Disclaimer: It's a good thing I don't own them because I don't want this to ever happen in the books.

AN: I was in a bad mood and needed to vent, and this came out…yikes.

A fight. A kiss. A slap. A door slam.

If you had asked Ron Weasley what his life was at that moment he would have listed those four things. There was nothing else.

A fight. A kiss. A slap. A door slam.

That was his reality. It was all that existed, all he could comprehend at once, and he couldn't even comprehend that. Standing in shock it rammed into his head and heart again and again, but he couldn't swallow it. He couldn't swallow at all.

A fight. A kiss. A slap. A door slam.

When it finally went down it seemed to spread to each part of his body in turn. Coming first to his eyes, which squeezed themselves shut as tightly as possible, as if he could block it out (he couldn't.) Then to his ears, which heated instantly (whether it was in anger or shame was debatable.) His shoulders were next, and they tensed considerably. It spread down his arms to his hands which clenched in fists (whether he was angry with her or with himself, he didn't know.)

A fight. A kiss. A slap. A door slam.

A fight.

"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME AT ALL, RONALD WEASLEY!"

"NO! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I CARE ABOUT?"

A kiss.

He pulled her too him roughly and pressed his mouth to hers with staggering force. He'd been gentler on Death Eaters.

A slap.

She fought her way out of his grasp and brought her hand to his cheek. Hard.

A door slam.

He didn't see her leave. The slap knocked his head to the side and he stayed in that position just a second too long. He looked up just in time to see the door close. He had to turn his head away again from the noise.

He didn't know who he had been trying to kid. They were too different. She was too good for him, anyway. All he knew how to do was screw everything up. (The mint in her breath lingered in his mouth. It tasted so clean, and it made him feel dirty. Each breath made it ever so slightly but unbearably more acute. It was choking him. The thought occurred to him that it might help to just stop breathing.)

She'd come back, eventually. It was her flat, too, and at the very least she'd come to retrieve her stuff. The solution was simple. He loved her more than life itself. So there was only one option left. To let her go.

(Before he left he went into the kitchen and ate an onion. It rid his breath of the mint. It also gave him an excuse to cry.)

AN: Wow. More intense than I expected. I swear I didn't feel that bad, I just got a bit carried away…and I do feel better…but I'd feel any better if I had some reviews. At least to let me know that you don't all think I'm suicidal...