A/N: Thank you SO much for all of your amazing feedback on the last chapter! It seemed to provoke some strong opinions, which is great in my book - there's plenty to discuss when it comes to these two flawed characters. Please continue to let me know what you think as we go!

Thanks to accio-broom for helping me sort out my thoughts yet again!

This will be the last chapter of the first part of this fic, and it finds Ron trying to pick up the pieces after their last disastrous conversation. The flashbacks will catch up to current day and starting next week, we'll be moving forward in the plot and starting Part 2. Thanks for reading!

September 16, 2012, 8:40am

What? Did I imagine that?

I stood staring at the front door in shock, trying to process what had just happened. How had we gone from finally being together and almost having sex to getting into one of the worst fights of our lives in a matter of minutes? These fallouts had happened before, but this seemed different. I knew that I'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. What was wrong with me? Who talks about their friend that way, no matter how concerned they are?

The sun had started to peek through the clouds and it was turning into a beautiful morning. Early fall in Chicago was usually my absolute favorite time of year, but I couldn't appreciate it at all. An overwhelming sense of dread cascaded through my insides, washing over me in waves as new realizations about the ramifications of my actions continued to hit me. What would she do about her job? What if I saw her around the neighborhood? She and I were going to see each other at Harry and Ginny's wedding; how awkward would that be after the fight?

One of my biggest concerns was for her future. I had promised to help her figure out her next step in life. Of course, she could do it without me, but I hoped that her motivation would remain intact without someone nudging her along. Even if she hated me for the rest of my life, I'd still want her to be happy and successful.

As those and other thoughts swirled through my head, Harry's bedroom door swung open and my best friend shuffled into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm not going to ask, but I'm happy to talk about it if you like," he said, collapsing onto the sofa with a yawn.

"Not much to talk about," I replied, snapping myself out of my trance and sitting down in the armchair across from him. "She's gone. Not coming back. At least not if I'm around. She has no issue with you."

"What-what happened? I promise I wasn't trying to overhear, but thin walls and all. For a minute there, things seemed fine. Better than fine, if you catch my drift."

"They were, at first. Things were going well…really well. Too well, in retrospect. I don't know, man, there's something about me. I just keep putting my foot in my mouth."

Harry shifted in his seat and pushed his glasses up his face. "You mean well. She knows that."

"I basically called her a slut."

"Oh. I see," Harry said, his eyes widening. "Umm, how?"

"I barely remember, it all happened so fast. One minute things were getting a little…heavy, and the next I was asking her to stop. It didn't seem right, she was in such a bad headspace. She was sobbing last night about not knowing what to do with her life, and when I comforted her and offered to help, she kind of jumped on me. And when I stopped her, she got pissed super quickly. I don't know, I just couldn't do it. I wanted to. You know I wanted to, but I think she was just looking for any kind of human contact, and it didn't have much to do with me, if that makes sense."

"Yeah, I do. For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing to hold off in that instance. But that's not a reason for a fight."

"Right," I said, gulping against my dry throat, my gut twisting as I tried to decide how much to reveal. "So when I stopped her, I told her that I didn't want to just be a hookup for her, that I either wanted something real or just to stay friends. I told her that I didn't want to be like the guy she was with the night before. She said it wasn't the same thing. One thing led to another and, well, I essentially ended up making a comment about all the guys she's probably slept with over the last several years."

"Ouch."

"Not my finest moment. I didn't mean it like that, but the damage was done and she stormed out."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

Of course it did. Any normal person would have reacted that way and I knew it. But hearing Harry confirm how big of an ass I'd made of myself just made me feel even shittier. The gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach became sharper. If only I could just go back in time and think for two fucking seconds before I spoke.

"So," Harry continued, his eyes darting around the room in discomfort, "what are you going to do now?"

I shrugged against the back cushions of the couch and sank down further. "No idea. Go over to her apartment and try to apologize, I guess? Although I doubt she'd even talk to me."

"Sure, but if it were me, I think I'd give her a bit of time."

"So wait an hour?"

"I was thinking more like a day or two, but your call, I guess."

"No, I can't wait that long. I have to at least try to make this right sooner than that. We were so close!"

"Up to you. Good luck, man. You're going to need it," Harry said, standing up and giving me a stern nod before meandering back to his room.

Harry's right, I need to give her at least a few hours. I'll try to pop over in the afternoon.

