Work Text:
it had started small, really. when word eventually floated around Hogwarts that he was bent, as it always did, only a few insults had been sent his way; true, those words had burnt at his skin and had bile threatening to spill over. he could hardly recall the words, so goddamned harsh they were.
and Ron, well, Ron really thought he could handle it. now, however, he absolutely regretted that decision as he felt his blood pool around his abdomen. he hadn't known who it was, but it was a slytherin, he's guessing, based off of the green flash of clothing he'd caught before passing out── it felt gruesome.
his eyes still failed to gather the light, black spaces mocked him as he lay there; vulnerable, woozy, and in major fucking pain. bloody hell, he quipped with his bit of strength. the sound of footsteps, unrushed and even, sent a light of panic through his body.
the amount of dread filling him forced his eyes shut, praying to whatever God, muggle or not, that would listen to him; please, not harry. not harry, not harry, notharrynotharry──
it was the gasp that made him want to puke. merlin, he felt like slugs had wound up in his stomach. again. it was a choked sound, horrified and low pitched, almost like the person who'd found him was close to puking themself. Ron couldn't blame them, though, with the amount of sting and pulsing he felt around his chest and all the way down to his stomach, he was sure it looked as gruesome as it felt.
"oh─ oh dear god," it was malfoy, malfoy of all people. Great, watch him mock m─ his train of thought was easily cut off when he heard the sound of knees heavily hitting the ground beside him. "𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵," he cursed again. Ron could feel his hands hovering over his useless body, unsure what to do. he feels fabric lay over whatever hex had been thrown at him, and it makes him groan deeply. even that small movement hurts, his chest protests in horrifying amounts of pain.
"you're awake- ok, weasley, I'm 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 for what I'm about to do," malfoys voice shakes, ever so slightly, but the tremor is there. his hands are then harshly being pushed against his stomach. Ron assumes that's where it's worse, as it's the spot malfoy is paying most attention to. the action heaves a dry sob from his throat, it feels like sand and nails and concrete scrapping his throat all at once.
the pain is obscene, and it pulls dark over the corners of his eyes. the last thing Ron remembers is letting out an animalistic sob as the hands on his stomach press down tighter.
‧₊˚✩彡
yet again, Ron was forced with the task of forcing his eyes to cooperate and open──for fucksake, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 did he lose control over his own eyelids?!──and once able to, he was faced with the ceiling of his room and horribly maroon walls, quidditch posters, too.
baffled, he tries to move, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦-? he panicks. a sharp, tight feeling gnaw at his stomach. ok, no moving then, 'suppose. he grunts heavily, as if life has officially been knocked off its wagon, leaving him with the aftermath. and, really, he was!
it's bloody stupid. mentally, he pouts. he's too exhausted to pull a face, his body feels as though it's been horribly chopped and put back together with a shabby job. and he's still wondering how he got here. because, bloody hell, wasn't he last passed out in a corridor? with malfoy basically abusing him or something?
ok, no, he wasn't abusing he was trying to help─ and, yet again, his train of thought is abruptly, and rather rudely, cut off when footsteps are heavily weighing themselves against the burrows wonky wooden stairs. his door is then swinging open, and a very worried harry is storming in; his face mangled in worry, furry, and something very akin to distraught.
──"can't believe it, these gits; keeping 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦," harry rambles as he closes to door with a bit more force than necessary. Ron can't help but let out a giggle at how mad he sounds. obviously hearing the whisper of his awakeness, harry very suddenly spins around. most likely so fast he gives himself, and Ron, a major case of whiplash.
"Ron?!" he near yells, and said boy winces. "my ears, love, bloody hell," but Ron's smiling at his ridiculous boyfriend. the two had gotten together a bit before the second war started; specifically, 7 months, 8 days, 10 hours, and 56 seconds. but who was keeping count, yeah? defintely, defintely not Ron.
it started when he'd found harry spiraling, and nothing he did could calm the messy haired boy down. so, gathering all of his shame and embarrassment and hesitation and throwing it out the windows, he kisses him.
