(A short story, cross posted on AO3 under the same username.)
*
Ron wasn't sure George could see him sometimes. At least, not in the way he used to.
It happened the most when he helped out at the shop. George's eyes would get dull and glaze over, and he would look over at Ron like he was someone else.
He didn't know what to do about it. He missed George, almost as much as he missed Fred. He couldn't just tell him to stop. It would crush him.
And so he let it happen. He watched George smile at him the way he would only smile at Fred, and shove his shoulder and laugh like he always did. For a while, he even encouraged it. If he could have George back, even for only a moment, wasn't it worth it? George could be as blind to Ron as he wanted as long as he kept on smiling.
He knew the rest of his family was aware. He could see it in the way Ginny frowned at Ron when George slung his arm around his shoulders. His mom's eyes grew teary as she stared at Fred's chair, Ron, then Fred's chair. Hell, even Harry gave him that piercing stare that stung even through his glasses. But George was eating! Laughing, joking. Shouldn't they be happy? He hadn't done that in months! And so Ron put on his plastic smile, and pretended not to notice when their eyes caught and snagged on him.
Ron didn't expect Hermione not to notice it. Honestly, he expected her to understand. She was worlds of knowledge. She knew about coping mechanisms. But it was in George's flickering glare at he and Hermione's clasped hands, he realized, 'This is becoming real to him.' Hermione noticed it too, and sat Ron down to talk about the importance of reality and moving on to a grieving person.
But he couldn't focus. The entirety of the conversation was spent flitting back and forth Hermione's voice and thoughts of how much better George had been doing since the battle.
*
It was when George called his name, that he realized it had to stop. Because the name that he called, wasn't Ron's. It was a name he hadn't heard in years. It left George's lips in a hurry, in passing, so that he almost didn't notice.
But he did, and the glass bottle he was holding in his hand shattered with his resolve.
For a moment, he didn't speak. And then all too suddenly the walls were filled with 'STOP!' and 'I am not Fred." and 'Please stop pretending.'
He felt tears slip down his face. He could barely see through them as he watched a shaking George grip the sales counter with white knuckles. Ron walked towards him robotically, not sure what to do for a moment. He hadn't seen George like this since they were both staring down at Fred's lifeless body.
He placed a gentle hand on George's shoulder, before he was startled by an "I'm sorry."
It was so small, so quiet, he almost didn't catch it.
It hung in the room for a moment, nearly as loud as the shouting before it. Ron listened to it ring in his ears.
"I'm sorry too."
