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I laid in my makeshift bed, frozen in place but unable to sleep. Two worn futons and a thick flannel sheet was all that separated me from the creaky wooden floors. I was wrapped tightly in a billowing duvet and a knit blanket made by Mrs. Weasley. Still, it did little to block out the cold winter air that seeped through the window panes. The reasoning for my restlessness was one I detested. I sighed and sat up, the duvet making a deflated ‘puff’ sound as I did. The room was pitch black, not even illuminated by the moon. My eyes, properly adjusted to the darkness, could make out the faintest outline of the room. From what I could tell, Ron slept peacefully in his bed across the room. Just the sight of him made me feel frustrated.
My mind ran, like it was on a marathon. The thought of that damned red-headed boy filled my consciousness to the brim. All of those little gestures, sheepish smiles, and red faces - that's all normal stuff, right? Stuff that just friends do? It could be justified, but only by those who disavow even the slightest possibility for romance.
I pushed my face into my pillow - which frustratingly smelled like Ron’s room - kicking my legs to dispose of that infuriating feeling that pooled in the bottom of my stomach. My feelings for Ron, this stupid crush I can’t seem to rid myself of, was getting to the point of no return. Like getting too close to a black hole’s horizon and getting sucked in. My fear of risking our friendship was the only thing holding me back. That and all of the mixed signals, all of the awkward interactions. I fail to recognize how Ron truly feels.
My body melted into the soft bedding, my limbs weak and encumbered from my short-lived tantrum. The air was suffocating; I needed an escape.
On tiptoes, I made my way to the door, avoiding even looking at Ron. I carefully clicked it open and closed it behind me. I sighed out in relief; the crisp air ridding my flushed body of all its excess heat. I made my way to the bathroom, hastily and quietly, taking a break from that damned room. I stood, hunched over the bathroom sink, pushing my weight onto my hands, the cold linoleum seeping into my fingertips. I anxiously pushed away the memory that happened here, but it couldn't help itself but to seep into my mind.
I sat down on the edge of the bathroom counter, holding a bloodied towel to my forehead. My glasses, one of the temples bent, sat beside me pitifully. Ron was hastily rummaging through the bathroom closet, pulling out basket after basket hoping to find the medical supplies.
"Got it!" he said, turning to me with a bright, but apathetic, smile. He stood in front of me, evading my eyes. His masculine, warm hands carefully peeled the bloody towel from my hands. "Merlin, birdie, I got you good." he said, tilting his mouth into a sideways position. I closed my eyes to prevent myself from getting dizzy, not just from the knock to the head but from the rich, earthy smell of Ron’s cologne.
I felt his soft breath on my face as he gently began to wipe the blood, now a deep crimson and aerated, from my forehead. All I could do was sit, rubbing my knees, anxiously waiting for this moment to be over.
"Ok, plaster on..." Ron trailled. I felt his hands press onto my forehead, the light pressure sending a stinging feeling down my neck. I let my eyes open, only to be met with Ron’s broad chest. His tee was muddied and wet from the rain showers, clinging to his torso as if it meant life or death. It took all of the courage in me to meet his warm, brown eyes.
Ron stood, proud of himself. "And now we let the magic do its thing. You should be alright later." he said, arms bent proudly to rest on his hips.
"Thank you, ginger." I said quietly. With my nearsightedness, I could still clearly see the pinks of his lips, the crinkling of his eyes. I can barely help myself from wanting to just pull his face to mine. But alas, all I could do was keep my hands glued to my knees.
"No problem, little bird." he said.
Ron stepped close, his hands confidently placing themselves around my waist. I felt a squeak come from my throat as he lifted me off the counter, placing me on the ground. His hands lingered softly around my waist, before moving to my cheeks.
I felt my breathing hitch, praying to Merlin that he didn't notice. He moved my head around, checking my forehead once more before his eyes met mine.
I shook my head wildly, as if to shake the memory out through my ears. He didn’t kiss me that afternoon. He didn’t kiss me that whole summer. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I just want him...
"Fuck, Merlin!" I whisper-screamed, trying to calm myself down. That infuriating pulsing feeling, in my cheeks, my ears, my stomach - I hated it. I took a couple of deep breaths, finally convincing myself to just get back to bed. I left the bathroom and clicked the door behind me. Each step towards Ron's room felt like stepping closer to my doom. But I pushed it down, swallowed it whole. I need to move on.
