Title: 'The Twinz'
Author name: Xiaolang's Ying Fa
Author email: Angst (An implication you can forage for yourself)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Erm…I suppose anything that reveals Weasley's Wizard Weezes.
Summary: A short drabble about Fred's forbidden feelings toward his brother.
DISCLAIMER: I do not hold any claim to any of the characters portrayed in JKR's Harry Potter.
"I love you."
"…I know."
He wasn't himself. An odd thing to say as an opener to this kind of thought, but true to a fault. He was never him. Always 'them'. He—they—was never just Fred, and never just George. It was always…'the twinz', almost with a pronounced 'z' at the end. He wasn't sad or jealous of another person's individuality, no, far from it. But it bothered him in the times he was with only himself. The times when even he had to admit he was not 'the twinz' anymore and was just…Fred. It was times like these, early in the morning…after he'd woken up alone in the house he and Gred had owned…when his thoughts would wander…and he would catch himself thinking things about himself he would have never believed possible if he were still 'the twinz'.
He stood tall, naked, in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the flat above Weasley's Wizard Weezes, observing himself without shame. But even he could see it in his eyes. That emotion…that emotion that was never 'the twinz', but only just Fred.
It wasn't right. It was so perversely wrong he couldn't help but to think of it.
Especially at times like these…when he was so much himself that he was surrounded but lonely. So lonely.
His hand rose of its own will, or maybe it was the 'Fred' in him, and he gently touched the mirror, cold and unyielding against his warm fingertips. He traced the reflection, the edges of his jaw, and down to the mocking similarity of his own neck and chest.
It was so wrong.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way.
Not towards his own brother.
Never towards his own brother.
But he did.
He could feel the tears before he could see them, and he regarded his reflection with a certain distain he usually only held private.
But then he remembered.
He was private.
And very, very alone.
He supposed every set of twins had that link…that link that was only between the two of them, and that was why people always saw all sets of twins as a whole, rather than as two individuals. It was like a conversation you walked in on too late, and were thus confused the entire time.
But he always understood. All he needed to do was look in his brother's eyes and he knew what he was feeling. And what he had felt for her.
He supposed it was that feeling that made his link to his brother so unbearable. He could feel his brother…swimming through his veins, always surrounding him…always beside him…But never with him.
Suddenly, he wasn't seeing his reflection any longer.
He watched the sad, somber eyes of Gred in the mirror, and he could almost feel that penetrating gaze on him…oh if only you knew, brother!
A tear fell from the red-head's light green eyes and he made to remove it in the glass. A cold icy torrent flew through him when he saw it wouldn't go away…and the world seemed to crash down on him and he realized yet again, that he was alone. He did not have his brother now…now, he was only Fred.
They were so similar…it was easy for him to become lost in the mirror. He knew other sets of twins that strove to be different, wanting to be separate. They cut their hair differently, and even wore different clothing, even changed their eye color. He just could not fathom why. Why would anyone with a bond like that, a bond so strong and so passionate…why would anyone want to break it? Twins were meant to be together…like two halves of a whole. Soul-mates.
His heart clenched as his fingers brushed over the mirror once again. Cold. Unrelenting. Alone.
Fred, as he would always be until George came back, leaned against the mirror, meeting his reflection's forehead with his own. Bitter.
He didn't understand why some things were the way they were, but he knew better than to ask sometimes. Some things are better left unspoken.
He leaned forward again, lost amongst the resemblance, and met his reflection's lips with his own. It was cold. Callous.
But it was as close as he would ever get to the euphoria he was so desperate to feel.