Meager Valentine
Summary: [AU] A Valentine's Day oneshot. Ron makes his regular visit to the hospital. R/D slash.
Warning: slash = boy/boy
Disclaimer: They're not mine, truly. It would be a great Valentine's Day gift if they were!!
Ron pocketed candy canes during Christmas, wine during New Year's, and now candy hearts for Valentine's Day. Though they weren't much, they were all he could afford to slip away from the eyes of the cashier as he would tread away from the Hospital's gift shop and towards the elevator, his eyes downcast and his sweater frayed as always.
It had begun nearly a year ago. Ron could tell because he remembered changing the flowers everyday. Then, he remembered changing the autumn leaves. Then, when winter struck, he'd resorted to pine trees. Though the emerald green needles discolored slowly, Ron continued to dutifully empty and refill the clay vase.
Today he gently placed the candy hearts on the worn, linoleum nightstand next to the hospital's one-dollar lamp. His hand shaking ever so slightly, Ron reached into his pocket and out came an old paintbrush he'd found under his bed.
"Stop moving, Ron," Draco snickered, his voice unknowingly rasp and alluring.
Ron looked up. "I can't help it if I move when I draw," He shot back. He sat slouched over his drawing pad, fingering a classroom 6B pencil in one hand and using the other to hold his drawing pad in place.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I should just draw a blur…if I fail this, Ron, I'll strangle you…"
The pencil fell with a soft clatter. Ron stood up, walked 'round the table, and peered over Draco's shoulder. "Whoa…"
"What?" Draco huffed, frowning.
"It's beautiful…" Ron was looking at careful brushstrokes of himself, his poise concentrated and his face dotted with freckles. The portrait faded away into nothingness at the hair and neck. To Ron, it looked finished.
"Thanks," Ron whispered into Draco's ear. The blond gave a little smirk and tapped Ron on the nose with his paintbrush, living a dot of a tangerine-like color. Ron nudged him in response. Next thing they knew, Ron scampered over to the sink, his clothes a collage of glue and paint, and he swiped the stream of water and soaked Draco face-forward.
As the teacher, gruffly though rather good-naturedly, dragged them to the principle's office, Ron swooped down to pick up the paintbrush Draco had used.
Maybe that explained his pick-pocketing nature.
No one could blame Ron though. Both his parents were discharged. His older siblings searched for jobs, but Bill and Percy both had families of their own to support. Fred and George were kept in jail for manslaughter. Ginny was younger than him. Ron had no allowance and no one wanted to hire him at a time like this.
He went to school everyday. He was a junior now. Ron remembered talking to his guidance counselor one day about college, but right now it seemed like a waste of time and money. What if he could just gobble up all the education now, and then go into a career after graduation and support Draco and himself? That was his dream. He didn't know if Mr. Malfoy was willing to go on much longer supporting his son's medical bills.
After Ron's last class, he would attend soccer practice, imagining that Draco was lounging to the side. Maybe he could be a soccer player. Maybe he could decorate Draco's nightstand with international soccer trophies.
Before Draco spent his days in the hospital, they would sneak out at night to the city and watch b-boys twisting and shifting in the moonlight, the graffiti-filled brick walls in the background as the two boys admired different crews' skills. One day, Draco gave Ron a surprise. He swaggered out, challenging a well-known, spindly kid. With a swift windmill, he maneuvered himself to knocking his opponent off his feet. They befriended him afterwards, an orphan by the name of Harry Potter.
Ron knew he will admire Draco's dancing once again, just as he hoped Draco could learn how adept he'd become at soccer. Ron dreamed of Draco's smile as he'd score yet another goal. Ron dreamed of the hug he'd receive after the game and getting his hair ruffled by Draco's hand, as the boy had a habit of doing.
The paintbrush was squeezed into the little clay vase with the pine tree branches. Ron had not wanted to clean it before, thinking it would erase memories, but now it seemed to sully the appearance. Not wanting to disappoint Draco, he went over to the sink and rinsed it off.
The paintbrush returned to its place. Ron pulled over his chair and sat on the duct-tape repaired cushion.
"Draco…" He whispered hoarsely, grasping the boy's limp hand. Ron looked into Draco's face, but the oxygen mask was in the way. The thing angered him, but if he knocked it out of the way Draco could possibly die in his sleep. Ron furrowed his eyebrows and wrapped his fingers around Draco's wrist more securely. The faint heartbeat was the only thing that bothered to tell him Draco was still alive under that coma…
"I love you, Draco," Ron told him. "I love you…"
Ron shot up from his seat, his throat clogging once again. He allowed himself a good amount of time to collect his tears, and then he could sit calmly beside Draco with a smile. "After high school, I'll earn all the money you need. I'll buy you a great apartment. I could even go into politics; I could legalize gay marriage. I could marry you, if you'd like…"
Hours later, the sun began to set. Ron was wrapping up his Calculus homework. Visiting hours ran short today due to the holiday. He zipped up his backpack, its duct-tape-repaired appearance matching that of the seat cushion.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Draco," Ron whispered into Draco's hand. He kissed the pale fingers good-bye. "I can't wait for you to wake up."
Ron left the hospital thinking of what he could give Draco for Saint Patrick's Day.
A/N – So yeah; this one basically wrote itself. I sort of exaggerated the economic crisis to make Ron more miserably. Then again, I live in a pretty well-off town, so Ron might belong to a pretty shitty part of the country. This takes places in America, btw.