Don't Give, Just Take | F. Weasley

45 | After Effects

Fred sat on his seat, looking far, far into space. The light outside brightened through either magic or electricity, he didn't really care. The life in the resto already died hours ago, time passing slowly.

The meals in front of him were untouched. The seat across from him was cold, empty. The candle on the center of the table melted, dead, lifeless. The wine began to taste bland (although he kept drinking every droplet of it.) His hands rested over the table, cramped and numbed. His eyes strained at the sight of the rose gold band that sat two inches away from his left finger tips.

It's been two hours. Two hours since she left him. Two hours since she walked away. Two hours since she never turned her head back. Two hours since she broke up with him. Two hours since he was officially alone. And for two hours he remained in the same position she left him. The same shocked, hurt expression on his face.

A waiter approached him. "Sir, we're closing a bit early today. We apologize we can't let you stay in longer. Do you want me to pack the food for you?" He asked politely. A towel covered his left forearm, a little hunched to show respect towards Fred.

Fred snapped out of his long trance. He fished the back of his pocket, pulling out cash and placing it on the table. "Mm, no. Give it to someone who'll eat it. Or you keep it. I'm taking this with me." He raised the bottle of wine and stood up. He didn't wait for the guy's answer or his change or anything.

He picked up the ring, stared at it for a long minute halfway his body jerking up. He threw it inside his pocket. He ran a hand through his copper hair, a little difficult from the hair wax he used to keep them brushed back. He began to walk out.

Away from the place that felt like a crime scene. Where their love laid dead. Where hope halted at the smell of shattered souls.

"Sir, you dropped this." The waiter picked up a folded piece of paper, a napkin taped all together.

"Thanks..." His eyes glossed at the sight. He kept it for long, taped it as perfectly as he could. He could've asked the waiter to throw it away for him but he couldn't do such a thing. At least not now.

The poorly assembled soft paper laid on his palm. He was outside now. The street lamps were bright as day but the sky's gloom was enough for him to keep the moping feeling he had as he walked down the cobbled street.

His hand lazily drowned the paper in his pocket. He poured his wine in his mouth as if it was a glass, messy and apparently funny for him. He chuckled once he had lumps in his throat.

Down his way a bar on his left was loud and attractive, he came in with the bottle hidden under his suit jacket. He sat by the counter, asking the bartender for a single malt (the number of glasses not exactly single as time grew).

He drowned himself in alcohol, swam through his thoughts. I don't want to start over. I don't want to start over. I don't want to start over. I don't want to start over. He shook his head too eagerly, almost throwing his head across the bar, dizzying himself.

An hour passed, he still was yet to be taken over by the numbness and irrationality of the booze in his bloodstream. Glasses of his despair scattered around his little area on the bar counter. The night was deepening as well and his brother may either think he's back fucking Safe or back fucking Safe. No other thoughts. At least Fred thought so. And maybe hoped he had that alternative rather than moping about how she broke up with him with a smile on her face.

Someone tapped him. A lady, golden hair, raven eyes, wrapped in a tight two piece clothing. "You alone?" She asked softly, twirling her cocktail glass as she looked at him with hooded eyes.

Fred laughed mockingly, "Just got single, so leave me alone. Fuck someone else, yeah?" He said, sipping on the rims of his glass.

The woman's face crumpled, scoffing at his attitude. "You could've just said no. You weirdo." She left and walked away, cursing to herself.