I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say.
I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be.
But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me,
I promise, I promise you I will...
New Found Glory – I Promise (Cover)
The sight before him was something he never thought he’d ever see. In fact, the idea hadn’t crossed his mind, how close they might have gotten. He just honestly couldn’t see Harry doing anything with anybody but him. Yet Harry had proved him wrong, just like he always had. Hermione was right, Harry had let go, so why couldn’t he?
He lowered his wand, staring at the two who simply sat there, as much at a loss for words as he was. Harry’s new partner, Michael if he remembered correctly, obviously could tell that he wasn’t just somebody who busted into the apartment for which Ron was grateful to but that didn’t change anything. Harry had sex with this man. Harry made love to this man and not him.
“Fuck,” Ron groaned, turning around and slamming the door on them to retreat to the sitting room to pace for a while. Would he talk to Harry again, demand his shirt and his heart back, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the right to just barge into Harry’s life like this again. Hermione had been right. It was about time Ron started to listen to the woman.
* * *
“Merlin,” Harry simply whispered as he now stared at the shut door. He repeated the whisper over and over a few times, gripping at the sheets in front of him, still trying to process what had happened. Ron had barged in, had seen him with Michael. Ron was back. Ron who he hadn’t seen or contacted in a year. Because he had let him go. He had moved on, just like Ron had, or that’s what Harry had thought. Had he been wrong? Had Ron not moved on? After all, wasn’t the last thing he said, albeit to an answering machine but still, “I love you, Harry”?
“Harry? Harry?” The hand on his shoulder shaking him brought him back to reality and Harry jumped out of bed, grappling at the floor for clothes, something to cover himself. “Harry, who the fuck is that?”
“Ron,” Harry said quickly, finally getting his hands on a pair of sweats, Michael’s, but he didn’t care and quickly pulled them on, tripping over the long pants legs and hitting the ground with a thump.
“Yeah, and who the fuck is Ron, Potter?” Michael asked angrily, watching Harry pull the pants up to his waist and jump back up, now reaching for a shirt.
“My ex,” Harry whispered and immediately knew that Michael understood. Ron was Michael’s Maria, just was Maria was Harry’s Ron. Michael nodded and stood.
“Do you want me to leave? I can get out for a few hours, go stay over at Fly’s or Steve’s or Monk’s place for a bit.” Harry shook his head, pulling the shirt over his head and grabbing at his glasses.
“No. Just give me a few minuets with him out there.”
“Harry, if I’m right and that’s who I think that is, you’re going to need more than a few minuets. Just give me a minuet and I’m gone. Remember, I always have to be on the move,” he stated with a wink as pulled out clothes and put them on.
“Thanks Michael, you’re the best mate a guy could ask for,” Harry whispered softly. Michael smiled, buttoning up his jeans before he reached over and pulled Harry to him, kissing his forehead gently.
“Hey, it’s cool. You’d do the same thing for me. Besides, if you two can work it out, maybe that means I’ve got a shot with my,” he paused, swallowing the spit in his mouth before he gave another cocky grin and pulled away, pulling on a shirt. “Anyways, you’ve got my number. Call me and tell me when you want me to move out.”
“Michael-“
“No Harry. I get it. And these past months have been fucking awesome, you’re great and I’m sure if I stay any longer, you’ll turn me into a full fledged gay, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just need to get mine back, just like you will in a few hours, just like you’re supposed to. As my old buddy Max used to say, it’s destiny.” And with that, Michael grabbed his jacket, kissed Harry’s lips one last time and left.
* * *
The guy had left a few minuets earlier, sending Ron a death glare which meant he would be in trouble if he left Harry shattered on the floor again. Ron knew to take the threat seriously and sat patiently waiting for Harry to come out of the bedroom. But it was taking to long for Ron’s taste. What was he doing in there? Obviously he was going to stay with Michael, he wasn’t going to take Ron back and was that was he, Ron, was hoping for?