As expected, though, the wait was torturous. Free Sundays were usually so coveted, but I found myself hoping that particular morning passed as quickly as possible. First, I tried doing a little more cleaning; straightening my room, scrubbing my shower, reorganizing my linen closet. But that only took an hour or so, after which I was once again out of ideas. I tried flipping through the channels to see if anything was on, but even the football pregame shows couldn't hold my attention. All of the muscles in my body seemed to be pulling themselves more taut by the minute, ratcheting up the tension throughout my frame as I paced the apartment.

Even though I knew my mental state was spiraling, I tried to keep myself in the right frame of mind. Sure, I'd fucked up, but it certainly wasn't the first time I'd pissed Hermione off, and she'd always forgiven me in the past. The slippery slope towards self-loathing had always been a constant threat at those times in my life when I found myself on the outs with her, and the events of the last twelve hours certainly qualified. Dark thoughts continually popped into my mind, taunting me with reminders of my own incompetence and insisting that I had made myself unlovable. I knew my therapist would tell me to meditate and try to clear my head, but I tried that and it only made things worse.

Noon passed, and after a quick lunch, I couldn't hold myself back any longer. My watch read twenty past twelve, but I slipped on my sneakers and popped out the door before Harry could try to talk me out of it. I jogged the six blocks to her place and stopped at the front door, jamming my finger into the call button for 3B. Her window was open and I could hear the buzzing from inside the apartment, but the door never opened. For a moment, I contemplated buzzing everyone in the building until someone let me in, but I hated when people did that at our place. So instead, I waited, occasionally interrupting the calm quiet of her block by once again pressing the button, thoroughly frustrated at how hard it had always been to communicate with her in times like these.

October 27, 2006, 10:20pm

"Your turn," Harry said, his head propped up by his palm.

Ron blinked and furrowed his brow. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's been your turn for like three minutes."

"Oh. Sorry, forgot."

The two roommates were sitting on opposite sides of their coffee table, a chess board in between them. White pieces, controlled by Harry, were rampaging all over the board, uncharacteristically dominating Ron's black pieces. It was their third game of the night, a necessary tiebreaker that usually wasn't needed. Ron had beaten Harry two to nothing in almost every best-of-three match they'd played since graduate school had started, but Ron knew that his mind wasn't all there that evening.

Just over a month into their Master's programs in computer science, the two were still great friends. They were still living in the same apartment they'd shared since junior year of their undergraduate studies, and despite the occasional visits from Ginny that irritated Ron to no end, they still got along splendidly. Both were excelling in their discipline so far, as well; their professors sang their praises any chance they had. But as well as things were going in the classroom, Ron still couldn't get his mind off of one particular person half a continent away.

Hermione had settled in well in California, and the first couple of episodes of her new show had already aired. It was performing well for the Tuesday night nine o'clock time slot, and the network had ordered a full season run, ensuring at least twenty-three episodes to prove itself. About once every month or so, she would call Harry and talk to him about how things were going. Sometimes, when Ron was around, Harry would tell her that he was putting her on speaker phone, soon after which she would always have to go. Aside from those brief calls, Ron had had practically no contact with her since she'd written him that letter the day she left Chicago. Not knowing how she was doing outside of hearing her voice a few minutes per month was excruciating for him. Twice, he'd even researched the cost of last-minute plane tickets to L.A. before stopping himself.

"So, are you going to go?" Harry clarified.

"Nah, let's call it. You win."

"You're sure? You realize you have a streak going here that's in jeopardy?"

"It's just a game."

Harry sighed. "Hermione's on your mind, isn't she?"

Ron wanted to deny it. Excuses ran through his mind, and he tried to decide which one to deploy for this particular instance. Rusty? No, they'd been playing three times per week for months. Worried about homework? No, Harry knew that they'd both finished most of their homework for the weekend already. Tired? No, he hadn't woken up until almost noon. Truthfully, Hermione was on his mind. She had called the previous evening, hanging up quicker than usual once Ron said hello.

"A little, maybe," Ron replied, figuring Harry would see through his lies anyway.

"You've got to move on, man. She's not even here anymore."

"You sound like Professor Vector. She was just telling me this morning that I seemed more distracted in class today."

"She was right, you were barely paying attention. I already left my notes on your desk. Figured you need to double-check them."

"Thanks. Yeah, I know, not much I can do about it, though. You know Vector pulled me aside and gave me the name of a therapist on campus? A friend of hers from her graduate school days. She said it might help to talk with someone about…whatever it was that was bothering me."

"Can I be honest with you?" Harry said, cleaning up the chess pieces and walking into the kitchen. "That actually sounds like a good idea."

"I know. I already called and set something up. God, I can't believe I need it, though. If Fred and George knew…don't tell them, will you?"

