A/N: I haven't written for a long time. This story was inspired by "I'm Ready, I Am" by The Format, who sadly, have just broken up. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to a Miss JK Rowling, song belongs to the band The Format, no money is being made, yaddy yadda …
----
I'm nicotine, I'm coming clean
I fooled the crowd when I made it sound
Like I was more than ready
Strike up the band, deprove my sleep
Cause there's no love like apathy
The bell that tolls rings loud enough
It should have woken us up
I'm trying to find truth in
Words, in rhymes, in notes, in
All the things I wish I'd wrote
Cause it feels like I've been losing you
- I'm Ready, I Am
----
Ron lay on his couch, a lighter and an almost empty pack of cigarettes resting on his bare chest. One lit cigarette was burning away between the pointer finger and middle finger of his left hand, which was hanging off the couch. It was nine P.M., relatively early for him to be home. Hermione would be home soon, too. Ron took a long drag from his cigarette, and slowly let it out, dryly laughing to himself. That's when he would finally confront her; call her on everything that had been going on since they were eleven; everything that had been going on lately.
Flashes of memories passed by his eyes as he laid there on the couch he and Hermione had bought years ago when they moved into this flat. He remembered going to a muggle store because she insisted that it would be better than going to a wizard store. He didn't see the point on wasting money on something that could be conjured, but he went along with her silly notions anyway. As long as he wasn't paying, he was happy...
Hermione took his hand and dragged him into another furniture store.
"Another one?" He exclaimed.
"This is only the second one!"
"Yes, but we spent hours in the last one!"
"And we got a very nice bedroom set from there!" Hermione said, patting the shrunken pieces in her pocket.
"We could have gotten EVERYTHING for the flat there, though!"
"Oh Ronald, that's so trashy. Everyone knows that you shouldn't buy everything for a house or a flat at only ONE place!" Hermione said sweetly.
"Of course! Everyone knows THAT…" Ron trailed off, following her into the store.
Ron sat up, throwing his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. Looking around, he remembered painting every room in the flat. The kitchen was painted sunshine yellow. He could still remember the day, just like it was yesterday...
"Oh Hermione, why is this yellow so … so …. BRIGHT?" Ron moaned as she popped open a can of paint.
"Oh Ron," Hermione chuckled. "We need something bright in here!"
"I don't understand," Ron replied. "We should do all dark colors. Everywhere."
"Stop being so depressing Ronald," Hermione said, taking a paintbrush and dipping it in the paint.
"Another thing I don't understand! If we could just magic paint onto the walls, why are we doing it the muggle way?"
"Honestly, have you not seen what magic has done to us? It has made wizards and witches lazy! Aren't you happy to have a muggle-born girlfriend who has you work a little?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled under his breath.
Hermione sauntered up to him, and engaged him in a heated kiss. "Help me and maybe you'll get another one of those."
Ron instantly grinned, and grabbed a paint roller, dipping it in the pan and rolling it onto the white walls.
The living room was painted a nice neutral color; nothing too bright or too dark. The hallways were all the same neutral color (Hermione thought that it would look bad if the hallway color varied), the bathroom was a crisp white and light blue color, the dining room was a deep red that made the room comfortable to have romantic dinners in or host small get togethers with friends. Their bedroom however was a bright emerald green.
He should have seen it then. What a peculiar shade to paint a bedroom, no? The exact color of someone's eyes …
"Hermione, why this green?" Ron asked, paintbrush already in hand.
"I just like it," she had replied, shrugging her shoulders.
"But why so much?And why in our bedroom? Don't you think it would have gone better in the living room, and a neutral color in here?" he pressed on.
"It was my, erm, grandfather's eye color," Hermione said quickly. "And if we had done it in the living room, the red in the dining room would have made our flat look like Christmas year round. Do you really want that?"
"Well, I guess not-"
"Exactly Ronald, just get to painting."
Had he really bought that excuse? He had. What a fool he was. Lighting another cigarette, he stood up, and walked to their fireplace. He spotted the picture taken as he had asked Hermione to marry him. With his free hand, Ron traced the picture-Hermione's face, which was crying, and shaking her head yes as he was down on one knee. While you could see that she was happy, you could see that the spark just wasn't in her eye. Looking at the rest of the picture, he spotted Harry, standing in a corner by himself. The picture-Harry had a glass of wine in one hand, with which he would raise it, with a grimace, like it was almost painful to show any happiness. Ron sighed. He knew the feeling.
Suddenly the front door slammed. "Ron! Sweetie, I'm home!"
Ron didn't say anything, just took a long drag of his cigarette and flicked the ashes that were collecting at the tip into the fire. He heard her high heels click on the hardwood as she came to the entrance of the living room.
"Oh honestly Ron, how many times have I told you that you shouldn't smoke?"
"A lot of times," he replied dully.
"And you still continue too anyway," Hermione walked to the sofa. "This pack was full when I left this morning! Did you smoke every one of these cigarettes?"
"I had too," he said.
"What would ever make you want to smoke a whole pack in the course of 12 or 13 hours Ronald?"
"I was thinking," he felt her hand on his back, and he walked to the window seat Hermione insisted that they should have.
"About what?" Hermione asked, hurt that he had pulled away from her.
"You. Me. Us. Harry. You and Harry."
"Ron, what are you talking about?" Hermione exclaimed, her voice becoming high pitched.