As my hand reached out to his door knob, the door creaked open, seemingly on its own. As it widened, there stood a sleepy-looking Ron. His hair was roughed up, sticking out on the sides. His eyes squinted, the brown deep and rich, as his eyes adjusted to the faint light produced by the candle that sat dutifully in the hall.
We both jolted at the sight of the other.
"Goodness, birdie. You alright?" he asked, coming to his senses. Just the mere sight of him at this hour, his presence distinguishable in the darkness, it was sinful. His voice was deep and scratchy, as if it were rumbling the floorboards below me.
"Ah-" I felt my mouth escape. I cautiously stepped around him into the room talking as I did, "I just came from the bathroom." I was careful to not make any contact, it would only spark my nerves further. His gaze followed me as I let the dark room accept me in its grasp.
"Oh... that's where I'm going." I could see his eyes flickering, raking my form. He closed his mouth and swallowed, the movement of his throat visible. "Uh-uhm. Be right back." he stuttered, quickly making his way out of the room. The door squealed as he pulled it shut, the only light source being cut off.
I put my hands on my face, wiping as if I was physically removing the blush from my cheeks. I hastily got back into my temporary bed, the sheets now cold. Clutching onto my pillow, I whined out of frustration. There are moments like that - annoyingly small hints - that make me feel like jelly. And yet, the next moment I am just his best friend.
The door clicked open, the dim light seeping into the room, spilling honey on the floor. In a mere second it was cast back out into the hallway, with the satisfying click of the latch into the jamb. I expected Ron to just go right back to his bed, but instead I felt a presence leaning over me.
"You seem stressed..." Ron commented, easing his way down to lay next to me. His broad shoulders brushed up against mine as he settled. Through the darkness of the room, I could faintly make out his concerned expression. I simply forced my head back into my pillow to avoid looking him in the eye. Of course, I’m stressed, you daft idiot.
"I just can't sleep... don't worry about me, ginger.'' I muffled into my pillow, the lie coming out of me with ease. I felt the sheets ruffle from Ron's stifled laughter. There was a pause, a suffocating one.
"Alright. Well, try to get some sleep, little bird." He whispered, his voice almost melancholic. He was still, but only for a moment before the breath was released from his nose. "Goodnight..." he said, before he hoisted himself up. I listened intently as he picked up the knitted blanket, which by that point had crumpled pathetically at my feet. He straightened it out, laying it flat atop me. The added weight forced me further into the futons, the feathered mass indenting to my shape. I heard the red-headed boy get into his own bed, rolling around for a moment, before silence.
At that moment I felt like doing nothing but cry. Oh, how badly I wanted him to continue resting next to me, his presence was intoxicating. But who knows, truly, what that boy is thinking. I feel as though I can't take risks with Ron. He's too hard to read, too difficult to interpret.
I rolled over onto my back, feeling tears run down my temples. My cheeks were hot as the sun and probably the same colour as that boy's hair. I felt flooded, drowned out. Powerless, at mercy to my heart’s will. I need to suck it up, to preserve what little dignity I have left. We’ve been glued at the hip since we were in nappies; I can’t lose it.
I did everything in my power to prevent a sob from escaping my lips, but not even my hands could stifle it. I knew then, that I was busted. My only hope is that I held off long enough for Ron to drift back to sleep. Alas, the Gods did not have me in their favour.
A sharp, shuffling sound could be heard from Ron’s side of the room, as if he just ripped the duvet off of him. “Birdie?” His voice could be heard, bouncing off the plaster walls. "You alright, love?" My heart jumped. Sure, little bird has always made my heart skip. But, love ? That was a name I rarely heard escaping his lips. I followed the sounds of his hasty footsteps, registering a tad too late that he was walking over. I scrambled to sit up, my hands pressing into the futons. I watched as his shadowed form crouched at the foot of the mattress, his knees hitting the floor. I hastily wiped my cheeks, causing a concerned look from Ron.
"I'm sorry, I'm just a little… anxious..." I said through a lighthearted chuckle. Anxious really wasn’t the right word for it all. I was terrified. I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t hide. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to do more than kiss him.
"Anxious…? You can… talk to me if you’d like." he started, crawling up to where he was sitting next to me. “It’s just me.” Despite his large stature, he looked pliant, soft.