"Course not. But I'm glad you're doing it. I've been worried about you. I know how much you care about her, but you can't let her consume your thoughts like this. Especially given how she left things between the two of you. I don't know what was in that note she gave you, but it doesn't help to torture yourself with what might have been. It's not fair to you or her." Harry set a beer down on the coffee table in front of Ron before holding up his own. "Cheers."

"Cheers. Yeah, I'm meeting with Dr. Firenze Monday afternoon. So we'll see. Can't hurt, I suppose."

"Exactly."

"Anyway," Ron said, peeling himself off of the couch, "I think I'm going to try to get some sleep. I still have a little homework and I wanna try to finish it up before the game starts tomorrow."

"Sounds good. I'll see you in the morning."

As Ron entered his room and closed the door, he sighed, plugging in his laptop and changing into a ratty t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He pulled back the covers and slid into his bed, the silence suddenly deafening. Hermione's face swirled through his mind; the thoughts were always most intrusive when he was alone. Staring at the ceiling had become one of his favorite pastimes in the increasingly common event that he had trouble falling asleep, and it proved up to the challenge yet again. The lamp on the side table cast an eerie shadow up above, an intricate geometric pattern to be studied and analyzed ad nauseam. At least fifteen minutes later, he had exhausted all methods of investigation and turned onto his side, clicking the switch and submerging the room in darkness.

I thought this would be over by now. I thought I would be able to move on. Sitting on someone's couch and telling them about how I miss Frizz seems super weird, but I need to do something. Maybe I should stop watching her show? No, she's working hard, and I want to prove to her that I can be supportive. Plus, it's my only chance to see her, as weird as it sounds. Although, things do have a way of getting worse every time I watch. Ugh, I should just go to a bar and try to meet someone or something. There's gotta be somebody else out there for me. Somebody who can help break me out of this funk.

But he knew that wouldn't help. Things had left off on too sour a note. The only thing that would really make it better would be a reconciliation. That, however, didn't seem to be in the cards any time soon.

A few hours later, he was jolted out of sleep in the middle of the night by a buzzing sound coming from his nightstand. His phone was glowing, and he rubbed his bleary eyes before picking it up. Suddenly, he found himself wide awake, staring at the name "Frizz" on the caller ID.

Why would she be calling? Even in L.A. it's the middle of the night. Maybe something happened?

Pulling himself to a sitting position, he flipped on his bedside lamp and pressed the green button on the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"ROOOOOOOOON WEASLEY!"

"Hello?" he repeated, barely able to make out the voice on the other end.

"Guys, guys, be…yeah, I know, bu' be quiet!" she yelled, slurring her words as the sound of heavy metal music blared in the background. "This is my frond. Frond? Ha, my friend Ron Weasley!"

"Fri-I mean, Hermione? Is that you?"

"O' curse it is, silly!"

It was the cherry on top of a terrible day. His importance in her life had been diminished to the point where he was nothing but a drunk dial to her. And to make things worse, he couldn't help but be worried for her. It didn't matter how hard he tried, a pang of dread settled into his chest as his mind raced through all the things that could go wrong when a group of guys knew that a girl was drunk at a party. All he could do was hope that she had good friends nearby that would make sure nobody took advantage of her.

"Are you alright? You sound different."

"'M fine! 'M havin' a blast!"

"Okay, well it's nighttime over here in Chicago, so I'm going to go back to sleep. Please be safe, Hermione."

On the other end of the line, he heard a door slam shut and the background noise dropped out completely.

"I love you, Ron. You're jus' soooo amazing."

No longer drowsy in the slightest, he sat up straighter in bed as his ears perked up. Drunk dials were notoriously unpredictable, but some people were at their most truthful when inebriated.

Is it possible that she still has feelings for me? No. Stop. Don't overanalyze. She's thousands of miles away, you're barely friends with her at the moment, and she's plastered. Just stop.

"Umm, do you think it might be time to go home and get some rest? It sounds like you've had a really long day, huh?"

"Don't be riddikulus, the party jus' started."

"Still, might be for the best."

"Call me Frizz."

"I'm sorry?" he clarified, sure that he hadn't heard her correctly.

"Love it when you…call me Frizz. Can you? Y' know, call me Frizz?"

What the hell is going on?

"Umm, okay," he continued. "Hi, Frizz. I think it would be a good idea if you went home and got some rest."

"Soooo sexy," she drawled, sending a shiver down Ron's spine. "I miss you."

It should've made him happy, but the words tormented him. He desperately wanted them to be true, but how likely was that given the way things left off?

"I miss you too, Frizz. I'd love to talk to you later once you're feeling better, okay?"