"You love him," Ron said simply. He finished his cigarette, and placed it next to him.
"Excuse me? Ronald Billius Weasley, I swear-"
"Please don't deny it," he looked up, his eyes full of pain. "I know you do."
Hermione looked at him, her defensive stance still holding her body up. But just like a balloon, she deflated, and sunk onto the couch.
"Fine."
"Fine what?"
"You're right, isn't that what you want to hear?" Hermione said angrily, gesturing with her hands.
"No, of course it's not what I want to hear. I love you Hermione, of course it's not what I want to hear."
"Then why force me to admit it! If you don't want to hear it, then why demand a confession?!"
"Because I would rather know the truth, than live a lie," he told her.
"I'm so sorry Ron," Hermione started.
"You love who you love. What's there to be sorry about?"
"I know, I don't know,"
"Oh the Hermione Granger not knowing something?"
"Prat," Hermione smiled slightly. "I don't know when I started loving him."
"You always did." Ron said. "Always. Before we met him, even I bet. The light in your eyes when you met him that first day on the train is the same as the light in your eyes when you meet for coffee on a winter day during your lunch breaks. You would do anything for him, more than you would ever do for me. If I ever asked you to go stand in front of a train, you would look at me like I need to be checked into St. Mungo's. If Harry asked you, you'd be sticking your nose in a newspaper to find out when the time the closest train would be pulling in. Or maybe you'd just go lie on the tracks, waiting for the train,"
"Oh please, you are exaggerating a little too much I think," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"because you love him. Who was the one that stayed with Harry? Who always has? Who has dedicated many sleepless nights, just to help him? That wasn't me, or Ginny, or anyone else. That was you. I'm the one who left. I'm the one who would fall asleep using books as pillows. Ginny is the one who stayed behind like an obedient puppy following its master's instructions. No, it has always been you."
"How can you say this, like Harry is my soulmate? Like Harry actually loves me back. He is with Ginny, for Christ's sake!"
"You guys are fitted for each other. You guys touch each other, not like that mind you, without even realizing it. Harry will bring you a cup of coffee in the middle of the day, at the most opportune times! You guys give each other massages without even asking. You know every little detail about him, and he knows every single one about you. You know what he told me the other day?"
"Please, enlighten me."
"No one has had green eyes in your family for generations, Hermione. Not even hazel eyes! Just brown eyes and the odd occurrence of blue."
Hermione could only look down, and sigh. "I know. I let that slip to him once."
"I need you to tell him how you feel."
"What?" Hermione said alarmed. "I can't!"
"You need to!"
"But, Ginny! Your mother, your whole family, they'll-"
"Get over it. They will have too. If my mother had never gotten this silly big, happy Weasley family thing stuck in her head, I don't think this will ever have happened."
"Yeah," Hermione chuckled. "This could have been prevented, I suppose."
"I agree."
Hermione fiddled with her engagement ring, a nice sized diamond with onyx stones set around it. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back?"
"Please keep it."
"Really?"
"Yes… keep it as a promise ring."
"What would the promise be?"
"That we will always be friends, of course," Ron said with a grin that could have split his face if it got any wider.
Tears came to Hermione's eyes and she ran across the room and threw herself at Ron, engulfing him in a hug that could have rivaled Mrs. Weasley's. "Oh Ron, you don't know how happy this makes me feel!"
"Well, can you get happy in another way that doesn't make me chest wet?" Ron teased, while hugging her tight all the while.
"Oh you prat," she half sobbed/half laughed. They stood there for a long time, just hugging each other. Hermione breathed him in, smelling Axe and oranges. She never understood why she always smelled oranges around him. Maybe it was because she always associated the color orange with him, because of his favorite Quidditch team, the Canons. Or maybe it was just something she made up in her head. Whatever it was, she would always know him by his unique scent. Finally, she pulled back.
"Oh joy, do I get to wipe my chest off now?" Ron joked, walking to the kitchen to get napkins.
"Ha ha ha," Hermione sarcastically laughed.
"You love it," Ron called from the kitchen.
"Secretly, maybe," she called back. She smiled as she heard the laughter coming from the kitchen.
"So really," Ron asked as he came back with napkins for Hermione, and two glasses of iced tea. "What are you going to do about Harry?"
"I don't know. I'm not going to be one of those women who break a couple up."
"You do know that they have been on the rocks for a couple months now."
"Yes I know… that does not make him single though."
"Close enough. I still think you should talk to him."
"Maybe. What are we going to do about this living arrangement?"
"Well, are you uncomfortable with it? I can move into the guest room, and you can have our bedroom."
"If you don't mind. Unless you want the bedroom," She added.
"No, I'm quite happy to have the other bedroom. To be honest, I quite miss my bright orange; living in that bedroom was making me feel like I was living in one of Harry's eyes."
"Oh I hope your eyes burn from the bright orange you paint your room," Hermione laughed, hoping that everything turned out for the best.
---
A/N: I am ending it there. If i get reviews wanting me to continue the story, I will. If that happens, the next chapter will be Harry and Ginny.
I know that this is probably sort of unlikely. Ron probably wouldn't handle it like this. And it probably wouldn't have been handled so easily by either of them. But I think they have both matured, and possibly both have seen this coming, so they would have both accepted it instead of fighting it. Um, i think that's it! Hope you enjoyed :)