weasley twins one shots

the silence of the night // fred weasley

prompts: "i knew it was too good to be true" x "i trusted you."

warnings: angst, language, heartbreak, brief mentions of sex

word count: 3k

a/n: i am sorry for this. that is all. :) enjoy! xx

original link: https://harrysweasleys.tumblr.com/post/631990506427219968/a-free-heart-fw-summary-for-wand3ringr0s3s

—

There's a saying, an expression, that states that all things feel a thousand times worse in the silence of the night.

That once the sun goes down, your problems feel amplified, as well as your emotions. That you could spend the night crying yourself to sleep, feeling like you're at your lower possible point, but the next morning you could be feeling fine. Puffy eyed and exhausted, but your worries and stresses would feel like they had less of a grasp on your life.

The point is, things were worse at night.

And you felt it completely.

Your home was eerily silent, not a single noise being echoed or carried throughout the rooms. The only sign that there was a person in here was that the telly was on. Muted, but on. The bright, smiling face of the newscaster lit up the room that you were sitting in, huddled on the couch with a blanket secured around your shivering body.

If this were seven months ago, you'd have Fred's body next to yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you as the two of you laughed at a stupid film — which would usually result in the two of you falling asleep on the couch with your limbs tangled, if you were being honest.

If this were five months ago, Fred would have told you he didn't mind what film the two of you watched, as long as the two of you got to spend the evening together. You'd finish the film and head off to bed, no cuddling and zoning out on the couch, but wrapped comfortably in your shared bed with comfortable silence.

If this were two months ago, you'd be sitting on the couch flipping through channels aimlessly, Fred working on paperwork next to you, eyebrows furrowed and muttering a quick 'hm' each time you'd point out something comedic to him on the screen. You two would go to sleep at different times, each bidding the other good night with a quick peck and facing opposite ways, an invisible barrier between you two, dividing the space that used to be shared.

If this were a month ago, you would be fast asleep on the couch, waiting up for Fred to come in through the front door. You'd wake up a few hours later, noticing his shoes and coat by the front door, and you'd walk into your room to sleep on the bed, Fred already rolled over and cocooned in his own blankets. You'd sigh, slightly defeated, and take your usual spot, the coldness of the sheets being a forceful reminder that things were different now.

But tonight, things were even worse. Like most days, Fred didn't even come home. He'd stay at the flat above the shop so that when the morning came around and he needed to get back to work, he was already there. He used to send you a message, let you know that he wouldn't be coming home that night and that you shouldn't stay up and exhaust yourself over his arrival. But now, those messages had stopped.

There was a list of small things that had changed at first — how Fred would stop kissing your forehead during the night, how he stopped bringing home products for the two of you to goof around with — but those small things turned to major things.

For example, the last time he told you he loved you was a week ago. And even then, it was a half-assed 'love you' that he muttered before scurrying off to bed without his usual good night kiss.