Merlin, he kissed him like his life depended on it.
they'd decided to keep it secret because (of course they did) of harry's reputation (even though he'd stated multiple times he could care less) and Ron's hesitation to come out just yet. mainly due to reasons exactly like this.
harry is then sitting right next to him, barely balancing his weight on the literal edge of the bed. "are you ok? do you- d'you need anything, love? does it still hurt? do you want me to get mom──? shit, I'll go get mom," he's then trying to leave just as soon as he'd stormed in. which, obviously, Ron was not going to have. he needed his boyfriend. right here and now, whether he liked it or not.
he knew he would, either way.
"harry, relax. I'm ok, yeah? I'm still alive and breathing," harry's expression softened, then, as he sat back down. this time, Ron mounded his strength enough to move over, give his lover more space to sit. he grabs his hand, extremely gently, as if the slightest movement where to break him apart.
"you don't need to be so gentle, you know. don't you remember what we got up to last week?" Ron's tease is cut off by a very hard glare. a very-harry-glare.
"shut up, prat!" but he's smiling, ever so slightly. his cheeks are tinting, ever so slightly.
Ron's always thought harry was pretty when he blushed, that light pink amongst his fairly tanned skin always made his stomach twist with the best kind of flutter.
to caught up in thinking sappy over harry, he didn't notice his sudden drop in mood.
"i─ I was so scared, Ron," harry's face drops. and, just like always, Ron wishes he could take every little thing that makes his face scrunch like that and toss it. "pomfrey, she.." he bit his lip like what he was about to say nauseated him, which, it did. "she said you were dead, Ron, for exactly three minutes, before she and malfoy brought you back." a hot, wet, feeling slides down his hand where Harry is rubbing his thumb. he rubs his own tear away.
Ron is horrified, and takes a deep, audible, visible, breath in. Harry looks up at him, pure fear coating his glassy green eyes. "I felt like... like my whole world and everything in it had died, and I didn't even get to know until they brought you here!" his face is scrunched again, pure hurt and anger coating every one of his beautiful features. "it'd been seven hours until they told me; and I spent every second of those hours looking for you, I hated myself so much.. I thought I'd── or you'd left, or something or someone took you─" a heartwrenching sob is leaving his body then, shaking his whole body and vibrating through his chest.
Ron's own heart breaks. how could this amazing, sweet, kind, and stupidly naive man think he'd leave him just like that?
"I was so scared," harry whispers that part, and it cracks open Ron more than any news of his own death ever could. he says it like something that's already happened, like something so fragile moving your lips around the words wrong would tremble them apart.
"harry," Ron starts, "look at me, please, darling?" He near begs. harry looks at him, fogged glasses and wet, red cheeks and all. "I wouldn't leave you. merlin, never in a million years could I do that! even the thought of being without you makes me think bloody hell, I've become far too used to you that I don't ever even want to imagine having to unlearn that."
new tears fall from the forest that admires him so steadily, so surely. Ron watches as it flows to his lips, falling between them. he realizes, with much surprise, his body doesn't ache as much when Harry's near. and, so, he's very carefully sitting up and facing the love of his life.
yeah, he realizes, I'd scream that atop every rooftop.
Ron's cradling Harry's surprised face in his hands and it fits so perfectly in his palms, it's like he was made to hold him like this. then he's leaning forward, keeping his eyes on Harry's. (as if a vow, yes I want you, and yes, I know. I love you.) and, harry, realizing this, just about smashes his lips against Ron's. it has the ginger laughing, smiling wide and big where their mouths dance.
just as always, he doesn't know where he ends and where Harry begins; and he doesn't have a problem with that. no, he'd give forever for the feel of his hands in his hair, soft lips moving against his like he's never tasted nor had anything better.
as blissful as it is, they're rudely pulled apart when Molly's voice pulls from downstairs, "harry? dear, where did you run off to?" her voice is strained and brittle from crying, from worry, and they're both panicking when they hear her walking up the stairs. they pull from one another so roughly harry ends up flat on his arse on the floor, and both are willing themselves not to laugh; still acting like fourteen year olds, they are, getting caught sharing a bed.
it was the exact same as this. harry on the floor, Ron in the corner of the bed.
"harry?" she's peeking her head into the room, name rolling off her tongue. "oh, there you are! Come, now, madam pomfrey was going to show me how to heal Ron's wounds and I've thought you'd like to know, too─" Molly's gaze falls to Ron, sitting by the head of his bed like he's a scared animal.