I shook my head, “No, that’s the problem.” My brain, which was distracted soaking up the warmth that radiated from the body next to mine, was too slow for my lips. “It’s you, Ron. I’ve wanted to do nothing but kiss your stupid bloody face. I can’t - I can’t even think anymore I’m so infatuated with you.” I sucked a deep breath into my lungs, replenishing my body with oxygen. My hasty, unplanned confession felt like a slap to the face.
“...and - and now I’ve -” I felt my voice die in my throat as Ron grasped either side of my head, just along my jaw. His fingers swiped stray tears, feeling cold against my flushed cheeks.
The boy looked stunned, searching my eyes in the dark. “You’re not serious, are you?” he whispered, glazed and utterly filled with despondency. His face was so close to mine I could feel his breath tickle the tip of my nose. In that moment, all hope that I had once held closely died.
I struggled to put out words. A pathetic apology was all I could even try to say. I felt his fingers tighten their grip on the sides of my face. “No, no…” he quickly said, dismissing my meagre attempt at damage control. “I’m just -… I-I mean, you…” All this time his eyes never strayed from mine, the browns now a smooth, inky black.
“You actually like me… like that…” he stuttered out. The words alone made my heart beat violently against my ribcage, the arrhythmic rhythm reaching my ears. He chewed on his bottom lip, a habit I noticed he indulged in often. The skin beneath his fingertips felt numb as he began to drag his thumbs back and forth on my cheeks.
He said not a word after that. The silence was palpable, cut delicately with the cry of an owl and the rustling of barren branches. The sounds of sticks upon sticks reminded me of the winter that raged outside, yet not an inch of me felt cold, not even the tip of my nose. I sat, helpless, with his hands wrapped around my jaw. Trapped and caged, ready for slaughter. It was a sensation that caught me begging for more.
His kiss was softer than I expected. Fervent yet noticeably restrained, his lips caught mine, something I heartily accepted. Anything I had imagined, anything I fantasised, burned up. No, this time it was real. He pressed deeper, holding a hand behind my nape. His calloused fingers sent what felt like pin pricks down my spine. My hand gravitated to his chest, the broadness of his shoulder. Over the years, his athleticism granted him a sturdy, sinewy body. One I had to force to keep my hands off of.
Breathless, I broke free. He remained close, peering at me through hooded eyelids, breath tickling my cheek. “I’m a bloody idiot, aren’t I?” He questioned, tilting his head to follow my eyes. A smirk rose upon his lips, devilish. “I should’ve kissed you sooner.” His voice dipped, his chest vibrating underneath my fingertips.
I caught myself in a smile, the air around me causing my head to spin. “If you’re an idiot, then so am I.” I quipped, utterly and rapturously caught. He exhaled sharply from his nose, his smile growing.
Our conversation died quickly. The new prospect of exploration and opened doors was much more enticing. I felt like I had caught ablaze the second time his lips met mine. I pulled him close, using his long, fiery hair as an anchor to the world. One of his hands released my jaw, quickly relocating itself to my waist, as he forced our torsos to meet. He leaned over me, using the strong breadth of his palm to hold me close. The sudden contact caused a moan to slip from my lungs, my fingers tightening their grip on his hair. He kissed me through a bashful smile. His chest was warm, and frustratingly clothed.
Wanting more, I caught his bottom lip with my teeth, pressing indents into the flesh. As soon as I set him free, he dove back in, running his tongue along mine. Passionate and sinful, I let him. The hand along my back shifted to the front of my stomach, where he guided my body to the mattress. I let my hands roam his torso, as he hovered above me. I had always imagined what his chest felt like under my fingertips, how it felt pressed up against my own. Now that I was finding out, my nerves were truly set ablaze.
I gripped the collar of his shirt, trying to urge him to press his weight onto me. With a newfound sense of urgency, he broke the kiss, pressing his hips down. With his heavy breath lingering in my ear, I could feel his growing erection. He jutted against my hips, before pulling away. “Fuck…” He hissed, the moment forcing my back into an arch, aching for his presence once again. He sat back on his haunches, his hands raking down my torso. I took in the sight of him hunched over me, his masculine hands gripped my waist, all shadowed in the darkness of the room. I was dizzy, entangled in his web. His head fell back, exposing his jugular. Sex incarnate.
