Iâm hoping Iâm nothing like him. He sounds awful.â
âHe was,â you say, shaking his hand firmly. âBut I think you might be an improvement.â
Fred laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.