Just a very short Fred/George one-shot; I was hit with a sudden inspiration.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. You really should know that by now.
The glowing sun rises, its golden rays warm on your face. You don't want to open your eyes; surely it is too early to get up?
When you finally force yourself into a sitting position, you look over to his bed, to tease him about laziness, and find it empty.
Where is he?
You wonder vaguely through the drowsiness threatening to engulf you at any minute. You stare confusedly at where he should be for a few seconds, then realise that you really need to get up. You will worry about where he is later.
You cross the room, and pull open the wardrobe door. The wardrobe contains your clothes, and only yours, and it looks oddly empty without two sets of every outfit.
It is at this point that it hits you, crashing over you like a tidal wave, and you feel like you are suffocating.
How could you forget?
You collapse on the floor; though you feel like screaming and yelling, the tears don't come. You wonder hazily if something is wrong with you – you haven't cried since they told you. Then again, your mother has been crying enough for the whole family, and then some.
As you pull yourself up, you try to remember what those few minutes of forgetfulness felt like. You know that you will never be able to feel like that again, except for that short time in the morning when tiredness obscures your memory. You hear your brother calling your name up the stairs, but you can't bring yourself to go meet him.
You have done this every morning since you returned to your flat by yourself for the first time, but it seems to hurt more every day. You should be used to the feeling of sudden, gut-wrenching pain, but it takes you by surprise every time.
He is gone; your brother, your best friend, your twin, this person with whom you had an unbreakable bond, he is gone. You weren't ever supposed to be separated, you were supposed to be together, always together. He has left you behind, and that, more than anything else, is what hurts most.
Sometimes, forgetting is worse than remembering.