Ch 2 - Completely Starkers But For One Sock
Living with Harry wasn't all that different from living with Jonathan, or any other guy for that matter. He was moderately messy; not too neat or too slovenly. The flat was moderately decorated with moderate furnishings; the sort of thing that implied one had enough money but not too much. Things went on in a sort of moderate way. They didn't fight, but then they had no reason to. Harry went off to his job, and Fred would go out and meet with friends. Harry didn't ask if he had a job and never mentioned the subject of rent, so neither did Fred. Harry didn't really ask many questions. Fred hoped it was because he didn't want to pry, and not because he didn't care. Maybe Harry thought if he asked Fred questions, Fred would ask him questions, and maybe Harry didn't want to answer them. But whatever the reason, they coexisted, and Fred was reluctant to break the peace.
The only major difference was now that he lived at Harry's house, he was seeing a lot more of his brother Ron. Which was, understandably, a little awkward for both of them. Not that Ron ever spoke to him. Fred could hear him yelling at Harry, though, telling him that Fred was no good, and that he slept around, and that he probably had some horrible venereal disease, and that he would eventually break Harry's heart. Harry would always respond, usually in a bored tone of voice, "I have to give him my heart first," and whenever he would say that, Fred felt a little pang.
It wasn't as though Fred was in love with Harry, not by any means. He'd been living with the bloke for less than a month, so it couldn't possibly be. Fred decided that he would ignore it and it would go away.
So far, it had worked.
Except for, well, when Harry said that. He still felt it then. Or when he didn't say it, but said something else. Anything, really, from Fred's name screamed in ecstasy to asking for the salt. Or when he wasn't saying anything at all, like when he was reading in the armchair or sleeping. And sometimes when he left and Fred was alone in his flat, with all of Harry's stuff and Harry's smell, waiting for him to get back. Or when Fred went out, and then could think about coming back and Harry would be happy to see him, and it felt almost like home. Or... so maybe it wasn't working. But if Fred pretended it was, it almost did.
And when he pretended that made sense, it almost did, too.
"So what are we having for dinner?" Fred asked. His voice may have sounded jovial, but secretly Fred was a bit worried. Harry liked to cook, and he was good at it, yes, but he also liked to make very strange (and not always appetizing) foods. He came up behind Harry in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Harry's middle. He looked down at the open cook-book. "Oliver Wood's Guide to Haggis for Beginners? You're kidding. Didn't he go into Quidditch?"
Harry looked affronted. "Haggis is very nutritional, I'll have you know, Fred."
Fred coughed.
"Freddie."
"Thank you," Fred said graciously. There was a pause where Fred rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and Harry stared down at the cook-book.
"Freddie," Harry began, in a strange tone of voice.
Fred panicked. Harry was finally going to start asking questions. Why do you call yourself Freddie now? Why don't you talk to your family? Why is Ron saying all these things about you? Why don't you have your own place? His arms stiffened around Harry's waist. Fred knew he shouldn't have picked up someone so close to the family.
Perhaps Harry sensed his discomfort, or perhaps he never meant to ask those questions at all. He merely said, "Could you get me the suet?"
Fred sighed, relieved, and removed his arms from Harry. "Where is it?"
"The fridge."
Fred opened the fridge. "... what is it?"
"The really gross-looking stuff in the clear Tupperware."
He reached in and grabbed a container that looked like it was filled with chunky grey pudding. "Oh, yum," he muttered as he brought it back to the counter. Still, he'd rather eat haggis than answer questions.
"Merlin, Harry. So pretty," Fred breathed to himself as he ran his fingers down Harry's chest. His breath didn't hitch like Jonathan's, but he had this adorable habit of closing his eyes and tilting up his chin in a look of pure pleasure that never failed to make Fred feel like a sex god.
"I'm not pretty," Harry protested.
Fred chuckled. "Oh, of course not," he said playfully. "You're very handsome. Quite manly. The, er, male Aphrodite."
"Adonis?" Harry suggested.
"Now, now. Let's take our egos down a notch, shall we?" Fred's smile froze. He and George used to talk like that all the time. It was always 'we' or 'us' or 'our'. Suddenly he missed his twin with such force that he winced.
"Freddie? What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"... you won't laugh?"
Harry let out a surprised, "Ha, of course not."
Fred groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. "You're laughing already."
Harry pulled the pillow away. Gently pulling Fred's chin towards him, he looked straight in his eyes and said, "Freddie. I won't laugh. I promise."
Fred grimaced and shut his eyes tight, as though if he spoke with an angry facial expression it would make his words less true. "I'm... homesick."
"What?"
"Homesick, I'm homesick!"
"Well, yeah, I got it, but..." Harry tried to find words to say. "... Why?"
"I don't know!" Fred said with more acid than he had intended. Harry looked hurt. Something in Fred told him to stop, but he couldn't be bothered to listen. All of the sudden he had so much anger in him that he couldn't be still. He left the bed and started pacing. In a different situation, Harry might have pointed out how silly he looked, Fred Weasley with a serious expression on his face, walking back and forth completely starkers but for one sock.
"I just-! It's hard, alright? It's harder than you think. I haven't spoke to anyone in my family for almost a year! Even when Ron comes over, which is as rarely as possible now that I'm here, he doesn't speak two words to me. I miss mum, I miss her cooking. I miss dad and his plugs and his eklecticity. I miss Gin, and Bill, and Charlie, and even Percy, the prat. I miss... I miss George..."
As suddenly as the anger came, it left, leaving Fred drained. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Harry scooted over to him. "Oh, Freddie, I had no idea-"
"It was my birthday last week," he interrupted.
"Your birthday? Why didn't you tell me? We could've..." Harry gestured, presumably to indicate that some unknown activity could have taken place.
"I... I dunno. I thought you might tell Ron or... someone that they'd better do something about it. I wanted to see if they would, you know..." Harry bit his lip, and Fred knew he was thinking that he would have done exactly that. He decided not to press it. "They didn't. Of course. Ron was here, even. He looked at me though. Glared, really. I guess that's better than ignoring me, right?"
"Oh... Freddie..." Harry wrapped him into a hug. Fred held back tears. Harry may not have been good with words, but at least he had someone on his side, and he wasn't about to ruin it by being over-emotional. What kind of inspiration would he be to Harry then? Determined to not spoil their evening, Fred pushed Harry back and this time, Harry didn't protest.