Suddenly, the roar of the party came back through the phone and he could hear her friends calling for her to rejoin the party. "Oh, I gotta go. I call you later byeeee!"

Before he had a chance to respond, the line disconnected and he was left sitting alone in his pitch-black bedroom. Not only did he have no idea what had just happened, he was more concerned about her than ever. He didn't even want to think about how frequently she was getting smashed like that, but if any of the stories he'd heard about Hollywood parties were true, he knew it was probably a regular occurrence.

As he fell backward, letting his head slam back down onto his pillow, he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep any time soon. He wondered if she'd actually call. It would be great to talk to her again, of course. But the likelihood that she would remember any of their conversation in the morning seemed slim.

Good thing I have that meeting with the therapist coming up. I think we'll have a lot to talk about.

May 9, 2009, 9:35pm

"So, what did you think?" Harry asked as he and Ron left the Regal theater in Lincoln Park.

Ron nodded his head and smiled. "Loved the movie. X-Men, right? What's not to love?"

"You know what I mean."

"Right. I don't know, it was super weird, wasn't it? I had barely gotten used to seeing her on TV and now her face was projected ten feet high."

"I thought she was fantastic," Harry said in his most supportive voice. "It wasn't a big part, but she really stole her scenes."

"Yeah, she did, didn't she?"

As the two walked back to the Red Line train through the cool, clear late spring night, Ron was hit with a wave of sadness. It would've been great to be able to celebrate her success with her, but it had been a while since they'd even seen each other. The previous Christmas was the last time they were all in one place when, since Hermione's parents had moved back to the Detroit area, they met up for drinks at a new brewpub that had just opened up. Hermione had been civil towards Ron, and a few signs of the comfort they used to have with each other peeked through on occasion, but the long-standing awkwardness that permeated their relationship over the past several years hadn't melted in one night. Since then, though, they'd at least had some nice conversations on the phone every other month or so. Through his therapy sessions with Dr. Firenze, he'd gotten to the point where he didn't think about her constantly or pine over her to the point of worry, but he knew that his feelings would never completely go away. Therefore, he was happy to continue talking with her whenever she was up for it, knowing that any conversations would be friendly and that he'd be able to detach after hanging up. It wasn't what he wanted, of course, but it was nice to be on speaking terms again.

After finishing their two-year Master's program, Ron and Harry had been at Cisco for almost a year, and things were going really well. They had moved to a new apartment in the Lakeview neighborhood, several blocks from Wrigley Field. Since being drafted by the upstart Chicago Red Stars straight out of college, Ginny had moved to the city as well, and while she had her own apartment, she still spent a lot of time with Ron and Harry. Even though Ginny could be a pain in the ass, Ron was glad to have her living right down the street and, although he'd never admit it to her or Harry, he had actually started to enjoy spending time with his sister for the first time since they were young children. Ginny had introduced him and Harry to a few members of the team, even going so far as to try to set Ron up with one of her new teammates. He had thought about accepting; Gwen really was quite pretty and seemed to be more than just a talented soccer player. But something in the back of his mind had stopped him, just as it had with any romantic possibilities over the last several years. Dr. Firenze had encouraged him to try to go on a date, but none of the women he knew met his lofty expectations, so his love life remained non-existent.

"Is Ginny coming over tonight?" Ron asked as their train rushed northward through the city.

"No, not tonight," Harry replied. "She has some orientation thing tomorrow at the stadium, so she has to get up early."

"Got it. You want to grab a drink on the way home?"

"Honestly man, I'm wiped. I was so busy at the office today and still have to get some work done for our project over the weekend, so I think I'm just going to crash."

"Okay, no problem. Maybe I'll just play some Fallout or something."

"Sorry, maybe tomorrow night?"

"Sure," Ron responded with a nod.

"Hey," Harry said, his eyes lighting up as he turned toward his friend, "you know what you should do? Give Hermione a call!"

"What? Why?"

"Tell her you liked the movie. I'm sure she'd like to hear from you."

"I don't know, man, it's been a while since we talked. Things are better, but I don't want to push it. Plus, I usually wait for her to call me…just easier that way."

"Up to you, but I think it would be a good idea. I know she'd be happy to know you saw her on the big screen."

"Maybe."

Harry was quiet for the rest of the train ride and the walk to their apartment. As soon as they got back home, he went into his room and closed the door, leaving Ron alone in the living room, once again flipping through channels to see if he could find something interesting. As much as he wished they wouldn't, Harry's words kept echoing through his brain. He wanted to call Hermione, of course. They had last talked around the end of March and he had no idea what she was up to, but would she want to hear from him?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he reached the word "Frizz". He sent the call and jumped up off the couch, pacing the floor as he waited while the line trilled.

