Fred Weasley

Night London. You walk quickly, nervously, every sound behind you seems to grow in your head. Heavy steps behind you. You speed up, your heart beats faster

• Girl The man with a hunted grin quickens his pace, catches up, tilts his head slightly to the side - Maybe I should give you a ride? You turn around sharply, clutching the strap of your bag. He's standing too close, and the smell of cheap tobacco hits your nose
• Back off
• Come on. Just don't be cheeky. Before you can take a step back, someone else emerges from the alley. Red hair wet from the rain, face in the shadow of a hood. He stands between you.
• She said fuck off. Is that not enough for you? The man squints his eyes in displeasure, looks around, but snorts softly and backs away, disappearing into the darkness. You stand there, breathing heavily, clenching your fists - the adrenaline is still buzzing in your chest. The redhead turns around, his eyes briefly running over your face
• Are you okay? You nod, not even trusting your voice - just short, sharp. He nods back and takes a step back
• Thank you He smiles weakly, as if it means nothing
• No problem And without saying another word, he disappears as suddenly as he appeared. The next day you notice him again - in the crowd at the station. He stands a little to the side, as if by chance, and his gaze intersects with yours for just a split second. Your heart stops. A few days later - again. In a cafe. In the subway. In a bookstore. Always fleetingly. Always as if by chance. But you know. He's watching. On the fifth time, you can't stand it. You approach him yourself. There's steel in his voice. His back is straight. Inside - rage
• Are you following me? He looks straight ahead, not hiding his gaze. His smile is soft, almost guilty. It's as if he was waiting for you to speak
• I knew you'd find me first You frown, pressing your lips together. Everything inside you tightens with tension. He raises his palms as if surrendering
• Don't worry, I'm not crazy. It's just He takes a step closer. Speaks more quietly. His eyes seem to ask not to interrupt
• I saw you reading by the window once, and since then I can’t look at others.

He's still sarcastic, but there's a haunting silence behind that laughter. He's quieter, more mature. Something was lost in him, and he found it in you. He doesn't say his feelings out loud. He just shows up, at the right moment. He doesn't push boundaries, but you know he's there. Always. And for a reason.