A/N: I literally loved the image I used for Maybe so much that I had to write a story about it. Hope you enjoy another venture into Ron and Draco's evolving relationship! As with before, you can find the original artist for this awesome image o DeviantArt under the name of fuileachd!
The wooden swing creaked on the branch it was strung from under the weight of Draco. His hair was in light tangles, free from the confines of the copious amount of product it was subjected to so frequently. An emerald jumper protected his scrawny body from the autumn breeze, blue jeans with holes in the knees that he knew would infuriate his father and some simple black chucks completed the couture. Draco's aunt would be proud, if only she weren't so damn insane.
The day was dragging on, not that Draco minded. The only issue he had with the day was his father. It always came back to Lucius Malfoy and the ridiculous demands of how Draco was meant to behave. Somehow, Draco managed to offend their guests that were over for a business dinner. Well, it wasn't his fault that their stupid daughter couldn't take a hint. Put it upon Draco's father to try and set them up, and even more so by practically shoving them into a secluded room.
Draco didn't take to kindly to that. He knew his father was only upset at the idea of Draco and a certain Weasley getting along a little too well. Lucius thought he was having his teenage rebellious phase; Draco had to scoff at that. Sure, Weasley wasn't the best choice in the possible hundreds of prospective men he could snag, but he had a sort of… stupid charm.
Draco swayed back and forth, his legs kicking gently to keep the swing moving, not even slightly worried about the fragile branch above breaking. This was his favorite childhood swing, it held him up when things got too hard. It would never let him down.
A presence behind him made the hairs on his neck stand up, and he suddenly felt irritated. Not only was his father ruining his possible relationship with someone for their lineage, but he was now ruining the peace of his swing.
"I don't even want to hear it, Father," Draco hissed. He wasn't in the mood for his father's words of wisdom and was perfectly fine with throwing a tantrum to get his point across.
A weight propelled the swing forward, two feet flitting between his outer thighs and he yelped in surprise. Draco looked up at the shadow cascading over his spot, but an eyeful of abhorrent flashy red was all he recognized at first.
"You look like an overgrown strawberry," Draco said with a sneer.
Ronald Weasley, the big oaf he was slowly falling for, stood over Draco with a bright smile. Ron learned to know when Draco was having a bad day, and this was clearly one of those. After steadily dating for a few months they'd grown close, perhaps too close according to their family, but they shrugged it off.
"And you look like the brightest star, twinkling for my eyes only, love," Ron breathed, placing a soft kiss on the top of his boyfriend's head.
For Ron's birthday, Fred and George bought him a book detailing pick-up lines and other actions to make your significant other swoon. Needless to say, they worked spectacularly so far if the tinge of red on Draco's face was anything to go by.
"What do you want Weasley?" Draco muttered, his feet planted on the ground to stop the swing from swaying. He wasn't about to let the idiot fall off and crack his skull open because he wanted to stand on an unstable source.
"You." Ron stated simply, further embarrassing the blonde who snorted in response.
"I thought we already established this, or did you hit your stupid head on a rock again on your way here?" Draco drawled.
"Ouch," Ron chuckled good-naturedly. Draco couldn't help but appreciate the man and his ever-forgiving personality lately, especially with his moods swinging back and forth from stress. "Let me guess, daddy wants you and his client's daughter to bump the naughties again?"
Draco shook his head in exasperation, blonde locks falling loosely into his eyes. "Must you always be so crass?"
Ron's fingers in his hair were not what Draco was expecting, but he didn't argue. Long fingers combed through the tendrils, slowly releasing the tension in his head from a building headache. He'd have to thank the redhead later, but right now, he was in too much of a mood.
"I wouldn't let them take you away from me, don't worry," Ron said in a whisper, and Draco's heart nearly stopped for a moment.
This was territory Draco always felt uncomfortable with, even after two months, he couldn't seem to get his fathers words out of his head. Weasley won't ever amount to anything. He'd end up just like Arthur, scraping by with a menial job. Draco needed someone from a wealthy family to support their endeavors, and he needed to take over his father's footsteps.
But his mind supplied other words against that mantra. Arthur was happy, with a loving family and children that cared for him very much. Draco didn't want what his father wanted. He wanted someone to love him unconditionally, regardless of who they were. Ron might not be the richest man with the most significant goals, but he was happy. Draco wanted that kind of life. He wanted to be happy without a care of other people viewing him as 'mediocre.'
"You're overthinking," Ron poked Draco's ear, eliciting a swat dangerously close to a very sensitive area. A few things happened then; Ron cried out, Draco tumbled backward, and the branch above them snapped, sending them into a sprawling mess on the grass.
A groan from under Draco hinted at his boyfriend's distress, though his hard body was strangely comfortable to lie on top of. A poke to his side made him squirm away from the abuse.
"You broke my swing."
"You broke my ribs," Ron wheezed back, wrapping his arms securely around the blonde, preventing him from escape; not that he wanted to.
"You're so overdramatic," Draco huffed, relaxing under the strong arms.
Draco assessed the damage to his swing and considered it irreparable. It was a depressing thought, especially since that swing had been his support for so long. Any time his father went on his tirades, the swing was his escape. His parents never bothered him out here, mostly because they didn't come this far out on the properties grounds.
When soft lips pressed against Draco's neck, he shivered and came back down to earth. Ron's hands wrapped around his own slender fingers near his chest and against his neck, he could feel a brief smile of content. Warmth bloomed in his chest and spread through his veins, the crisp air doing nothing to stop it. Maybe the swing was gone, but he had a much better replacement for the rickety wood in the form of red hair, freckles, and an obnoxious love for all things red. Draco supposed they had that in common.
"How'd you manage to get back here anyway? Father wouldn't have let you through the house," Draco said softly, enjoying the closeness and ignoring the tiny fear that his father might come back here and see them.
"I climbed over the hedges," Ron's rumbling voice chuckled, sending vibrations down Draco's back.
Draco chanced a look over to the once perfectly trimmed leaves, now abused and in disarray. Draco's rebellious nature took sweet pleasure in knowing that his father would be in hysterics if he ever noticed it.
"My parents are going to kill you," Draco stated blandly.
"Nah, you'd miss me too much."
Draco couldn't find it in him to disagree with that notion.