QLFC S5 R11. I went with the prompt slice of life in the summer, with my definition of slice of life as:
a) a realistic representation of everyday experience in a movie, play, or book.
b) the depiction of mundane experiences in art and entertainment.
I really wanted to showcase just the everyday worries and cares of people, as they go about life. This was inspired by WongFu Production's short 'How I Became an Adult'. Enjoy!
Days stretch long in the summer, Ron thinks idly, particularly for people with no jobs. He stares down at his dining table, his unpaid and late bills spread across the table, mocking him. On the counter, his phone intermittently flashes red, signalling the presence of yet another missed phone call from his mum. He misses her—he had only realized the fact after he moved out—but he can't go back home. Not until he makes something of himself first.
No job, no girlfriend, no family, no nothing. He's become every bit the nobody that Malfoy used to love mocking him about in school.
Ron groans and leans down on his arms, staring out the window. The dirtied, white curtains that he had bought when he first moved out flutter gently in the summer breeze. It must be nice to be a curtain, he thinks wistfully. And then, beyond the curtains, he sees movement in the flat window right opposite his.
Ron pauses in interest. The last tenant had been a right nasty fellow. Their first encounter had been of him asking him to turn down the music, because there were people trying to sleep at 3am, and then getting flipped off. Their subsequent encounters had been considerably more chilly. He hadn't even realized that the guy had moved out.
This new tenant can't be more than twenty. He doesn't even have more than three boxes tossed haphazardly in his living room.
The tenant abruptly looks up and makes eyes contact with Ron. Ron freezes in place, head still cradled in his arms, and turns red with embarrassment at getting caught. But then the tenant waves tentatively, and Ron nods his head.
He walks over to the balcony and leans over. After a moment, Ron does the same.
"Hullo!" the guy says meekly, his eyes crinkling into a smile behind his huge round glasses. "I just moved in here today. My name's Harry Potter."
"Nice to meet you Harry," Ron offers, his mouth turning up into a smile as well. "Ron Weasley. Pleasure's all mine."
"Have you lived here long?" Harry asks.
Ron shrugs a shoulder. "I guess. Been a couple years now?"
Harry oohs appropriately, then says, "I moved here to have some change in my life."
Ron nods, then sighs "Yeah. I could use some of that in mine too. Feels like I've hit a plateau in my life."
They talk for a little longer after that, the space between their balconies almost non-existent. It's only when the sky starts darkening that Harry ducks back into his flat with an apologetic smile and promises to talk again.
He always looks like that, Ron notes absently, as if he's waiting to get scolded. But he brushes the thought out of his mind and retreats back into his flat to cook dinner and send out a few more job applications.
...
Harry's a pretty cool guy. Almost without realizing it, he's somehow nudged his way into Ron's life and taken up a pretty big chunk of it. After that encounter, he seems to be seeing him everywhere—in the morning, in front of the stairs, and through the window, where they'd wave and then go back to what they were doing.
They'd exchanged numbers and everything, something he hadn't done since… he can't even remember.
He learns, eventually, that they're the same age. He learns that Harry had a past he prefered not to talk about, getting a distant, pained expression on his face when it was brought up.
Ron learns not to bring it up.
Instead, Harry takes Ron's statement about change seriously and starts barging into his home. Ron comes home from grocery shopping one day to find him fighting with pools of white fabric in front of his door.
Bemused, he asks, "Where's the fire?"
Harry stops struggling, his head emerging out the fabric. "Hey Ron," he says, breathless. "Good timing! I didn't know when your birthday was so I just went out and bought you a present now. Surprise!"
It's a set of curtains, which is a pleasant addition to his dining room. The two of them spend far too much time trying to put it up that by the time it's up, it's already two hours past their usual lunch time.
Ron offers to cook for them both, which Harry accepts gratefully. Apparently he had been living off of instant ramen and microwaved food, to Ron's horror. He forces the poor boy into a chair and uses all the ingredients he had just bought at the supermarket to cook up a veritable feast.
Later, Harry insists on tidying up.
"I don't mind cleaning," Harry says. "It's the least I can do."
"I like cooking, so it's not a problem" Ron says.
The two of them pause, then eye each other over the table.
"Do you thin—"
"Wouldn't it be—"
The two of them start talking at the same time. Ron bursts out laughing and Harry chuckles along.
