If I Ever Want

By Kay

A/N: Yes, it's very short. Painfully short. But I have another painfully short one right after this to upload, both of which are very badly written and have no point, but then again, where else is it going to go? In my document folder? Bah.

I'll finish the other one I'm doing. I promise it'll be longer. And more fun.

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"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever wanted to do something really, really strange? Something that had no impact on anything, but you can't stop thinking about it. Like it's a craving. And you can't really get at it, can't forget it, even though it's so stupid?"

There is a perplexed silence.

"Um… well, I don't know."

"I have one."

"A... what?"

"A craving to do something stupid," Ron answers miserably. Harry can hear him shift in his bed, the blankets being kicked impatiently and spilling over the sides. They glow a faint red in the moonlight, crimson and familiar to his unfocused eyes. His glasses are on the bedside table.

For a moment, he considers the words spoken by his friend. Reluctance, restrained longing- these are not things he's heard in that voice before. Joy and pleasure often enough, sometimes depression or disappointment, but never such an ache. Such a longing. It's too much to hear from that tone and he finds himself trying to erase it from his mind.

"What should I do?" Ron asks again, the voice digging into the empty night.

"Maybe you should just do it? Even though it's stupid," Harry suggests hesitantly.

The silence stretches out into a lingering, uncomfortable façade of normalcy. After a moment, in the darkness of the Gryffindor dorm, Harry hears bedcovers rustle and be thrown aside. He listens very carefully, careful not to move in his own bed, and only smiles a little when he hears Ron swear under his breath because the floorboards were too cold for his bare feet.

The footsteps echo slightly, and Ron's silhouette appears above him for a second; hesitant and blurry around the edges.

"You really think I should try it?"

Harry finally reaches out, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. It feels better to hear the voice seem more normal, more in control. A little fearful, maybe, but... "Well, if it makes you feel better. Where are we going for thi-"

His hand stops, his breath catches.

When Ron pulls away, he seems nervous and afraid and relieved all at once. Harry's never noticed until now, but his lips are the same color as his fiery hair, and the strands as soft as his skin when they brush against the side of his face. He didn't realize he was growing it out longer. It frames his sharp features, the shy blue oceans of his eyes, and the tiny dotted freckles that only show up in the sun's heated rays. They're concentrated over the slope of his nose, trailing over his pale cheekbones and under the black soot of his eyelashes.

Harry thinks he's never seen so much in his life.

"Um. So yeah. Like I said, stupid, right?"

Harry doesn't know what to say. But he nods wordlessly, noting absently that Ron's face falls only slightly before he turns away, and then the silhouette is gone. Back to his own bed. The space where his hand had pressed into the covers seems cold. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, and doesn't remember what he says after Ron whispers, "Good night," again.

All he can think of is, I have this craving. I want to do something stupid.

And so he gets up, throws the covers off, and takes extreme delight in Ron's shocked face when he leans down to kiss him.

* * * *

Like I said. Short. ^^;; Oh well.