feorge: (work out at the gym;)
From: [personal profile] feorge
[He doesn't want to know. No, that's not true. He wants to know everything, down to the last bloody detail. But not now. Not here. He can joke about his death and talk about it like it's nothing more than the day's weather, but only with strangers and faceless voices behind some enchanted device. But here, with family? It's too soon, even for him. He can't talk about Serious Things when it's all too fresh in his mind. It can be saved for when he's not around Ginny or things that can be broken in his frustration and confusion. There are so many questions, so much he needs to know but he's not sure he has the words for it. He's barely got the words for anything, can only hope the small tokens of affection are enough because words are failing him.

It almost feels as though the whole world is failing him. Or maybe he's failing it.

When she moves to tend to the tea, Fred stays with his back to her for a moment to compose himself. He shouldn't be this brash and emotional, but at the same time, he shouldn't be alive to feel any of it at all. This should be a happy moment. This needs to be a happy moment. He swallows down the lump in his throat and goes back to leaning against the counter as though their brief emotional interlude never took place.]


"The City"'s a rather terrible name, if you ask me. I almost feel as though I should be filing a complaint.
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