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“You’re wearing green.”
“Uh, yeah.” Harry slides the last few rashers of bacon onto the bread and glances over his shoulder to see Ron walking into the kitchen.
“It’s nice. I like you in green.” Ron takes two plates from the cabinet.
“Did you think I was sharing?”
“Piss off, you know you love me.”
Harry hums. “A whole bacon sarnie’s worth? Unclear.”
“Rude.” He waves his wand at the kettle and helps Harry prep the next set of sarnies. “You didn’t used to wear green.”
“Uh, no.” Harry turns the bacon, “‘Cause, ya know-”
“We were twats about it?” Ron finishes his sentence.
“Too right.”
“Well, it’s nice. Matches your eyes.” Ron wonders briefly if militant adherence to arbitrary categories decided at age eleven might not be the best foundation for early childhood education, or would, if he weren’t distracted by the smell of crisping bacon and the stretch of Harry’s muscles under his jumper.
Harry pauses over the pan and eyes Ron carefully, “Uh, thanks, mate.” He adds the last word unnecessarily.
“Wanna eat on the patio?”
“It’s snowing.”
Ron wiggles his wand at Harry, “Wizards, mate.”
“Right.” Harry smiles and passes a plate of sandwiches to Ron and follows him to their well worn porch. He feels the familiar tingle of Ron’s magic wash over him and feels that this domestic little moment might be what he’s been wanting for, if only he could muster that famous gryffindor courage. He wonders if he should’ve worn red.
He takes a bite. He takes a breath. “I like you.”
Ron continues eating, “Well I hope so. We’ve lived together for like a decade.”
“Yeah but like,” Harry gathers his courage, “No, I mean. I fancy you.”
“And you thought to tell me over a bacon sarnie?” Ron pauses just long enough to ask.
“Would a roast be better?”
“Maybe more romantic.” Ron grins and Harry thinks maybe he’s flirting, or at the very least hopes very, very much that Ron is flirting.
“Yeah well we only have roast at your mum’s and telling you would be awkward.”
Ron laughs and goes back to his sandwich, “Too right.”
They eat in what Ron would consider the comfortable silence of a lifelong relationship, and what Harry would consider potentially the most awkward moment of his life, including that time Tom caressed his face in a graveyard.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So do you fancy me back?” Harry all but shouts as his leg bounces frantically under the table.
“Of course I fancy you back. We’re together.”
A piece of bacon falls from Harry’s paused sandwich and falls onto the table. Ron nonchalantly places it back onto Harry’s plate.
“We are?” Harry chokes.
“Well yeah,” Ron takes a bite and continues to talk, “We do everything together. You’re wearing my jumper. I sleep in your bed most nights.”
“I thought it was ‘cause you liked the pillows.”
“Mate, you’re the pillow.”
Harry feels his cheeks heat.
“It makes sense, if you think about it,” Ron continues, rooting around in his pocket for yesterday’s chocolate.
“It does?”
“Doesn’t it?”
Harry appreciates this about Ron. He rarely tells Ron how to feel about something, only gives him time to figure out his own opinion, and it occurs to him, it does. It also occurs to him that, while they’ve done most everything two people might do in a relationship, including late nights cuddling by the fire and killing a megalomaniac, they haven’t done one rather important thing.
“Why haven’t you tried to shag me?” Harry asks, the embodiment of Gryffindor tact.
Ron shrugs and hopes Harry doesn’t notice the red tips of his ears, “I thought you weren’t interested. I thought it was like, a trauma thing.”
“From that book -”
“That book that Hermione gave you, yeah.” They finish speaking together
Harry doesn’t know how he feels about that. He only read a few of the pages Hermione marked.
“Are you not interested in me? Ya know, that way?” Harry suddenly realizes he can’t say sexually, or any words related to sexually, and is pretty sure the earth would swallow him whole if he tried.
Ron smiles. “What do you think I’m doing on the nights I’m not sleeping in your bed? I think Kretcher nearly died when he found my pile of wank socks.”
“There’s a pile?” Harry asks, unsure why he wants more information about the pile of crusted socks, but very sure that if he asks what inspired the pile of wank socks, and finds out it’s anything about him, he might come in his pants like a teenager, and he really, really doesn’t want to do that with Ron. Again.
Ron suddenly feels nervous. It occurs to him that this might be why Hermione gives him lectures on “transparency” and “emotional availability”. “So…well what do we do now?”
“Well… do you fancy a shag?”
Rons ears go bright pink. Harry notices. “Yeah. Yep. I’m game.”