“Ron…” I said, attempting to claw at the hem of his shirt. Upon hearing my voice, he leaned back down over me, pressing his lips to my neck. The sensation distinct, electrifying; I had to force my hips down into the sheets. My hands bunched the fabric of his shirt along the collarbone, the sturdy muscle below flexing under my touch. I relished in the feeling of his body above mine, basked in the warmth that a blanket would never be able to provide.
“Love… I won’t be able to stop.” He groaned, his forehead pushed against my shoulder. His hair tickled my cheeks; it smelled rich of cinnamon and patchouli. The words struck deep, like a lightning bolt to the stomach.
My heart was pounding in my ears, so loud I could only assume he could hear it too. “Who said I want you to stop?” No, it’s true. As obscene as it may seem, I wanted nothing more - to indulge in love and lust.
A deep chuckle erupted from the young man. He pressed his lips to my neck once again, the vibrations searing my skin ablaze. One thing I knew about Ron, as unfortunate as it may seem, is that he was experienced. “You fox…” He mused, pressing delicate kisses down my neck, before lifting his body back up onto his knees.
“That’s ‘little bird’ to you.” I teased, dragging my hands down his chest as he sat up. He shuddered by the time I reached the hem. I encouraged him to peel it off, exposing the gracious work that all those years of playing quidditch left him with. His tee was left wrinkled on the hardwood.
“You’re right.” He said, rather matter-of-factly. His head cocked to the side, a smirk presently visible even in the dark recess of the room. His hands picked at the bottom of my shirt; his fingers ran across the bare plane of my stomach. Warmth blossomed out from the contact, spreading up through my ribcage and down my hips. It was surreal to see him where I always imagined him. I had to remind myself that I was not, in fact, dreaming.
Gaining confidence, I lifted myself up onto my forearms, shifting weight onto my hips in order to sit up. He kneeled and watched as I shed my own shirt, my breasts exposed. I studied how his eyes scanned every inch of my exposed skin, the sudden attention stripping me of my previous confidence. He leaned forward, my back forced to hit the pillows again. Within moments, his lips were on mine again. My hands gravitated towards his shoulders, where I let my fingers trace every ridge, recess, and freckle. I was wholeheartedly devoted to committing every detail to memory. One hand was below my neck, grasping my nape and holding me in place. The other traced circles on the plane of my stomach, his thumb swiping just under one of my breasts. The touch forced a groan from Ron’s throat. He broke away, grasping one of my wrists and holding it to the mattress. Before I could mutter a word, he dove back in, sealing kisses along my collarbone.
Stunned, and horrendously aroused, I helplessly sat as he moved down my chest. My nails dug into his bicep as he swirled his tongue around one of my nipples. His grip on my wrist tightened as I felt myself wriggle beneath him. My hips jutted up, longing for the feeling of his weight pressed on me. His mouth was experienced and tactile, decorating my breasts with marks that would surely be there in the morning. He held me under his grip until I couldn't be silent any longer, the sudden and new feelings becoming too much to bear.
He finally released me, my instinct drawing my lips to his exposed neck. His golden red hair tickled my nose as I buried my face deep in the crook, taking in his warm skin like it was honey. His hands explored my torso with a sense of urgency, gripping my hips and breasts and massaging them under his grasp. He touched me like I was his and had always been his. Each touch my hands made to his body felt like ecstasy, each ridge of muscle I relished in. Lost in a sea of pleasure, I let my hands do whatever felt necessary. I trailed his arms, chest, hips. I let my fingers trace the cotton of his sweatpants, worn and pilled from dozens of washes. My lips broke from his neck as I trailed down, delicately tracing the outline of his dick. The breath caught in my throat as I processed what I had just done. He felt hard, very hard.
I felt a moan escape my lips, a little louder than it should've. I felt as Ron bucked his hips further into the palm of my hand, his breath quickened. “Fuck…” He cursed, his fingers grasped the waistband of my shorts. “I need you.” He whispered into the shell of my ear, the baritone rattled me to my core.
“Please…” I whined, sounding more desperate than I would've wanted. I was merely putty in his hands, after all. His fingers dipped below my waistband, gently pulling my shorts down below my hips. I kicked off the fabric, letting it swim in the sheets. His hands traced the lace detailing of my panties, grasping at my thighs now that more skin was exposed. I mimicked him, running my hand up the length of his dick and underneath his sweatpants. He was left in his boxers, the feeling of being in such little clothing with him hovered above me was exhilarating.
