Summer At The Burrow - Ron Weasley

4. Nighttime Conversations

You awoke to the sound of quiet shuffling in the corner of the room. You opened your eyes but didn't dare move. The wizarding world had become increasingly dangerous lately so you were terrified that there could be some dark wizard lurking in the darkness, ready to kidnap you. Then, you heard someone stub their toe and the sound of a muffled swear eased your fear.

"Ron?" you asked, no longer afraid of the mysterious noises in the room. You flipped over in bed so now you were facing him. 

Your cheeks immediately flushed a deep shade of red. Whatever it was you were expecting to see when you turned around, it definitely wasn't a shirtless Ron.

"H-Hi. Sorry I, er, thought you were asleep," he stammered, standing frozen as if he was paralyzed.

Your brain was having an intense argument with your eyes to prevent them from dropping from Ron's face to his bare torso. Unfortunately, you were weak, so your gaze fell ever so slightly and your face got even redder. The years of Quidditch seemed to really have paid off because Ron's chest was toned. Freckles littered his shoulders and chest like constellations and you fought the urge to run your fingers over every single one of then. You tried your very best not to notice his prominent v-line leading to the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

Ron's face was the same color as his hair as he hastily threw a shirt on, to your great disappointment. 

"I couldn't sleep well in normal clothes so I came up to get some pajamas...didn't mean to wake you," he muttered quietly, his eyes locked in a staring contest with the floor.

It took a second for you to snap your attention to his words when all your brain was thinking about was him half naked only a moment ago.

"S'okay," you said, matching his soft tone. 

An odd silence filled the room, a silence that usually wasn't present in conversations with your best friend.

You scooted over closer to the wall, making as much room as you could in the small bed.

Ron took your silent cue and laid down next to you, folding his arms behind his neck as he leaned against the bed frame.

"Couch not treating you well?" you asked, keeping your tone light in hopes he hadn't noticed how you were ogling at him a minute ago.

He groaned, "I don't know how old that couch is, but I think my mum got it before her and Dad were even married. It's like sleeping on rocks."

"I can sleep down there if you want," you offered, feeling guilty for taking his room.

Ron was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence.

"No way, I'm a gentleman. I can't do that," he told you.

You snorted at his choice of words. "You're the furthest thing from it," you joked. 

He playfully slapped your shoulder.

"It's true!" you defended yourself. "I don't think we've had one conversation at the dining hall where you're not talking with your mouth full."

His shoulders, clad in his red Chudley Cannons pajama shirt, jostled up and down with quiet laughter. You noticed there was a small hole in the middle of the shirt and you could see his pale skin moving underneath the cloth.

Forcing your eyes back up to meet his, you tried to change the subject.

"So why were you in Diagon Alley for so long?" you asked nervously, praying he hadn't noticed your eyes betraying your better judgment once again.