"Ron? oh, dear merlin, sweetheart, I'm so glad you're awake!" Ron watches in absolute agony as his mom starts crying, violently, almost, and walking toward his bed. careful, just as harry was. "I was so worried, my dear sweet boy," her hands wipe on her apron as they always do, and run through his hair. with worry seeping out her in waves, she kisses his head; and then his forehead, and then his nose, and then his cheeks and the mole under his eye that's more prominent than any more of his freckles.
"momma, I'm okay! I promise! I wouldn't leave you just like that," apparently that wasn't the best thing to say as molly bursts into freshly battered tears. "beautiful boy. don't ever do anything like that again, ok? I was so bloody worried about you, I nearly cried myself to near death," Ron, himself, could've burst into tears right then and there. instead, he let's his eyes shed gently as he looks up to his mom mimicking her actions by holding her face.
"mom, I wouldn't do you like that. ever. besides, your food's far too good! how could I let go of my favorite thing in the whole Wizarding and muggle world?"
his gaze really wants to flick over to harry. that's his favorite thing in the whole world. both Wizarding and muggle, and everything in between.
but he didn't. no, he wanted to tell them about harry properly. the right way. after all, Harry wasn't just another boy. Ron knew, harry was it. for him, at least. he knew it from the moment he saw a black Labrador feeding that orange tabby cat, and all he kind think was: "ha! that's harry and me!" something so small had turned his world upside down, scratching deeper into the clay of his feelings; burying the sight of harry offering him his own bacon that one morning.
that's when it really hit him. he was in love with harry potter. all the silly, normal, humane things, too. his messy hair, how his eyes are more prominently green when he wakes up; when he stands in the sun. even him doing the dishes made Ron blush and smile like an idiot, bloody hell!
so, Ron decided, right then and there, with the warmth of his mom's face against his palms, her tears rolling down his fingers, that he was going to tell the whole world he was in love with harry potter.
(that meant the weasley family.) (the weasley family is his whole world, anyway. who else would matter as much? besides harry, of course! oh, there's hermione─ bullocks I need to tell Hermione! internally, Ron cries. cringes, even. Hermione isn't exactly known for, well, emotional things, he could say.. or maybe she just didn't show it around him because he apparently has the emotional range of a teaspoon.)
☆*⁀‧₊˚
harry found Ron outside the burrow on a cold, Wednesday night. Ron had seemed... off. that's the best way he could describe it. it's been only a week since all of that had happened to him; so, in a way, Harry got why he was somewhat closed off. always deep in thought.
it's the middle of fall, the winds had decided to show up early, chilling the air only a million times more. forcing his teeth not to chatter the moment his left foot stepped out the charmed home, and yes, molly did charm it to stay warm during the colder days, and hurriedly walked toward his boyfriend with worry radiating through every step.
if it affected his magic, it mightve killed the grass every where his feet took landing.
he stared at Ron for a moment, as if to read him like an open book. his knees were held tightly against his chest, whilst he was staring into his thoughts and picking at the slightly dry lawn and throwing it just a little bit away.
next to his left, he'd made a little pile; where he'd been picking was nearly bald. stripped of all it's green, what made it grass in the first place, really.
Ron didn't notice harry approach. that made sense as to why he flinched so violently when harry spoke, "you know, babe, if you pick at the grass any longer you're going to leave a hole─ and you know mom will kill you for that," he's now seated beside him, resting his shoulder against Ron's. it sends tingles up and down the gingers spine, like feathers choosing to glide amongst his bone whenever harry decided to keep near.
"you're right," he replies with a sigh; rather dramatically, if you were to ask the twins. he turns to face him, head layed on his knees and harry smiles at that, a big, lovesick grin that lights up his whole face.
like seeing Ron just looking at him was worth more than anything and everything in gringotts. the whole world, too, harry thought.
then, his face falls; feature by feature, like sand descending from a lever, and he's staring at Ron with big, curious green eyes. his mouth opens, and shuts, and opens again──it's so deeply similar to a fish it makes Ron want to both kiss him and smack him.