Desperate for more, I pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to the mattress instead. In a swell of dominance, I straddled his torso, hesitant to set my hips to his just yet. His masculine hands ran up my thighs, hooking his fingers underneath the cotton of my panties and gripping my hips tightly. That itself forced a moan from my lips, but my breath was stolen from me when he dragged my hips down to meet his. I melted upon contact, my body collapsing onto his in a fit of pleasure. He groaned, moving my hips to force friction, stripping me of my short-lived dominance. My clothed cunt dragged back and forth along his erection, a sensation I didn't know I needed satisfied grew hard and fast. My hands gripped his shoulders as I pressed my torso against his, the skin-to-skin feeling otherworldly. I continued to let him grind my hips against him, fleeing and messy kisses caught my lips, neck, shoulders.
“Please…” I begged him, the need for him to fuck me growing so quickly I couldn’t control it any longer. One of his hands grasped the back of my head, tugging at my hair.
In one fluid motion, my back hit the mattress once more. Ron looked down at me, almost animalistically, hungry. He stripped me of my panties, tossing them to the side. He pressed his hand on my lower stomach, looking down at me with lust-filled eyes. “I don't want to have to cast Quietus on you, love. Will you be quiet for me?” He asked, his voice low.
I laughed, dragging my legs up his torso. “Says you! Will you be quiet for me?” I countered, feeling brash. I relished the way his eyes twitched and his smirk grew. He leaned over me further, so we were eye-to-eye. My legs wrapped around his torso, using the strength of my hips to keep him in place.
His face lowered, so it was mere centimetres from mine. He started dragging the thumb that rested on my lower stomach back and forth, pressing down ever so slightly. “Y'know…” he muttered, his smirk present in his tone of voice, “I'm starting to think fox suits you better than birdie.” With his words, he mercilessly plunged one of his strong digits into my cunt, and without another moment began to thrust it.
My body jolted at the sensation, grabbing at his shoulders and holding myself to them as if my life depended on it. My breath hitched in my throat as I struggled to suppress a moan. “Ron!” I hissed at him, struggling to gain composure. In my panic to quiet myself, I reached for his face - that damned smirk - and pressed my lips to his. His voice produced a sound, sinful but barely audible. His pace was slow, almost agonising, as he pressed on the same spot over and over. Without warning, he added a second finger, the stretching feeling one I hadn't anticipated. My lips released his as my head forced itself into the pillows, my hips jutting forward. In my weakness, a moan slipped out.
His pace suddenly stopped as his hand grasped my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “What did I say about being quiet?” He questioned, his thumb grazing the epicentre of my arousal. The area was sensitive, incredibly so. The feeling so overpowering, I couldn't answer him. My cheeks felt swollen and red, my head fuzzy. He continued to stare down at me, his fingers gently rubbing up and down my cunt, collecting its arousal on his fingers. My legs tightened around his torso, my silent, desperate plea for him once more. His neck slackened, his eyes releasing his agonising hold on mine. His hair spilled from the crown of his head, grazing my chest.
“I'll be quiet - I'll be quiet.” I whispered to him, finally collecting myself enough to speak. My body was overwhelmed with stimulus yet constantly begged for more.
“Good girl.” He sighed out, lifting himself back to his knees. My eyes raked his form again, recounting every place I've touched so far. His bulge was far more noticeable now, even through his dark-coloured boxers. The show was short-lived, as he dragged his boxers from his hips, releasing his erection. He was thick, with a prominent vein running down the length. He stroked his own manhood, his face cringing in pleasure as he did. I admired his bare hips, how the contours of his hips curved. He huffed as he leaned over me once more, holding himself up with one arm. Addicted to his warmth, my legs wrapped around his hips once more, my fingertips drinking in the flesh of his torso.
I felt like I couldn't breathe. My whole body was pulsing as if my heart took up every square inch. The tip of his penis was swollen and glistening, and hovered tantalisingly close to my sex. His chest heaved, as he steadied his breathing. I watched closely as he dragged the tip along my folds, the sound unimaginably perverted. My legs stiffened at the contact; I looked up at the Gods and prayed for me to be quiet.
