Prompt: COUNT ON ME by NEEDTOBREATHE

Prompted by: aisforr

Months living in a tent in the dead of winter made you notice and appreciate, so much more than ever before, what used to feel like minor conveniences. Thus found Ron, two nights after their escape from Malfoy Manor and arrival at Shell Cottage, taking what might have been the longest shower of his life so far. Continuous scalding water painted his pale skin a deep pink, as if he'd stayed much too long out in the sun.

When he finally emerged, dressed in a thin cotton shirt and pyjamas, the house was eerily silent and dark. A glance at his watch proved it was well past midnight, and he was torn about what to do as he approached the closed door to Hermione and Luna's room. He didn't want to disturb her, but it was strange not to be able to see her in her bed, so close to his own. He'd gotten too used to living together, he reckoned. But no part of him wanted to stop.

Resigned, he quietly made his way downstairs, unsure if he'd be able to sleep. A routine had been established of waking in the small hours of the night to sit watch, and he thought he'd probably find it difficult for a long while yet to assure his subconscious that he didn't need to be on alert.

As he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he realised that someone had left a fire glowing low in the sitting room. Harry and Dean's soft snores wafted toward him from the sofa and the floor behind it, but he quickly spotted Hermione, sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, a blanket draped around her shoulders.

"Hey," he whispered as he walked up next to her, fully aware of just how much relief her presence brought him.

"Hi," she whispered back, smiling up at him.

"Thought you'd be in bed."

She was sifting through items from her beaded bag, and her eyes were glowing beautifully in the light from the fire. He sat quietly next to her, curious.

"Couldn't sleep," she muttered, but something about the way she'd said it made him question if she was being entirely truthful. Of course it could simply be the trauma she'd experienced, and he felt like a git for even wondering if there was more to it.

"Sorry," he replied simply, bending his knees up and resting his elbows on them, watching her match pairs of socks on the rug in front of her.

She licked her bottom lip and stopped working, but her gaze remained cast down, and he could see how hard she was thinking about something.

"What?" he heard himself whisper, unable to wait.

"I don't know how to say it," she whispered back, both their voices kept low so as not to wake Dean on the sofa behind them.

Her acknowledgment that she had been considering something she couldn't express while he'd been sitting inches away from her made his heart hammer almost uncomfortably behind his ribs. Patience really never had been his strongest virtue. Add a large dose of anticipation, and he felt slightly dizzy.

"I can't find a few of your socks," she admitted, startlingly changing the subject. He swallowed thickly and tried to care for a second about ruddy socks.

"Oh. Well… don't worry about it, yeah? They were prob'ly worn out and full of holes anyway."

"Everything got shifted around so much when we left the tent. I'm just trying to get it organised before we leave again."

"Leave?"

"We can't stay here forever…"

"I know," he said quickly, almost too harshly, and he winced. "Sorry, I know. But we've got loads to plan, and we just got here, and you…" he trailed off.

"What about me?" She turned to look directly at him, and he felt that familiar flutter in his stomach as he held her gaze.

"You know what," he whispered back, sickeningly flashing back to the Manor and her screams.

"I'm fine."

"I'm worried about you."

"You shouldn't be," she sighed, almost inaudibly.

"Why the hell not?"

Her eyes finally darted away from his, back to the fire.

"It's not worth it," she breathed.

His next breath came shallow and tight, and he had to force himself to keep his voice down when he spoke again.

"You can't stop me."

Her eyes flashed instantly back to his, daring.

"Ron-"

"Just two days ago, you nearly-" he choked on that next word and shook his head. "I can't even bloody say it."

"Shh, you'll wake Harry and Dean."

"Harry. Harry wouldn't be okay either, if something happened to you. He wasn't okay."

"That's not the same thing."

His throat constricted immediately, and this was getting dangerously close to things he'd only ever admitted aloud in delirium. He rather tried to avoid recalling what exactly he'd said to her when they'd arrived here. A part of him was fairly certain he'd told her he couldn't live without her, but she'd been unconscious at the time…

"How do you know?" he whispered, and he hadn't intended it, but he saw a flash of deep insecurity cross her face.

"Maybe I don't, sorry…" she muttered, and he caught her shivering as she clutched her blanket tighter around her shoulders, turning back to face the fire.

Sod it. His fear of being fully honest couldn't compare to his need not to let her feel like that.

"You're right. It isn't the same at all," he said solidly, watching her face carefully. Her lips parted, and it took several tense seconds for her to reply.

"Going through all that…" she started, so quietly he had to lean a bit closer to hear her properly, "it… it made me think about a lot of things."

He wasn't going to push her this time. He bit his tongue and waited, feeling his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. And he could see how hard it was for her, how much she wanted her own words to be argued. He was already fighting this, she just didn't know it. But she should've.

"If she'd killed me, you and Harry… you'd both just have to have gone on fighting without me, wouldn't you. Shouldn't we try not to make that any harder? We knew what we were g-getting into, didn't we?"

His eyes prickled with forceful tears, and his temperature was rising to oppose her. Was distance supposed to make him care- no, love her less? This was wrong. She had to see that.

"But why do we even have to think about that?" he shot back, too loud.

He spotted her lips trembling as she glanced over her shoulder toward the sofa to check that Dean was still asleep. So, he scooted much closer, until his left side was purposefully touching hers, and he ducked so his voice only had to carry inches to reach her. But rather than look forward to the fire again, she stared right at him, the tip of his nose awfully close to hers. He swallowed, forcing himself to press on.

"You're alive," he breathed. "As long as we're safe here, can't we just…"

She was hardly blinking, breathing through parted lips. He could feel her breath against his own skin.

"Just what?" she mouthed, and he almost smiled. She was as incapable of being patient just now as he had been.

He could only think of one thing he wanted to do. One thing he had to do next.

He reached up, looped his arm around her neck, and pulled her closer, til his mouth rested on her forehead, and fuck it, he closed his eyes and kissed her.

Her whole body shook, and he realised immediately that she was crying.

"Hermione-" he muttered against her skin.

But rather than pull away, she desperately held him closer. Her cheek dropped to his knee, her nails dug into his shin, and his arm stretched across her back as he bent forward to rest his own cheek on top of her head.

"I wanted to tell you," she sniffed, and he could feel her speaking, her beautiful voice a calming wave. He softly closed his eyes. "When I didn't know how to say it, I was just trying to th-thank you."

"For what?" he mumbled through her hair.

"Well… everything, now… I've been so afraid to lose something I thought I'd never even have."

He didn't quite understand what she meant, but he knew what he had to ask next.

"Is that my fault? That you didn't know?"

"I just didn't think I should imagine we had a future. But that's wrong, isn't it."

He felt silent tears fall from his closed eyes, wetting her hair.

"We." It wasn't a question, at least it never had been for him.

She held him tighter. His hand slipped down from her shoulder, across her arm, now bare from where her blanket had fallen away.

"Stay here with me," he whispered, matching his breath to the movement of her back with each inhale as she nodded against his knee.