"harry, you know, you're horrible at hiding the fact you wanna ask something. go on, ask me."
harry is twisting his weasley sweater at the outing, obviously nervous. buy why would he be? it's Ron, for merlins sake! it's his boyfriend! the one person who understands him more than anything─ "are- are you ok, Ron? as in 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ok?" his voice is nothing less of shaky, his eyes waver with something embarrassingly close to tears.
Ron looks at him even more deeply; the sure, tight structure of his gaze wrapping around his lungs like a thief bearing to steal his breath. and, just so, it does. staring at his impossibly blue eyes, harry feels paralian. those blue eyes are his own sea, shore and deep and end, too.
however, his trance with his lovers eyes is ephemeral.
"I want to tell them, harry. I want them... I want them to know that you are mine and I am yours. I've been thinking all week how to tell them, how to tell you but I just. I just──" his hands are raking through his long hair. his hair has gotten longer, now reaching his shoulders. "I just can't find a right way to say it. I mean, how can I find the right words to tell them exactly that you're not just another boy, you know? but instead- rather, that you feel like it for me, you know?"
and harry has always found Ron's habit of saying, "𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸," when he's nervous; he's sure it's one of the things that have brought him to hold his hands, palms outwards, offering Ron his heart.
he'd give it to him over and over and over again even if it resulted in his own death because just Ron knowing that he thinks the exact same──"you're not just another boy, you know? but instead- rather, that you feel like it for me, you know?"──makes every ounce, drop, bite and pull of pain worth it.
Ron didn't stop going on, despite of how lost harry had found himself in his own mind. vulnerability. that's all he could think. here, he gets the boy, the man, that took three months to say, 'I love you' because he wasn't sure how harry would take it; maybe he'd think it wasn't the truth? that he was playing around? merlin, he didn't know. so, instead, he said it right after they took that step in their relationship.
as they lay in harrys impossibly small bed, charmed and silenced and all, he said it.
"I love you, harry." his breath came back hot against his own face, buried and un in harrys black, messy, and impossibly untameable hair. harry, still panting and coming down from the high, froze. for the first time in a very long time, harry allowed himself to feel it, believe it. looking at Ron's red ears rolled all the tension out between his shoulders, and he relaxed against his warm stomach, his chest. his hold on the ginger tightened, and he press a kiss right against his sternum. "I love you too, Ron,"
and he's been believing it ever since.
"Ron," harry snaps out of his reverie. "Ron, love, look at me." his hands are enveloping his jaw, cheeks, too, and forcing green to see blue. blue to see green.
Ron stops rambling, and looks at the green canvas infront of him with wide, deer-like eyes. his clothes feel aflame, and he feels like wax, melting beneath the hold of harrys warm fingers and palm and touch.
"you don't... need to tell them immediately, okay? you can tell them how you want to, love, I don't mind at all! I've spent 7 months kissing you and loving you in our own special, little ways, I don't mind doing it for the rest of my life if that's what you'd want."
he doesn't reply to the words that have bubbled affection low in his stomach; present but not new. it's eumoirous, having harry tell him that; so he shows him that.
harrys lips against his are sweet, and he tastes like the tart he had two servings of.
Ron tastes precious, his emotions coat his tongue and teeth and beneath in such strong flavors. flavors of sweet potato, the wine he snagged from ginny, the yogurt he'd had with Hermione. it's disgusting, really, the thought of all those foods combined with one another. but in the depths of Ron's mouth, well, it's only right. so, so, so, so right.
feverroot is cradling Harry's ribs, settling beneath, above, within, and beyond the crevices of his heart. perhaps his lungs too. every little move he makes is filled with such longing, affection for the man trusting his hold.
they end up on the ground, Ron's on his back and harrys sitting on his hips. his chest is against his, and harry swears, nobody's wanted somebody more. he thinks it again as Ron tightens his hold against his face, his own hands mussing his fire painted hair.
he runs out if breath, the theif of Ron's ribbon around him robbing him of all air. when they pull apart, both panting like they've forgotten what oxygen is, harry melts at the sight of the latter's clinquant eyes.
and the laugh Ron let's out is so... euphonious it steals just a bit more of harrys breath. Ron's smile glums, just a bit, as he whispers, "I'm gonna tell mom and dad first. then, then I'll tell the rest of the idiots." his words are twining with the cold air, twisting into its rhythm and is then being pulled away. from ear, yes. but from mind, heart? no. never.
harry kisses his boyfriends forehead, and then pauses for a second, and is then going absolutely vile with his lips against his face. he's kissing his nose, his eyes, the mole, the corners of his mouth, his neck and jaw──he's sure not to miss any spot, determined to coat every part of Ron in his absolute devotion.
so deeply lost within one another, neither notice nor pay attention to the fact the can't feel their hands nor that their lips are slightly blue.