“Shit.” Yes, it was. Ron came here in hopes that Harry would take him back. Ron would do anything, beg, grovel, sink on his knees and cry for Harry’s forgiveness. He would tell him everything. Tell him about that stupid one night he spent with Hermione after getting into a huge fight about nothing with Harry almost two years ago and how it ended with Hermione pregnant. He would tell him that he still loved him, had loved him forever, since the first moment he had laid eyes on him. He would hold him, and kiss him, and make love to him again if he could because Harry was all Ron ever wanted in life.
But what if Harry wouldn’t listen? What if Harry kicked him out and flaunted how happy he was with that tool Michael, because that’s what the big douche looked like, a tool. Then again Harry had every right, after how Ron had treated him, after how Ron had left. But if there was a chance, Ron would take it. He didn’t care about the shirt he left or Michael or Hermione or anyone else, except maybe his daughter, just Harry. He only cared about Harry.
So he sat and he waited; his head in his hands, hunched over, shoulders shaking and eyes watering as he hiccupped short breaths and sobs. And finally after ten more minuets of thinking that Harry never wanted to speak, see, or hear from Ron again, the bedroom door opened and Harry stepped out, looking flushed, cheeks and eyes red, in clothes that were too big for him and still Ron thought that Harry was the most beautiful thing he had ever had the privilege to lay eyes on.
“Ron?” he whispered, his voice soft yet so Harry, exactly as Ron remembered and for a moment Ron pictured himself getting up from the couch and sweeping Harry into his arms, kissing him, wiping away his tears and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
But he simply couldn’t do it. So instead he sat up, gave a small, sad, crooked smile and laughed “Yeah, it’s me,” while his voice cracked and his eyes leaked more tears that he didn’t even have the right to shed.
Harry took a step forward and crossed his arms, looking around the room that had changed so much since Ron had left. The walls were covered with posters again, muggle. The mantle had pictures of him and his new friends, bowling, playing pool, foosball, and other games. The coffee table had TV guides, and magazines, and books from Michael’s studies. The small black and white TV that they had bought together was currently sitting on the floor of the closet, now replaced by a bigger, color TV.
Harry noticed that Ron had taken in these changes too. He sighed and looked back at him. “Why are you here? After all this time, why is now you decide to come here?” Harry asked, his voice cracking as he tried to force out the words, tried to make them sound angry but failing miserably.
Ron shrugged, looking down at his clasped hands. “I wanted my shirt back,” he mumbled.
“What?” Harry asked, surprised and now annoyed. That was why he came back? For his stupid, bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt which clashed horribly with his hair? “You’re shirt? That’s why you came back?”
“Well I-“
“Save it!” Harry turned around, going back to the room and extracting the shoebox from the top shelf, the dust that had settled there shifting and wafting out in clouds from being jerked. He returned to the sitting room and opened the box, throwing the top on the ground in anger as he pulled out the shirt, disrupting the neat organization inside, and threw it at Ron. “There you have it.” He took the sock that had been left behind and chucked it at him, doing the same with the other items that crowded the box. “There’s the sock you left, there’s the snitch from the first game we played together, here are some pictures, no use for them here, they move.” He stopped, walked over to Ron and turned the box over his head, the ticket stubs raining down on him, covering his hair, his shirt, his pants, and the couch. “All the ticket stubs from every movie we saw together. You know what, just keep the box too.” He dropped the box, hitting Ron on the head and landing in his lap. “Everything. Every last thing I had of you, it’s yours now to do with ever you want. Keep it, burn it, rip it to shreds, whatever. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.”
He took a step back and huffed angrily, his eyes narrow and wild and watery, tears threatening to spill over and run down his already tear stained cheeks. “Just take it all and get out. It’s what you’re good at!” he spat, his fists clenching.
