Ron settled down into the couch with a weary sigh. Merlin, that took ages! They hadn't even finished the work. Hermione had somehow managed to convince him that it would be best if they finished putting his accounts in order the next day. He had initially resisted her; the mountain had been there for four years, it could wait a while. She would not hear of it though, and he wondered secretly if she would have been that forceful if it had been Neville or even Harry who's accounts had to be put right.
More than once had Ron found it difficult to keep himself from kissing Hermione. It was as if every touch of hers upset his hormones. He couldn't think of anything else but the softness of her hands and lips. His eyes would travel inappropriately to her body, following the very modest curves of her blouse and pants. His hands would get clammy and his yeans constricted.
She perched herself on the corner of his sofa, gathering her purse and telling him how lovely his cooking had been, and at what time she would arrive next afternoon. He heard her say everything, but his mind was too preoccupied with her to form any sort of meaningful reply. He just sat there, looking at Hermione like she was some sort of beautiful prize that he could win. He felt himself leaning in towards her before he could register it with his brain. By that time, it was already too late, and he decided to follow through with it.
Their lips met, but it was hardly a kiss. Hermione had been moving her head as if alternately wanting to kiss him back, and wanting to turn it into a harmless kiss on the cheek. In the end, it landed somewhere between her lips and her cheek. It felt odd, and afraid that he was overstepping her boundaries, Ron pulled out of the kiss, which Hermione suddenly seemed to want to continue. She trailed after him, but her lips were too slow, and Ron didn't realize quickly enough that he had made a mistake.
Before he could correct himself, Hermione turned her head and got up. She headed for the door, giving him a curt 'night!' and pulling the door closed behind herself. He felt her disapperate only seconds later.
"Fool!" Ron snarled at himself, "What am I, ten? Why can't I ever just keep my cool and give her a confident first kiss?"
He slammed his fist into one of the pillows, feeling immensely guilty soon afterwards. He got up and took his coat from where he had discarded it on the sofa. He left his apartment and took the stairs down to ground level. Emotions coursed through his veins like hot steel. He was angry with himself, and with the feeling of hopelessness he felt blossoming inside himself. Why had he punched that pillow? Was he still as violent as before? Why didn't Hermione want him to kiss her? Did she really want to kiss him back, or was she afraid he would hurt her if she didn't?
He pulled open the communal exit of his muggle apartment building and crossed the road. There, he turned left towards the an intersection that he crossed while the lights were still red. The road was deserted anyways, so he didn't even bother to push the button. He tore through an alleyway that opened out onto a small forest. Soon, he found himself surrounded by trees, and silence.
He had often walked here to cool his nerves. Ginny had called it 'simmering', and he had needed it often when he had just gotten back from England. Harry had still been acting like the inquisition, so family business tended to result in him losing his cool.
The forest soothed him. It was the silence that enveloped him from all sides. The canopy of leaves above his head rustled softly in the wind, which made him think of Hermione again. It was in a forest that he had returned to them then, and since then forests held a special place in his heart. He loved the serenity and quiet dark beauty of the oaks, and relished the sound of crunching leaves under his soles.
The sun had set hours ago. Without lights and a map, any man would easily have gotten lost, but Ron had tramped these paths too often to get disoriented. He pushed ahead, taking a left hand turn which he knew would lead him into the denser foliage. If he got lost, he could disapperate. He had done so before.
