But that hasn't always been the case.
Before the something had started to add an aching weight to Fred's heart, he was the one who wouldn't back away from the chance to get a little physical with his twin. He'd need the silliest excuse, and he'd smack him, shove at him, manhandle him like he had a right to, pull him close, pin him to the floor...
Or to the wall, or to the bed. Any fucking surface.
It didn't matter. Not then.
George is the pliant one, the younger one, the one who followed him into this world. He'd concede defeat, but not without making his utter apathy known with a roll of his eyes, and a few half-hearted attempts at retaliating, yelling, laughing; drop it, Fred.
No getting physical.
Unless you want to asphyxiate yourself with the something coiling tighter and tighter around your chest, squeezing your lungs, crushing your heart, blocking your airways...
Because, tell me, George.
How. Long. Until.
This is getting stupid.
George has always known that his twin is a thick headed twit, but now he is just outdoing himself.
"Fred."
The form covered head to toe under the blanket lies still and quiet. Unresponsive as a rock.
George makes a noise of disbelief. He steels himself, and with a determined breath, walks up to the bed.
He stares down at the figure under the blanket for a few seconds, before grabbing an end of the blanket and yanking it roughly off the person.
Fred doesn't even bother faking. He stares back at him, quiet, deadpan.
George suddenly is a little unnerved by the complete lack of emotion from his twin.
"Why're you doing this to yourself?"
Fred averts his gaze, warm brown an impervious black in the dark of the night. He sighs, his eyes sliding shut, and a hand goes up to rake his fingers roughly through his hair; it's getting longer, Fred isn't bothering to cut them, so George doesn't bother with his either.
"George, go back to-"
"I heard you in the kitchen, and then in the storeroom," George interrupts quietly. "Is there something you were searching for?" He is aware that he sounds knowing, a little dead-serious, interrogative.
Exactly what he was going for.
Fred's eyes are still closed.
Though George knows he is far from sleepy.
In fact, he is wide awake. He hasn't slept a wink since he retired to bed early, claiming exhaustion.
Fred's voice is calm when he opens his eyes and speaks. But it is with a tired, hollow quality to it, and that turns George's insides cold.
"You took it away, didn't you?"
George nods. He doesn't know why, Fred never scares him, not really, but now he is on edge, carefully watching his face for the first signs of fury.
It doesn't come. Instead, he closes his eyes once again. George waits for him to speak, but that doesn't happen either. If he wouldn't have known better, he'd have thought that he fell asleep.
The cold inside him rapidly drops into a freezing chill. "Fred.." it's a whisper. A quiet, intense plea. "You've been really distant lately," George continues when Fred still doesn't respond. He has a feeling that this is going to be a long, agonizing entreaty. "You've got to talk to me about whatever it is."
Fred's brows crease in mild frustration. "It's nothing. Why don't you quit fussing over me and go sleep? We got to be up early to check all those batches."
George's reaction to it is making to climb onto Fred's bed.
That gets Fred's attention.
He hastily reaches and tries to stop George, flipping over quickly and blocking him.
George is prepared, gripping Fred's wrists and locking legs with his. It's not long before they are tangled together, half their bodies hanging precariously off the edge of the bed. George squirms, somehow manages to retrieve his wand from his pajama pockets, and-
"Petrificus Totalus."
George sighs, watching his twin lying stiff and still, frozen mid-swipe; only his eyes are alive, and they glare witheringly at him. He carefully tugs Fred's legs back onto the bed, struggles a little to lay him properly, before lying down determinedly beside him.
He then sets to watching his face. His eyes have gone back to cool quietness; dull resignation written in them as they gaze back at him.
Georg can't help but reach a hand and smooth his fingers in an absent, involuntary motion along his hair. "Finite incantatem," he murmurs. Fred closes his eyes, his body relaxing.
On edge.
"Stop mothering me."
"Mum's not with us. Who else will take care of a big baby like you?"
Not a trace of spite in their mellow, quiet voices.
Then again, Fred isn't helping the conversation.
"Fred,"
"What?"
"Talk to me."
"I am. You're doing a good job of being a fucking pest and making me."
George tries not to let that deter him. He knows Fred can be a complete arse. Instead, he raises himself on an elbow, and continues watching his face.
He looks tired, and much older, like he's grown ten years in just one.
If anyone could see Fred now. Then again, no one else gets to see the real him.
George decides to dive straight to the point. "I asked you something." he says, in a careful, measured voice.
"What?" Fred's eyes remain closed.
"Why're you doing this to yourself?"
"Doing what?" he sounds calm. George takes that as a good sign.
Then he notices his shaking fingers
Even as his face remains the picture of tranquillity.
"I told you, you could share the bed with me."
Silence.
Now George begins to feel it: he feels like a man hanging off a cliff, slowly losing his grip. He tries not to panic. He must keep trying.
Because no one else will.
"Fred…"
Closed eyes.
"Look at me. Please…"
Impervious.
He's never felt this disconnected to his twin.
"Stop shutting me out." he drops his voice to a soft, low tenor. "We've been through a lot, and you've never been so distant with me."
A pause. He continues steadfastly when he gets no response.
"Now is the time, more than ever, Fred," George's fingers close around his twin's trembling ones. "When we must be close."
"Go away.."
George shakes his head, watching those closed eyes. He squeezes Fred's hand, stopping the tremors altogether.
"How long have you been taking the dreamless sleep potion?"