Halfway through the third ring, he heard her pick up on the other side. "Hello?"

"Hey," Ron said. Owing to his anxiety, it was all he could choke out.

She cleared her throat and continued. "Hi, Ron."

"Umm, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm…uhh, great. Really good, yeah."

His breathing quickened as he hustled into his own bedroom and closed the door. "Good, that's great. Glad to hear it."

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, things are good. I wanted to call because, well, I just saw you, in a manner of speaking."

"You did?"

"In the X-Men movie, yeah. Harry and I went to see it. You were really amazing."

"Oh, good. Well, great, yeah, thanks for the, uhh, paycheck, I guess."

That's all she has to say? Something's definitely wrong.

Ron had always had an internal sensor that started going off when Hermione was hiding something, and it was blaring in his head at that moment. She just didn't seem like herself.

"Ha, you're welcome. No, I mean it, you did a great job. I'm…yeah, I'm really proud of you."

There was a brief pause, during which he thought he heard a sniffing sound. Maybe it was just a crackle from the phone line or something, though. Unless…was she crying?

"Really?" she asked, her tone tremulous.

"Of course. I'm sure you're working really hard out there, and it shows."

"Thanks, Ron."

That time, it was him that allowed the silence to stretch on, hoping she would divulge something to him. His chest was aching with concern, but he didn't want to be too nosy. After almost thirty seconds, though, someone had to say something. He tried to press forward as gently as possible. "You okay?"

She sniffed again before replying, "Yeah, great."

"Okay, well, look, I know it's not really any of my business anymore, but you sound sad."

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she answered as her voice cracked.

His heart was breaking for her. The thoughts of rushing to the airport and buying a last-minute ticket to L.A. ran through his mind. She sounded like she needed a friend, but he was stuck on the other side of the country. Life really was a huge kick in the teeth sometimes.

"I mean, I won't pry, but I just hope you know that even though we haven't been as close lately or whatever, you can still talk to me about anything."

"I know, but honestly, it's not your problem, don't worry about it."

"I know it's not my problem, but-"

"It's not always what I thought it would be, you know?" she interrupted, openly crying between sentences. "People come and go, but, I don't know, it's just not the same as my friends from home…you guys."

"Right," he said, trying to convey all of his comforting emotion through his voice. "It's different, I'm sure."

"I don't know, I used to love it. I had so much fun when I first got here, but now? Now things are different, I guess. Super stressful. Things change when you're not as famous as you were. There's so much pressure to stay on top."

"What do you mean? You were just in a major blockbuster that released last week! Doesn't that count for something?"

"All I can think about with that movie opening is how I don't have another one lined up yet. Around here, you're nothing if you don't have your next project set up before the previous one is released."

"I see. Well, don't worry, I'm sure something will come along. You're great at what you do. If you want to keep going, I know someone will give you a chance."

"If I want to keep going…"

That caught his attention. What did she mean by that? Maybe she's thinking about coming back home? No, stop assuming. She's just frustrated, I'm sure it'll pass.

"You know what," she continued, "never mind. Sorry I unloaded for a minute there. I'm fine, really. Thanks for listening, though. You always were…ugh, sorry. Just…thanks. I think I just need a good night's sleep or something, then I'll be good."

Too many thoughts were careening around inside his head, and he was becoming dizzy as he considered the possibilities. Was she trying to reach out for help? Was there something else he should be doing for her? Maybe he should go visit. The last thing he wanted, though, was to be too forward. Perhaps just letting her know that he was available was a good start. Who knows, it might even help their friendship get back on track.

"Okay, sure. But, hey, would you mind if I, you know, called again sometime?"

"Of course, you don't have to ask."

"Great, thanks. I will, I promise."

"Okay, good. I-I really miss you."

Ron was glad that she couldn't see him at the moment, because he couldn't stop the huge grin from spreading across his face. It still bothered him that she was upset, of course, but knowing the way she felt gave him a level of hope that he hadn't had in a long time.

"I miss you too, Frizz."

She exhaled on the other end of the line and chuckled. "Alright, well I should probably go."

"Yeah, get some rest, okay?"

"I will. Talk to you soon."

"Take care, Frizz."

For a few seconds, neither of them hung up the phone. He kept waiting for the line to disconnect, but he could still make out her breathing on the other end, albeit faintly. Eventually, he tore the phone away from his cheek, ending the call before tipping over onto his mattress and burying his face in his pillows. As much as he wanted to enjoy the moment and bask in knowing that she still thought of him and missed him sometimes, he knew he had to be careful. This could be dangerous to his mindset. He had worked so hard to get his mind off of her, but after that call, it would be much more difficult. All of his progress might be derailed.

