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The Burrow was quiet. Fred laid in his bed, still, unable to sleep. George was downstairs on the couch, no one wanted to move him while he was injured. Just the mere sight of his twin's empty bed was like a wake up call. It made his mind race and panic: it could have been the end. He could have lost his best friend, his other half, all in a single night, a single moment. The mere thought of going on alone made tears well in his eyes and his breath catch harshly in his lungs. It was too intense, too much, just to see the rumpled covers.
Fred slid out of bed and padded downstairs quietly. George was sleeping soundly on the sofa, his ear mostly cleaned up, the bandage wrapped around his head spotted with blood at the wound. He couldn't wake him. Watching his brother, Fred could just envision a corpse on that couch rather than his sleeping confidant. He swallowed a lump in his throat and went out the back door. He didn't want anyone to worry, he didn't want to wake anyone up with his emotional irrationality. He knew no one would understand: they'd be sympathetic sure, but they could never understand the deep bond between him and his brother, the lifeline.
The first person he thought to see was Angelina Johnson. Aside from George, she was the other person he’d ever been truly close to. Sure, there was Lee Jordan, but Lee was a guy and Fred couldn’t talk emotions with a guy. He knew Angelina wouldn’t judge him for panicking - despite her normal, tomboyish nature, Fred knew from experience that she did have a softer side. He walked barefoot, clad in his pajamas, across the cold, muddy land until he left the safety bubble before disapparating, not wanting the thunderous noise of exiting the field to wake anyone up. He found himself at Angelina’s apartment and knocked on the door, praying she would answer.
“Fred?” she asked sleepily as she cracked the door open dressed in a large tee shirt and shorts, sleepwear Fred remembered well. “What are you doing here? It’s 2 AM.”
“I know, sorry. Can I come in?” he hated himself a little as his voice cracked.
She let him inside without a word. “Is everything all right?” she asked, leading him down the hall.
“I don’t know. . .”
“Tell me,” she demanded, taking him to the sitting room, the lights coming on as they entered it. They sat on the loveseat.
“George had an accident. . . He lost his ear. I can’t really talk about the fine details, but. . .” he trailed off, unsure of how to articulate his emotions. Angelina took his hand reassuringly and he felt the familiar callouses on her palms from Quidditch. “It was scary. I mean, around my family I tried to be fine, you know? He was alive and that was all that mattered but then I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was he had gotten hurt and how it could have been worse. He could have died and I don’t know what I’d do without him, Ange.” He felt embarrassment wash over him, tears choking in his throat again.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. She wrapped an arm around his neck and drew him in for a hug. Fred shut his eyes and allowed himself to be embraced, breathing slowly to keep the tears at bay. Taking in Angelina’s scent, he was reminded of the Yule Ball (it seemed like ages ago now), the period of time that they dated until Fred and George dropped out of school. He and Angelina had had some good times, fond memories. Fred clung to her tightly and nuzzled his face into her neck.
“I miss you,” he mumbled into her skin. He hadn’t expected his forlorn mood to dissipate, nostalgia and longing settling in its place.
“Fred,” Angelina said in a warning tone without much conviction. He knew she was probably the smarter of the two in halting his planned advances, but she didn’t sound too convincing. He had a hunch that she missed him, too. He could understand her hesitance because he had the same: it was a dangerous time to be close to people. There was so much wrong with their world. Witches and wizards disappearing, deaths everywhere. Being close to others meant chance of great loss, something Fred had almost experienced that very evening, the very thing that brought him to Angelina’s door. To rekindle his feelings for Angelina felt dangerous. It was just one more person that could be taken from him. He felt he could potentially be putting her in danger. But having her there, close to him, warm, welcoming, tantalizing - it felt right. He couldn’t say no to it.
“I do,” he insisted and softly kissed her throat. He felt her resolve melt a little as she relaxed. He tested the waters, kissing her a little more, encouraged when she let him. He felt increasingly successful when he kissed her jawline and made his way to her lips which she met with subtle fervor. Fred dared to place a hand on her bare thigh and was glad for it when she didn’t push him away. With her warm hands under his shirt, on his skin, Fred was trying his best to resist taking her on her sofa right then and there. Like muscle memory, his own hands formed to the curves of her body as if they had never spent any time apart. Upon him succeeding in laying her flat on the cushions, she felt obliged to halt him.
“Fred, we should stop,” she breathed, his fingertips toying with the waistband of her shorts and his mouth on her neck, sucking with the aim to bruise.
“Why?” he asked while continuing.
With a regretful sigh she gently pushed him away from her. “I still have feelings for you, Fred, I do. But let’s be honest: we haven’t seen each other in almost two years. We’ve both got our own lives, we’re busy people. I know what you and yours are doing is very hush-hush, but don’t think the rest of us who care about you don’t know. You don’t have time for a relationship and I think we care about each other more than friends with benefits encompasses. It just wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be smart.”
Fred sighed, “You’re right.”
“Listen, when this war is over and we’re both still standing, come knock on my door. We’ll have amazing celebration sex,” she grinned.
“You’re such a bloody tease,” Fred replied, giving her a kiss on the lips. “Can’t I have a shag for the road?”
“No, Fred,” she chuckled. “You should go back home. Get some rest.”
“Okay.” Fred kissed her one more time, wanting to stay. He debated whether saying those three little words the two of them exchanged so tentatively at Hogwarts.
“I’ll walk you out,” she offered. He nodded and entwined his fingers with hers as they trudged towards the front door.
“Love ya, Ange.”
“I love you, too, Fred,” she whispered back with a sad smile. Fred reluctantly pulled his hand away from hers and apparated back to the Burrow. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, greeted by the sleeping form of his injured brother, he felt sadness creep back upon him. He didn’t want to be alone. Fred sat on the floor with his back against the sofa’s armrest, contented by his twin’s presence. He fell into a restless sleep.