He reached my opening, his hand shaking. Before he pushed in, he glanced down at me. The eyes I've seen for years on end. He reached out and grasped one of my hands, holding it to the mattress. Slowly, he inched forward, stretching me beyond anything I had ever felt before. I felt a suppressed moan escape my lips, a mixture of pleasure and pain. He squeezed my hand, releasing a sputtered moan himself. His eyes clamped shut as he reached the hilt, his hips pressed against mine. I had never felt so full in my life. The feeling was suffocating, it was as if I could feel him in my throat. The pressure inflicted on my hips dulled as I forced myself to relax, taking in every inch of his skin that met mine.
He finally began to move, a gentle rock back and forth. He remained far in, only moving out maybe an inch or two, the tip pressing harshly against my womb. He adjusted his hand so our fingers were intertwined, repeating praises in my ear. I yearned for his body against mine, pulling his shoulder so that he supported his weight in his elbow instead of his hand. The change in position forced him deeper, my lips pressing down on each other. He began to pick up the pace, extending his hips further out before diving back into me. I looked down at where our bodies met, watching as he pulled nearly all of the way out before pushing all the way in, the gentle sound of skin against skin.
The deep-seeded tension continued to rise, rendering my hips numb. He nipped at the skin just below my ear, my back arched in response. The intensity rose as he continued to pound into me, getting rougher as he fucked me into the mattress. I grasped at his back, feeling the skin dip under the pressure I applied. Every desperate touch I made rewarded me with a soft moan, amplified as his lips were pressed to my ear. I tensed my throat, bit my tongue. I attacked his neck with devoted kisses. All in the attempt to soften the noises that escaped my lips.
I started to feel hazy, the world around me becoming obsolete. The warmth between my legs was quickly spreading, pulsing in increasing intensity. Each thrust sends waves upon waves of pleasure, each more furious and unrelenting than the last. He pressed his weight onto me, the added friction forcing the feeling to unimaginable heights. Like a rubber band, it eventually snaps. It spread from where we were joined, my walls tightening around him as he relentlessly fucked me through my orgasm. He groaned, biting down on my shoulder to stifle the sound. My legs shook uncontrollably as the high overtook every nerve in my body. “Good girl, good girl…” he repeated to me, continuing to fuck me even after it was all over. He lifted himself up, maintaining our joined hands, and held himself over me. His eyes bore into mine, his breathing staggered.
The stimulation was becoming too much to bear, but it felt too good to force him away. His thrusts were becoming heavier, less rhythmic. “I-” he started, before he suddenly buckled forward. He pulled out, and with only a single swipe of his hand, his cum released out onto my stomach. The sudden warmth shocked my system, as ropes decorated my hips. I watched him go through his orgasm, his eyes closed tightly and his mouth ajar. I was lying beneath him, his golden hair spilling down and messy from my fingers raking through it. I felt his cum roll down my hips like tears. I felt the adrenaline slowly leave my system, still relishing in the feeling of Ron's bare skin. The rough warmness of his skin grounded me.
He recovered, his eye meeting mine. He exhaled through a smile, his head dipping back down again. A feverish smile broke out on my face, my mind still in a brackish haze. He pressed a kiss to my lips, soft. He pressed a hand to my hip, “Let me clean you up, love.” He recounted a spell, the evidence of our night together vanished. All that was left was the heavy smell of sex in the air.
We reclothed, stealing subtle kisses as we searched for our clothes that mingled with the sheets. I felt warm, there was no other way to describe it. Ron wrapped the duvet around me, along with himself. His arms encompassed me, holding me close to his chest. I ran my hands up and down the sides of his now-clothed torso, the cotton soft under my fingertips. He hummed, his smile evident as he pressed kisses to my forehead. “That was nice…” was all I could say, a sheepish laugh following.
His chest shook, the baritone rattling my ears. “It was.” He affirmed, pulling me closer, letting my legs tangle with his. The rush of emotion stripped me of all energy, the strength of his arms around me encouraging me to let rest take over. “I do love you by the way.” He added, a deep breath followed. Just the thought of hearing those words from him sent me over the edge, but hearing them in real life nearly let me fall into my own grave.
I laughed, the pink never leaving my cheeks. “I would have never guessed!” I pressed my forehead into his chest, laughing at my own stupid and probably inappropriately timed joke. He ‘tsk’d’, grabbing my ass teasingly, before returning his hand back around my back. I continued to spill out in laughter, my body not really knowing how else to react. I caught my composure, whispering a quiet confession in return.
I fell asleep that night with Ron. Even with the wind rattling the barren branches against the window panes and that damned draft.