✧˖°.
entering the burrow is warm, like a warm blanket after years of war. but Ron still feels cold. his stomach is in knots, bile threatening to rise from those knots. he feels skittish as all eyes land on him as he speaks, "mom, dad, can i, er, talk to you...?" and the way he says it is so awkward it makes him want to close his eyes, walk into a hole, and never be seen again.
live in the dark forever. yeah, that wouldn't be too bad. but he'd take harry with him, absolutely. anything dark is ok as long as harry is standing right next to him──it's really all the light he'll ever need.
ascending the stairs toward his room, he can't help but let a horrible feeling wash over him. it comes in waves, and right now, he's drowning in it. he feels his hope turn to evanesce, feeling nothing short of druxy.
merlin save him, he thinks, as he opens the door to his horribly maroon room, his parents trailing behind him in silence. seemingly. the stop whispering when Ron turns to face them.
(though he'd never admit it, Ron had started liking maroon since harry said, in third year, maroon brings out the blue in his eyes best.)
"right," he says miserably into his hands as he flops himself against his (and harrys) bed. molly sits next to him, her arm warm against his waist. Arthur is infront of him, up on what'd supposed to be harrys bed.
harry. harryharryharryharry. it's all he can think, even with his mom stroking his head ever so gently.
"love, what is it.. 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 you want to talk to us about?"
Ron grows stiff then, his whole body turning to near stone. molly takes every motherly instinct that is wounding up within her chest, and puts it all into the hug she gives her beautiful boy. "you can tell us anything, Ron, you don't need to be afraid of us, yeah?" Arthur offers, laying his hand on Ron's knee for a few seconds before ruffling his hair slightly.
"I know, yeah.. merlin, I just don't know── don't know how to say it, I guess," he mutters, muffled into Molly's dress. her shoulder. molly realizes something, then, and slightly flinches. not enough to hurt Ron, but enough for him to notice.
he finally, finally, let's the tears fall from his eyes. "does it have something to do with your personality?" Ron pulls from her embrace, I could stay there forever, he thinks, but diverses his mind back to the topic at hand: "I... a little bit, yeah, I think so." he sniffles as his words slip from his tongue, it tightens his chest and he pulls at the skin about his fingers.
molly puts her hand over his, stopping him from harming himself. "does it have something to do with girls and/or boys?" Ron's head snaps up in surprise at his dad's voice, nodding carefully. he hears his mom gasp, his heart stutters, and then cracks, just a little.
"boys. I like... I like boys." a very specific boy, he adds silently.
his eyes quickly well up with tears as he stares at Arthur's surprised face, his mom's own close to bursting out in tears. realizing that he might think the worse, Arthur is quickly sitting beside him and pulling him into his embrace; strongly, carefully, comfortingly. all at once.
with a kiss to his hair, "it's ok, son. we've... we've known, yeah? you don't need to be scared, you're still our precious boy." at that, Ron is sobbing where his face lies against his shoulder. his own arms tightly wrapped around his scrawny dad. he's slightly taller, so his spine curves in a somewhat painful way to lay in his arms.
molly hugs him from behind, her tear stained face wetting the back of his shirt. "beautiful boy, we've known. we've known since your first year and it's ok. it's ok, sweetheart." her breath is warm against the back of his neck, and he only manages to cry even harder as his parents hold him tighter.
eventually, after a few more sobs and whispered bille-doux words, he's let go by both of them. where he's facing straightly now (aha) molly cups his face and kisses his nose, she's always loved kissing his nose, whispers against his skin, "I'm so proud of you, 𝘙𝘰𝘯. we're so proud of you."
