Ron was worried, to put it lightly. After the war ended, he went to work with George. Well, he waited first. George became a bit depressed after the war; he wasn't the same happy-go-lucky guy that he'd always been, which was understandable. Ron felt the same pain as he did, just maybe not as strong. They were so close, always together. The ever hilarious, ever brilliant Weasley twins. The dangerous duo. The troublesome twosome. And, well, Ron suspected George would never be the same ever again.
Then, things seemed to take a turn for the better. George was smiling again, laughing again. He seemed happier, and although Ron had no idea what had caused this new change, he was happy for George. He was happy that maybe George could start actually living again. Yet, thoughts kept constantly nagging at him that somehow this new happy George was just a façade; maybe he just wanted everyone to stop looking at him with such pity filled eyes. Ron was used to getting those stares by now, having always been the least successful child up until after the war.
So, he was worried, just a little bit. Then again, maybe he was just being stupid. He did have a tendency to be stupid. Hermione sure seemed to believe that at least… But Ron constantly found himself worrying over the littlest things when it came to his family. But he was a Weasley, and that's what Weasleys do. They all were carbon copies of their mother, that's for sure. So, maybe he was doing that now. Ron nodded at the thought as he rose from his bed. He dressed for a day's work, and left to make his way down to the shop.
As he made his way down the hall, he paused, hearing soft sobs as he passed by George's bedroom. He knocked, lightly, adding, "George, are you alright?" When no response came, and with the sobs still continuing, he slowly entered the room, finding George sitting on the floor of his room, a single sock in his hand. "George, what's wrong?" He questioned as he stood in the doorway.
"I can't find my other sock. Ron, what's a single sock good for? It's only good… if it's got its partner. Socks are pairs. Where's my other sock, Ron?" He sobbed out desperately. "A single sock can't just go on alone, Ron. Where's my… How could I lose my sock?" He threw the single sock across the room, and sobbed into his hands. Ron rushed over to him, wrapping his arms tightly around George as he cried. "How could I lose my sock?"