Hullo darlings

Hullo darlings. It's been *three* bloody days since I've managed to finish this, and it's only three pages long. I don't know why it took me so long. Anyways, thanks to everyone who responded, I'm adoring the praise, please continue to shower me with it.

Ritual warnings, disclaimers, etc.: hers. *waves JKR's way* and this is slash and twincest so if you don't like that, *coughs and looks pointedly towards the back button*

Oh and if you are wondering, I was going to call this Experimental Thinking but I used "thinking" in the title of the last chapter and I'm anal retentive when it comes to repetitions.

Yay! Onwards!

Chapter Three: Experimental Ponderings

Sometimes I think we were supposed to be one person. When I look at him it's like looking into a mirror. I can hear his thoughts in my head because they're my own. It's so strange, sometimes, to be this close to someone.

I lay my cheek against his bare shoulder which is chilled from the night air. My hand is flattened against his stomach which rises and falls with his breath. If it was possible I would pull him closer, I would pull him so close that our skin melded and we became the person we were supposed to be.

I know he is awake. I don't know how I know this, because he hasn't moved, but I know all the same. "You've been breaking rules again, you know." I tell him.

He mumbles something in reply. I wait for him to blink the sleep away and say something coherent. "What?" He finally says.

"You've been shutting me out." I say and I can feel him stiffening in my arms.

After a moment, he says, "I didn't realize there were rules between us."

"That's my point."

He rolls away from me, scooting to the far edge of his bed, pressing himself against the wall. The rejection stings. "Look, George, I don't see why it matters." He snaps. "I don't see why everyone's so upset."

"Because you're upset." I say in exasperation. "And you're never upset."

He shrugs. "I didn't know it was against the law to be depressed once in a while."

"What is it with you and rules this summer?" I ask him and he glares at me. "Anyway, it isn't, of course it isn't. But you're not telling me why you're depressed, and that bothers me beyond reason." I point to his forehead, then tap mine. "I'm your brother. Your twin. I'm supposed to know what's going on here."

He mutters something that sounds like, 'that's part of the problem'. I want to hit him, kick him, beat him over the head with his old toy broomstick. Anything to get him to look at me, to speak clearly, to tell me the problem. He's never been like this before.

The door slams open. "What the hell are you doing?" Ron asks, sticking his head in. "It's a good day! Bloody hell, you and Harry!" Without another word, he slams the door shut behind him.

My eyebrows are raised. I know his are too, and when I turn to him, they are migrating towards his hairline. He runs his fingers through his tousled hair. "He's right, you know." He says. "It's a, it's a good day. Why don't you go outside and-"

"No." I cut him off and I know he is attempting not to lose his temper. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"I don't know why you care." He hisses, and his eyes are venomous. "It isn't any of your business."

The room freezes, it seems. Time grinds to a screeching halt that rings in my ears. He looks startled, guilty, like he has been caught doing something he definitely wasn't supposed to be doing. My breath hitches in my throat and then I let out a shaky gasp. I can't believe I'm reacting this way. He's just told me, rudely, to stop bothering him. Normally, there wouldn't be a problem.

It's just that he's never done this before.

Before I know it, before I even register my actions, I am off his bed, stumbling away from him. It feels like I've been sucker-punched. Worse. Like he hit me with a curse when I was bending down to help him pick up his books, or something. Trying to help him and he rammed a boot into my ribcage. God, this is pathetic.

"George, wait." He says, shaken out of his horror-stricken daze. He rolls over, sits up on the edge of the bed. "No. Wait. George, I didn't…"

"You didn't?" My voice cracks. I feel like I'll never get enough air. This gets more ridiculous by the second. All because he didn't want me asking.

But I shouldn't have had to ask, I should've known, he should have let me in, and then to tell me that it wasn't my business- well! That elicits some response, but I know I am going overboard. I can't help it.

"George, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Really, I didn't." He stands, takes an unsteady step towards me. "Look. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry." A small comfort, a petty one, but he looks almost as emotionally fucked as I feel. As if he slapped himself in the face with his words.

"I. I." I can't manage the words, it feels like they're choking me. "I can't believe this." I finally rasp.

Just because I can't get into his head, doesn't mean he can't get into mine. He knows I am referring to my reaction. "No, I, George." He stutters. "I would, I'm so sorry."

I close my eyes. In the silence I can feel him moving towards me. He reaches up and his hand pulls my head to his. My forehead presses against his. He's wishing I would look at him, so I do.

"I'm sorry." He says quietly. "I'm really, really sorry."

The gesture is an apology, something we have done since we were little- not that we fight much. Sometimes we say the wrong things and this is our way of saying we're sorry.

He kisses me softly and moves away, knowing that I have accepted his apology. The kiss is, maybe, a little harder to explain. I don't remember kissing when we were kids, or anything, and it's not kissing kissing. It's just another comfort thing, like sleeping in the same bed.

Lee, of course, doesn't see it that way; he asked once if we ever wanted more than a kiss, more than a comforting arm around our shoulders. I'm sure identical looks of confusion cracked our faces when he asked, because we gasped the same thing at the same time- we're brothers!

But really thinking back on it, it wouldn't be so bad if one of us did want more. Because we're so close, it would seem almost natural. Obviously, it's hideously taboo, but we've never really cared what other people think, and we're far too practiced at not getting caught for that to be too much of a worry.

I don't know why I'm thinking about this. This can't be what's driving Fred into an insane depression, he would have just told me, because he's my twin and he'd know that I wouldn't have a problem, that it wouldn't bother me, that I'd even be willing to experiment.

And of course he'd know that. So I don't know why I'm still thinking about it. Or why I thought about it last night. Or this entire summer.

But I can't help but wonder. Sometimes he won't even look at me and it seems he never wants to touch me. And maybe he is wondering. And maybe he is curious.

"George?" He asks, pausing at the door. "Are you coming?"

I take his offered hand and follow him down the stairs. He'll snap out of this soon, and then he'll tell me what's wrong, and then he'll be the same old Fred, and we'll be the Weasley twins again.