"George.." his eyes open. In the proximity, they have reverted to a mellow brown. He sees a tinge of fear and distress in them, and a plea to stop the ruthlessly gentle interrogation.
"No. Tell me."
Voice dropping, lower and lower.
He knows how to reach into Fred's soul.
"Since the…since that evening."
George waits. Fred doesn't elaborate on 'that evening'. George sighs, and soldiers on. "Which evening?"
"When you lost your ear."
"Fred." George sounds worried, "That long."
"Go sleep, George. Any more of being my mum and you'll be feeding me off a bottle."
"I won't."
"What? Feed me off a bottle? That's a wise decision, considering that I'd kill you if you tried."
George feels hope stirring at the small grin on Fred's face. He grins back, and dares to leave his grasp on Fred's hand to smack him playfully on his arm. Fred promptly returns a gentle shove. "I won't go away." George asserts sincerely.
Fred murmurs a submissive assent. His eyes slide shut once again.
But for the final, blessed time, it's because of sleep.
It's funny, and somehow, exquisitely heart aching, that he has been calmed by the same person who is also the source of that constant angst and fear.
"How did you find out about the potion?"
"I found it in your nightstand."
"You went through my nightstand?"
"I knew I had to to find my evidence."
"And how did you know you had to look for evidence in the first place?
Saturday evening.
Busy hour. Customers pack every section of their shop.
Those amortentia are selling like hot cakes. Because, how long until they'd all lose the ones they love in the imminent doom. They might never know what it'd have felt like to be in the arms of that person who had always made their heart skip. What it'd have felt like to see them smile just for them.
"Good thing that I found out how your slug-like tongue feels like in my mouth." Fred remarks quite casually to George as he hurls a buckyball to a girl. It sticks to her hand and doesn't come off even as she frantically flails her hand. She laughs and yells something at Fred.
George's heart stops. Eyes wide, he turns and looks at Fred as if he has sprouted antlers.
"What?"
Fred looks at him quizzically. "Well, you'd kissed me as though that was the best action you'd ever got. Not that you remember it, but I think your subconscious knows that I'm the better looking twin after all."
George isn't even breathing. "When?"
Fred narrows his eyes. "Uh, in our sixth year, you idiot. Remember us testing the amortentia on ourselves?" Fred snorts a laugh. "I'm still stunned by how dogged we were to make all this come true." he says, looking around at their shop with all its teeming products and customers. Fred laughs at him when he notices his slack-jawed expression. "Look at you, you've gone all dreamy." he leans in and pats him in mock comfort on his back. "Snap out of it, Georgie. You're never gonna experience it again, sadly."
Fred continues to grin at him, until his attention is demanded by a few third years. He yells at them to hold their horses, turns to smirk at him once more, before leaving him.
George feels the ground shift.
"Because we've never kissed, Fred."
That takes away his sleep. Fred stares at him.
"What?"
"We've never tested amortentia on ourselves. We tested it on Lee. Tricked Angelina into giving it to him. That was what got them together in the first place, funnily enough."
Fred exhales slowly, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Back again to terror.
Its a fucking rollercoaster with George.
"What.. but.."
It seems as if there isn't enough oxygen. He breathes harder, trying to get enough air in. It doesn't seem enough. No matter how hard he breathes, it just doesn't seem enough.
"Fred.. Freddie.. calm down.."
How many more of his memories have been altered by the potion? He knew he was treading on dangerous waters; using the potion without a healer's supervision on a regular basis to escape the demons of his mind, to chase an infuriatingly elusive sleep...
To avoid letting himself be calmed and comforted by his twin.
Is this moment even real? Or is it just another illusion created by the potion?
Hyperventilation.
"Fuck,"
"Fred. Fred. Calm down, please."
He feels himself being gathered into someone's arms, being caged in tightly. George breathes something into his ear, stroking his hair, his back, holding his legs down with his.
George keeps murmuring comforting words, until Fred slowly loosens his tense muscles.
"Is this even real?" Fred voices his fear, muffled against his twin's neck, "Or just some dream. Or a fucking altered memory? I don't even know.."
"Shh. This is real. You were running away from me.. I don't know why." George's hand runs against his back, and Fred tenses slightly against it. "But I got you now, before it got too late."
"I hate this."
"What?"
"Being comforted by you..like some fucking child."
"It's okay if you don't act the older brother every time, Fred. It's okay to need comfort. And I'm always willing to give you that. But you..you keep running away. You don't like admitting your weaknesses." George loosens his hold, only to draw back a little and gaze into his eyes.
In the proximity, George's eyes are warm, warm and liquid brown. Red, smooth strands fall across a flushed face. Fred must look away. For its too blinding, too exquisite.
This something that coils around his chest.
Squeezing his lungs, crushing his heart, blocking his airways.
Asphyxiation.
It's a fucking rollercoaster with George.
"Don't run away from me, Fred. This is okay. Us together, me offering you comfort, holding you like this,"
"Stop it, George."
"No, I won't. You shut everyone out, and whenever you talk its only to crack jokes with them." Fred isn't sure if George would ever use such words and tone with anyone other than him. "I've always been the only one you opened up to. And now you're denying yourself that too."
Fred tries to quell it for a few more seconds, before giving in and crushing George against his chest, sliding a hand into his hair, memorizing his warmth.
Now it comes rolling down without restrain.
An avalanche.
"Don't wanna lose you," he breathes against George's hair. "I'll kill them all. I'll kill them."
It suddenly makes sense.
"When you lost your ear."
He had repressed his emotions.
He had kept them repressed all this time.