"Do you want to be flatmates?" Ron asks. "You know, after your current lease ends."
"I'd love to," Harry says, and there's a quiet happiness in his eyes that says he made the right choice.
…
Ron is lying flat on his back on his kitchen floor, suffering. The cool tile warms up too quickly under his back, and he reluctantly crawls to a cooler patch of tile.
"Why is it so hot?" he bemoans. Britain was going through a string of heat waves at the moment and the entire country was suffering for it.
Harry lifts his head from the kitchen sink, where he had dunked his head under the tap. He fumbles for his glasses, offering a shrug as a reply.
"Hey, why don't we get a plant?" Harry suggests.
Ron lifts his head to squint at Harry. "Of all things, why a plant? Not even AC or even a fan?"
"Maybe the plant can suck moisture out of the air or something," Harry says. "And then make the air cooler?"
Ron thinks about this for a second. "Yeah, sure, makes sense. Let's go to the store."
They go out and buy two plants. For double the air cooling power.
When they come back, there's a voicemail blinking on his landline. Ron, puzzled, sets down the plants by his windowsill and heads over to it. His mum had given up on leaving messages after he stopped responding.
He picks up the phone and listens to the message.
'Please call us back at xxx-xxx-xxxx to set up an interview time,' the message says. 'We look forward to hearing from you.'
Ron drops the phone on his foot.
...
Ron wakes up in panic at a loud noise blaring right by his ear, before he realizes that it's his cell phone ringing. He stares at it, his sleep-addled mind wondering who it could possibly be. No company in their right mind would call him to schedule an interview at… 2 am?
In the time it takes for him to register 'harry the tenant' on his caller ID, the phone has gone silent. Ron picks it up, and then calls back.
It's picked up in an instant.
"Hello?" Ron mumbles, biting back a yawn.
For a moment, there's only heavy breathing on the other end of the line. "Let's go out," Harry says suddenly.
The words take a moment to register. "At 2 am?" Ron hisses. "Are you crazy?"
"You said you wanted more excitement in your life," Harry says insistently.
Ron groans. "Fine. But give me five." He lays mournfully in bed for another minute before he drags himself out of the collected warmth.
Harry is shivering in the cold outside the door to his flat by the time Ron pulls his beat up car to the curb. He slides into the heated car gratefully, and off they go.
They end up at a 24 hour McDonald's drive-through. Ron's solution to everything is, unfortunately, food.
"What's taking this line so long?" he complains loudly. "You'd think there'd be less people at bloody two am in the morning!"
Then the line starts moving and Ron steps on the gas. Once the food's in the car and they're parked in an empty parking lot, Ron turns towards Harry.
"So? What's up?" he asks.
Harry stares at him, wide eyed and innocent. "What?"
"Look, I wasn't saying anything because I thought I should be more sensitive, but you've obviously got something going on," Ron says through a mouthful of burger. "Otherwise you wouldn't randomly call like this."
Harry's quiet, but then he sighs. "I didn't have the nicest childhood," he says, "I think you know that already. My aunt and her husband weren't the… nicest of people."
He pauses here, and Ron offers him a chicken nugget. Harry takes it and chews thoughtfully.
"I found out my aunt's husband died of a heart attack recently. They weren't nice to me, but they did raise me, I guess. I just—I don't know. I don't know how to feel."
"Maybe you don't need to decide now," Ron says after Harry finishes. "These aren't feelings you can sort out in a day, or even a week. When's the funeral?"
"Next week Friday," he says. "I'll need to travel back to my hometown."
"Ah," Ron nods. "Well, let's go back home and sleep on it. Just take your time and think about it. I don't think anyone would blame you if you didn't do."
Harry is silent as he thinks on it. In the meantime, Ron balls up his trash and stuffs in the paper bag.
He's pulling out of the parking lot when Harry says, "Thanks. For coming out tonight, and for listening."
"Hey," Ron grins. "What are friends for right?"
...
Ron jumps when the phone rings, startlingly loud in his empty flat. But it's not so empty anymore. He's got two new plants, his fridge is stocked, and he's getting a new flatmate. He has a job and he has friends and he's—happy.
In the face of all this, his refusal to go home before becoming something great seems silly and childish. So he walks over and picks up the phone on its last ring.
He takes a deep breath.
"Hi… mum? Yeah, I'm coming home to visit."