Ron sat silently turning over the ticket stubs and pictures in his hands, finding them to be in top condition, perfect, whole, and cared for. Harry had kept everything, had taken care of everything and had obviously kept it close to his heart. And Ron had ripped it all apart by muttering the wrong thing. He always said the wrong thing at the worst possible time. “Well? Get out! You got what you came for so just go and leave me be!” Harry cried angrily, pointing at the door.
“No,” Ron whispered, looking up at Harry. “I didn’t come for the bloody shirt, you know that Harry.”
“What do I know?” Harry yelled, stepping back and wrapping his arms around himself, gripping at his sides, trying to hold himself together as his eyes went wild and finally the tears pored over. “What the fuck do I know about you Ron? I don’t know anything. Everything was lie! What we had was a lie! You didn’t care about me! Did you ever? I was just a trophy for you! Something you could parade around! You, the sacred best mate of me, famous Harry fucking Potter! That’s all I ever was to you! A fucking trophy!” Harry yelled. “But you got tired of me! You left! You fucked me and left!”
Ron shook his head and stood up, reaching out to Harry who stumbled backwards, shaking his head. “That’s not true Harry. I love you, you know I love you. I never treated you as a trophy,” he whispered as Harry shook his head and stumbled backwards as Ron began to advance again. Finally Harry backed into a wall and there was no where to go and Ron was able to touch him again. Touch his face, feel the warm, wet skin there and hold on. He stepped forward, closing the distance, both hands resting on Harry’s cheeks, wiping at the tears found there, and holding, holding him there so Ron could take him in; take him all in. “I love you. If you can’t believe anything else, please believe that. I’ll tell you everything. Why I left, why I acted the way I did. I’ll give you everything, all of me. Merlin Harry, it’s been so hard. I’ve wanted to see you, touch you, kiss you.”
“Well then you shouldn’t have left!” Harry cried angrily, now pushing weakly at Ron’s chest as if to try and fend him off. Ron nodded and pressed his forehead to Harry who shook his in protest. “No! You can’t do this! You’re not aloud too! You left me!”
“I did. I did leave and I’m so sorry Harry. You’ll never know how sorry I am, but give me a chance. Please Harry. You always did before.” Harry shook his head, closing his eyes, not looking at him because he knew if he did, he’d give in, and he couldn’t. It was too late.
Ron didn’t pay attention however and proceeded to kiss Harry’s brow, his cheeks, his lips, though Harry made no move to respond. He removed Harry’s glasses and kissed his eyelids, his jaw, his neck, his nose. He sank down on his knees and hugged Harry’s middle and whispered and begged and wept. He buried his head in Harry’s shirt, inhaling his scent, now mixed with Michael’s but he didn’t care.
“I hate you,” Harry wept, shaking his head and Ron looked up, stunned. “I hate that you can still make me feel like this! You shouldn’t have this much control over me. I let you go. I promised myself.”
“Harry.”
“It’s not right Ron. This relationship is so fucked up. It’s not healthy. It’s not good. It’s wrong.” Ron shook his head, tightening his hold on Harry, pressing his nose into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling. “It is.”
“Then I’ll make it better. We’ll start over.” Harry looked up at the ceiling, feeling Ron’s arms around him and it felt right.
Fin.
I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be.
But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me,
I promise, I promise you I will...
New Found Glory – I Promise (Cover)
The sight before him was something he never thought he’d ever see. In fact, the idea hadn’t crossed his mind, how close they might have gotten. He just honestly couldn’t see Harry doing anything with anybody but him. Yet Harry had proved him wrong, just like he always had. Hermione was right, Harry had let go, so why couldn’t he?
He lowered his wand, staring at the two who simply sat there, as much at a loss for words as he was. Harry’s new partner, Michael if he remembered correctly, obviously could tell that he wasn’t just somebody who busted into the apartment for which Ron was grateful to but that didn’t change anything. Harry had sex with this man. Harry made love to this man and not him.
“Fuck,” Ron groaned, turning around and slamming the door on them to retreat to the sitting room to pace for a while. Would he talk to Harry again, demand his shirt and his heart back, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the right to just barge into Harry’s life like this again. Hermione had been right. It was about time Ron started to listen to the woman.