Probably going to need a double session with Dr. Firenze this week.

January 7, 2012, 11:15pm

The apartment was a mess. Empty soda cans littered the coffee table and dirty napkins with pasta sauce crusted to them were scattered over the floor. Before Ron and Harry had left to head home for Christmas vacation, they had hosted a party with their friends from work. It had just been a little Saturday evening affair with the people on their team. Ron had prepared his mother's famous lasagna and they'd done a Secret Santa gift exchange made up of exclusively gag gifts. Everyone had had a great time, and the two promised to have their colleagues over again some time.

As Ron waded through the sea of laundry spread out on his floor, he sighed. The only thing that gave him solace was the knowledge that Harry was in just as bad shape as he was, maybe worse. At least they both had the day on Sunday to get things back in order, but after arriving back home just a few hours ago following a fun holiday, he could barely move. It would all have to wait.

While they had been home, Ron had been hoping to see Hermione at some point. Ever since their conversation after the opening of her movie, they had talked at least once per week. Oftentimes, this meant that Ron would sit on the phone with her for hours as she tried to play up the exciting aspects of living in Hollywood while trying and failing to minimize her growing list of very legitimate concerns. Everything changed just after they had arrived in Michigan, however, when she had sent both Ron and Harry a text telling them that she was moving to Chicago. The two of them happened to be eating dinner at the time, and the news made Ron choke on his mother's meatloaf. He had stepped away from the dinner table and tried to call her as soon as she texted him, but she had simply told him that she was busy packing and would have to get back to him with the details. Neither of them had heard much since. She'd texted them vague details a couple of times, but she'd always refused when they offered to help her move or do what they could to welcome her to the city.

As Ron sat on his bed, contemplating whether to try to clean or just leave it all to the next day, his phone started buzzing. His eyes shot open as he realized the text message was from Hermione.

Hey, I'm in your neighborhood, mind if I stop by for a bit?

His eyes were passing over the words for the third time when Harry burst into his room.

"Did you get this?" he asked, holding up his phone.

"Yeah, you too?" Ron said.

"Yeah. Did you know she was here yet?"

"No idea, you?"

"Not at all. Umm, well, I imagine you'd be up for seeing her, no?"

"Of course," Ron replied, his throat drying up as he spoke. "Yeah, we should probably clean up a bit, but fine with me."

"Okay great. I'll text her and then help you clean, alright?"

Ron nodded as he leaped to his feet and rushed out to the living room. Over the next five minutes, the two whipped the apartment into acceptable shape for company as long as they didn't look too closely. Harry grabbed his bags from the foyer and disappeared into his room as Ron stood at the window, watching as a pair of headlights turned down their street.

A Cadillac Escalade pulled up in front of their apartment and the door swung open, Lil Wayne blasting loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. As far as Ron could see, it looked like there were at least ten people in the car as, through a sea of legs, he saw Hermione emerge and step down to the sidewalk clad in a shimmery silver knee-length dress and black laced high heels. The fact that she wasn't wearing a coat didn't seem to bother her. She straightened her dress and waved goodbye to her friends before walking up the path to their front door and ringing the bell.

Nearly hyperventilating, Ron took a few deep breaths before unlocking the door, twisting the knob, and pulling it open. When he saw her standing in front of him, his knees buckled and his head spun, swimming in a strange combination of delirious joy and angst. It had been over a year since they'd last seen each other during the previous holiday season, and waves of contrasting emotion crashed over him as she flashed him a brilliant smile before stepping confidently over the threshold and holding out her arms. He stepped forward into her embrace, the edges of his vision blurring as he inhaled her scent. Rosemary and citrus, just like it had always been. No matter how famous she got or how much money she made, she always smelled the same, and it was enough to drive him crazy. Although, another aroma invaded his nostrils as well, one that couldn't help but disappoint him a bit. Rum.

"Hi, Ron!" she exclaimed as she started tipping to the side. Tensing his muscles, he held her upright as his hands gripped her back. She looked fantastic, of course, but it only took him a few moments to realize how drunk she was.

"Frizz, it's great to see you! Everything alright?"

"Oh, I'm fab-you-lous! Where's Harry?"

Right on cue, his roommate popped out of his room and smiled at their friend. As soon as he wrapped her in a hug, however, he glanced at Ron and raised an eyebrow. All Ron could do was shrug back at him and try not to look too upset.

"It is great to see yous guy again! And this is your new place, huh? It is so fire."

