Twin Flame // Fred Weasley

47

TW: alcohol, rough sex, following previously mentioned themes. Reader discretion advised.

Iris' POV 

The week following my discharge from hospital was nothing short of a shit show. Pain encompassed me in every sense of the word. My body ached, my ribs feeling as though they were piercing my lungs each time I took a breath, my spine recoiling at my every movement. Still, the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil, not for myself, but for Fred. Watching the man I loved with every piece of me, the man I loved so indubitably, so wholeheartedly, so irrevocably, reduce to a shell of himself, crumble into a mere physicality, without soul, without a spark, utterly broke me. Physically, he was there, albeit not very much. He'd show his face most days, making sure I was alive, confirming that he was still alive, leaving swiftly after with hardly a mutter. In an entire week I didn't think he'd looked at me, properly looked at me, once, his eyes constantly fixated at a spot beyond me, looking past me, unable to meet my gaze. He hadn't touched me, hugged me, kissed me, he barely spoke to me; he simply showed his face and left. 

I hardly recognised the man who stood before me, only a week had past, but so much had changed. His eyes, the eyes that captured everything beautiful in the world, as brown as pools of honey, nostalgia and the first rays of the morning sun, they had sunken into his skull, shielding the beauty that lay within them, leaving lifeless black holes. His cheeks had sunken too, now hollow, harsh, greying against his ever-paling skin, freckles fading. I hadn't seen his smile in far too long, his laugh a distant memory. His whole stature curved inward, he was no longer him, and, though I was fighting with everything in me to get him back, there was less and less of him every day. 

Finding the time to even think about what to do was proving difficult, the most part of my day was spent looking after my father, ensuring I spent his every waking moment beside him. He, too, was becoming less lucid by the day, and we had decided not to tell him of the incident on my birthday. Every moment away from my father, where my thoughts weren't surrounding medication and funeral plans and the imminent loss of my dad, I spent thinking about Fred, sick to my stomach at the thought of what he was going through, racking my brains on how to help him, how to make him feel better. My mind was an ugly place, tainted with loss and dejection, filled with fuzzy thoughts and incomplete solutions, not a moment left for myself, no room for peace or joy. I was burning myself out and I didn't even notice. 

Elaine was the human embodiment of an angel. Truthfully, I fear I would have lost my mind without her. She worked long hours, ensuring all my dad's needs were catered for and that I was resting and focusing on getting better. She held my hand as I cried in the quiet corners of my house, reassuring me that everything would be okay, that Fred would find his way, that this wasn't the end of the world, as much as it felt like it. She urged me to prioritise myself, to face what had happened to me, to forget Fred, to forget my father, even if just for an afternoon, in order to focus on healing my own pain; I hadn't listened, but the sentiment was kind. She made me cups of tea and ran me baths and encouraged me to eat when the thought of food made me want to pass out, she braided my hair when I couldn't face washing it and hugged me to make up for my deprivation of Fred's touch. 

"Go to him," she huffed one day, crossing her arms as she watched me pitifully sip my tea and get lost in the scene beyond the window. I had often found my gaze fixated to the view from the kitchen, a view I had spent my entire life looking at. I found myself perceiving it differently, wondering how different my life would be if I were just a little sparrow, perching on the tree branches, spending my days singing and flying and generally being free, entirely belonging to nature. "your father is sleeping. I'm here to look after him. I can't bare to watch you moping around all day. It's been a week, you can apparate now. Go to him, or so help me God I will never make you a cup of tea again,"