༺☆༻
exactly ten minutes later, harry is peeking through his door and smiling softly at his red eyes and lips and nose and tinted cheeks. "brought you some hot chocolate, it always stops you from getting sick." Ron's stomach flutters at that, he really notices. harry sets down both mugs on the side table between both beds, and sits on Ron's (and his) bed.
they'd decided, outside, that harry would sit by the other weasleys as to not make what the conversation was about. so, only now, was he able to comfort his love.
he purses his lips, staring at Ron like he's trying to figure out how to talk. his warm hands are enveloping Ron's, even though Ron's are slightly bigger.
then, he talks. "Ron. are you.. do you want to tell me what happened? at hogwarts?" Ron had been dreading this conversation; he knew how fierce harry got when it is people he loves. especially Ron, for whatever reasons. (it's obvious. the reasons are very, very, obvious.)
"I, er," he feels sheepish, explaining this. but decides it's better to tell harry than to keep it from him, since when is that even an option, anyway? with a sigh of defeat, he deflates. "it got... out. harry. that─ that I'm gay. I don't know how! I was so careful and then this random slytherin, I think, hexed me; and I don't even know what he did! I was so surprised I couldn't even react and- and I was──"
"can I see?" he's cut off by harrys quiet question. he notices, now, he's staring at his upper body. particularly his stomach, where Draco had told them both it was worse. luckily, madam pomfrey and he were able to heal it in time, but it scarred. badly.
Ron wanted to throw up looking at himself sometimes. and if he thought that, well, how would harry react? what if he felt the same way?
he knew it wasn't rational, but he was scared.
still is.
"it─ it's not pretty harry, it looks ugly."
harry stares at him like he's just said the most stupidest thing ever; "Ron, I love you, but that's the stupidest thing you've ever said and you say stupid things on the daily." he deadpans. Ron laughs.
"ok, ok, I get it!" his laughing dies out slowly but surely, "are you sure, though, that you want to see?" the nervousness in his voice isnt tried to be hidden. harry takes his hands to his face, by the wrists, and kisses his palms─ "Ron weasley, you are," he kisses his left wrist, "the most," then the right, "fucking beautiful," his lips trail down his forearm, "and amazing man I've ever met." he kisses him on the mouth,
"and I will always, always, want to see every single part of you. that, too, means every part you think is not pretty or desirable because I want to show you," his fingers are inching from his thighs to the hot skin of his abdomen, inkling at the edge of his tee. "that I fucking love you."
Ron's cheeks are painted rose, he looks like a Renaissance painting and it drives harry mad.
"can I, love?" He pulls at his shirt, hinting at what he means. hesitantly, Ron's nodding. sitting upright with his arms up, giving harry easier access to pulling his shirt over his head. once it's discarded to the floor, he feels... so oddly happy about how harrys looking at him.
it rakes all over him, taking note of every part of him. the slight rolls on his tummy, the pudge right beneath his belly button (harry finds his tummy the cutest, the softness of it is perfect against his habds) he'll kiss those later. and it's tracking the constellations all about his pale skin, Andromeda, Persus, sagittarius, Ara tri.. he names them all. then, it's following the curve of his collarbones, the dip of his neck and the smooth of his shoulder.
his gaze hasn't changed, even as it rakes over the horrendous slashes across his skin. tentatively, harry runs his warm palm against the one on his stomach. the scar is white, raised, with red still pooling around it. the ones on his chest are white, however, more pulled into his skin. evident, but not as ugly as the one that stretches from his pelvis to just below his left rib.
he's being pushed back by harry, and as his back hits the pillows, he shivers feeling his lips carefully curate kiss after kiss over every scar. the one along his stomach, the multiple across his chest; the one crossing his collarbone, ending just before the slope of his shoulder.
emotions swimming in his emerald eyes, want, love, adoration, pure sabaism, Ron thinks to when ginny asked his favorite colour back when he was fourteen as his fingers card against harrys scalp and he replied to her, "it'd be green. but a very specific kind of green, emerald with a bit of brown in the mix." and knew, that would always──alwaysalwaysalways be his answer to it. because as his favorite colour stares at him, stitching him with kisses, he knows nothing else could ever compare even in the slightest.
he thinks of the future, too. how he'll marry harry, harry will marry him. tomorrow, how he'll kiss harry infront of everyone, proudly, as he descends the stairs wearing a maroon sweater with an "R" in the slap middle of the chest and how neither of them need to stumble, yet again, over an explanation of how harry had gotten mixed up. yet again.