Harry's eyes flicked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "Umm, yeah we like it. So, sit down. Are you, I mean, do you officially live here now?"

"I do! Right down…there?" she said, pointing towards the kitchen and the back of the apartment at the same time. "Or there, maybe?"

"Oh, so close by? In this neighborhood?" Ron asked. He wished she had let them help her move in, but he was ecstatic that she was right around the corner.

"I think? I dunno, jus' need to figure out the streets, y'know?"

"Right. So what are you doing here? Do you have a new movie shooting here? You never really said why you were coming to Chicago," Ron said.

Hermione flopped her hand around dismissively and closed her eyes. "No, no. I'm done with that. No more movies! I'm out!"

"As in you're no longer going to act?" Harry clarified.

"Tha's right! It was all just shit."

"Oh, okay. So, what next?"

"I dunno," Hermione spat with a laugh. "You know someone who's hiring?"

"Really?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing.

"Yeah, I need a job."

"Umm, Frizz, would you like a drink perhaps?" Ron asked, stepping toward the kitchen. "Maybe just some water?"

"I'd prefer a pina colada, but sure."

As he walked into the kitchen, Ron's heart dropped. He had had such high hopes about seeing her again, but he had no idea she was going to show up smashed and barely coherent. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he filled it with water before walking back out. In the minute or two that he was gone, Hermione seemed to have drifted off and was sliding down the back cushions of the couch, nearly horizontal yet still trying to maintain a conversation with Harry.

"She just kinda…stopped talking," Harry said as he glanced at Ron. "Hope she's okay."

"Yeah, so much for a reunion, huh? I'll try to get her to drink something and keep an eye on her for a while, you can get some rest," Ron replied.

"It's fine, I can hel-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. You drove the whole way home, you must be beat. I've got it, don't worry."

"Okay, well thanks. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yup, see ya," Ron said as Harry padded back to his room, shooting one last look of concern back toward their barely conscious friend.

Turning his attention back to Hermione, Ron shook her shoulders to try to wake her back up. It was clear that she wouldn't be able to go home any time soon, but he was hoping to get at least a little water into her before she fell asleep. "Frizz, hey Frizz. Wake up, drink this."

"Huh?" she replied, trying to bat his hands away and missing entirely.

"Just sit up and drink, okay?"

"No…oh, no," she said. Her whole torso undulated as she sat up and wretched. Ron rushed to the kitchen, quickly grabbed the trash can, and stuck it under her mouth right before she exploded into it, emptying the contents of her stomach as he tried to corral all of her wild hair and keep it out of the line of fire. The stench of partially digested rum hit him right in the face, but he couldn't be sure she was done. Breathing through his mouth, he pulled a tissue from the box on the table and wiped her mouth as she flopped backward.

"Frizz, you okay? Feeling better now?"

"Yeah, definitely better. Thirsty, though."

"Here," he said, handing her the glass. "Drink this then try to get some sleep, okay?"

She dutifully took the cup and brought it to her lips, taking a few sips before handing it back to him with a shaky arm and allowing her head to drop back down onto the armrest. Ron set her glass down in front of her and threw a blanket over top of her before turning off the lamp and settling himself in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

For most of the night, he stayed up and kept an eye on her, making sure that she was actually asleep and wasn't going to wake up and vomit again. Her form remained still, and his eyelids grew heavy in the dark room. Their first meeting in over a year hadn't gone the way he'd hoped, but he was still thrilled that she was nearby again. Hopefully, she'd be feeling better in the morning and could tell them a little more about her plans. Until then, however, he was going to stay by her side.

September 16, 2012, 12:45pm

BZZZZZZZ!

I had been trying every thirty seconds for nearly ten minutes. Perhaps it was time to give up. My best try clearly wasn't swaying her at all; if anything, I was probably annoying her to no end. With one last glance up towards her window, I sighed and stuffed my hands back into my pockets before traipsing back down the sidewalk towards my apartment. Before I turned the corner at the end of the block, I snuck one last peek at her building only to find her window closed.

So she was there. And ignoring me. Of course she was. Fuck, I've really screwed myself this time.

By the time I got back to the apartment, Harry was waiting for me in the living room. He was decked out in his Red Stars attire and sprung to his feet as soon as I walked in the door.

"So?" he asked impatiently.

"So what?" I mumbled, barely able to look him in the eye.

"Did you talk to her?"

My arms flew up before crashing back down to my sides. "What do you think?"

"Right," he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Sorry, man."

Calming my mind seemed like an impossible task, but I couldn't afford to alienate my other best friend. I kicked off my shoes and plopped down onto the sofa, my head dropped over the back edge. "I should've known. She has no reason to take me seriously."

"She'll come around. Trust me, Ron, she doesn't actually think that you think…that about her. You've both made mistakes along the way and you keep finding your way back to each other somehow. I'm sure this'll be the same thing. Eventually, at least."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. And, what's worse, I'm a predictable idiot! I always fuck things up like this right when they might start going my way."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Harry said, grabbing his Red Stars hat from the table by the door. "And don't forget that it takes two to have a fight. I know and she knows that you didn't really mean it the way that she took it. You know I love Hermione, but I'm guessing she said things she'll wish she could take back as well. She could've tried to be more understanding, but instead she just dashed. Again. Sometimes I think the best solution would be to just lock you two in a room together and not let you out until you sort out your issues."

"It's not her fault, I'm the one–"

"Ron, stop! This is what I'm talking about! Stop blaming yourself all the time! You need to recognize that you're not the only one that occasionally screws up. I can't tell you to stop having feelings for her or stop feeling bad about the things you said, but please try to see that you're both only human! She's not perfect and she had a role in this too."

"So what, I should just stop trying because she also said something a bit cruel?"

Harry sighed and pulled his hat onto his head. "No, I'm not saying that. By all means, try to mend the fence. But just…don't beat yourself up like this is all your fault. It's not. She could've stayed and talked it out, but she didn't. I'm sure you guys will at some point, but until then, give yourself a break."

I suppose there was some truth to what he said, but it really didn't do much to change my mindset. The onus to apologize still seemed like it fell predominately on me, and I planned to do whatever I could to make things better again. "I get it. Not sure I totally agree, but I get it."

"Fair enough. Hey, do you want to come to the game? Take your mind off things? Ginny always leaves a couple extra tickets."

"Nah, you go. Tell her good luck from me."

"I will. Just please don't sit around here all day? Maybe go out for a bit, take a walk or something. Go shopping. But try not to wallow around the apartment all day."

"Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

"Okay. Well, if you change your mind, just come to the stadium and give them my name at will call. I'll see you later."

As soon as I heard the door close, I let out a long groan. Peace and quiet on a Sunday afternoon was usually heaven for me, but I couldn't motivate myself to do anything. Once again, I tried flipping through the channels only to find nothing but senseless bullshit. The NFL season had just started, so I watched a bit of whatever game was on, although I barely paid attention. My mind wouldn't stop replaying the events of the previous night, constantly reminding me of how stupid I'd been and recalling the countless opportunities I had to make the conversation less adversarial.

And none of it matters now.

I hauled my body off the couch and moseyed toward the bathroom. Revelations often came to me in the shower, so I figured it couldn't hurt to take a nice long one. Worst case scenario, it would at least help work out some of the tension from my muscles.

The water took a while to come up to temperature, and when I finally stepped in, it was practically scalding my back. A dull pounding sensation had been bothering the back of my head for hours, and the water was finally helping to subdue the pain. After I'd stood under the harsh stream for a few minutes, my mind started to clear enough for me to weigh my options.

I could keep trying to reach out to her, even if it means showing up at her apartment. But that would represent a rather poor understanding of her boundaries and might just piss her off even further. I could leave her alone entirely, which would be respectful of her boundaries and allow her time to heal, but the wait would be horrible and there would be no guarantee that she would ever come back. So that doesn't seem great, either. I could ask Harry to talk to her…no, never mind, that's a chicken shit move, and it would probably backfire. I could avoid her everywhere but work and try to gradually start talking to her there. She wouldn't yell at me at work…at least I don't think she would. Ugh, fuck! These are all terrible choices!

My fists balled up as I cocked my arm and smacked the tile wall of the shower, spraying water everywhere. Most of the stress that had been wound up in my muscles returned, and now my hand hurt as well. Needless to say, I was a moron.

For the next twenty minutes, I tried to stand as still as I could, steadying my breathing as I'd learned in therapy in an attempt to balance myself. I spun around, letting the water hit me right in the face, focusing on the numbing feeling of the jets against my forehead and cheeks. The water eventually became lukewarm, then cool, then ice cold. It wasn't until I realized that my teeth had begun to chatter that I finally turned off the tap and stepped out, wrapping my suddenly freezing body in my terrycloth bathrobe. As I turned to leave the bathroom, my eyes fell on the towel that Hermione had draped over the side of the sink. Something about that visual made me profoundly depressed, as though it represented a loss of possibility. It also, for whatever reason, clarified my decision.

As much as it's going to suck, I think I just need to leave it be. Leave it be and hope she gives me another chance.