“Merlin,” Harry simply whispered as he now stared at the shut door. He repeated the whisper over and over a few times, gripping at the sheets in front of him, still trying to process what had happened. Ron had barged in, had seen him with Michael. Ron was back. Ron who he hadn’t seen or contacted in a year. Because he had let him go. He had moved on, just like Ron had, or that’s what Harry had thought. Had he been wrong? Had Ron not moved on? After all, wasn’t the last thing he said, albeit to an answering machine but still, “I love you, Harry”?
“Harry? Harry?” The hand on his shoulder shaking him brought him back to reality and Harry jumped out of bed, grappling at the floor for clothes, something to cover himself. “Harry, who the fuck is that?”
“Ron,” Harry said quickly, finally getting his hands on a pair of sweats, Michael’s, but he didn’t care and quickly pulled them on, tripping over the long pants legs and hitting the ground with a thump.
“Yeah, and who the fuck is Ron, Potter?” Michael asked angrily, watching Harry pull the pants up to his waist and jump back up, now reaching for a shirt.
“My ex,” Harry whispered and immediately knew that Michael understood. Ron was Michael’s Maria, just was Maria was Harry’s Ron. Michael nodded and stood.
“Do you want me to leave? I can get out for a few hours, go stay over at Fly’s or Steve’s or Monk’s place for a bit.” Harry shook his head, pulling the shirt over his head and grabbing at his glasses.
“No. Just give me a few minuets with him out there.”
“Harry, if I’m right and that’s who I think that is, you’re going to need more than a few minuets. Just give me a minuet and I’m gone. Remember, I always have to be on the move,” he stated with a wink as pulled out clothes and put them on.
“Thanks Michael, you’re the best mate a guy could ask for,” Harry whispered softly. Michael smiled, buttoning up his jeans before he reached over and pulled Harry to him, kissing his forehead gently.
“Hey, it’s cool. You’d do the same thing for me. Besides, if you two can work it out, maybe that means I’ve got a shot with my,” he paused, swallowing the spit in his mouth before he gave another cocky grin and pulled away, pulling on a shirt. “Anyways, you’ve got my number. Call me and tell me when you want me to move out.”
“Michael-“
“No Harry. I get it. And these past months have been fucking awesome, you’re great and I’m sure if I stay any longer, you’ll turn me into a full fledged gay, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just need to get mine back, just like you will in a few hours, just like you’re supposed to. As my old buddy Max used to say, it’s destiny.” And with that, Michael grabbed his jacket, kissed Harry’s lips one last time and left.
The guy had left a few minuets earlier, sending Ron a death glare which meant he would be in trouble if he left Harry shattered on the floor again. Ron knew to take the threat seriously and sat patiently waiting for Harry to come out of the bedroom. But it was taking to long for Ron’s taste. What was he doing in there? Obviously he was going to stay with Michael, he wasn’t going to take Ron back and was that was he, Ron, was hoping for?
“Shit.” Yes, it was. Ron came here in hopes that Harry would take him back. Ron would do anything, beg, grovel, sink on his knees and cry for Harry’s forgiveness. He would tell him everything. Tell him about that stupid one night he spent with Hermione after getting into a huge fight about nothing with Harry almost two years ago and how it ended with Hermione pregnant. He would tell him that he still loved him, had loved him forever, since the first moment he had laid eyes on him. He would hold him, and kiss him, and make love to him again if he could because Harry was all Ron ever wanted in life.
But what if Harry wouldn’t listen? What if Harry kicked him out and flaunted how happy he was with that tool Michael, because that’s what the big douche looked like, a tool. Then again Harry had every right, after how Ron had treated him, after how Ron had left. But if there was a chance, Ron would take it. He didn’t care about the shirt he left or Michael or Hermione or anyone else, except maybe his daughter, just Harry. He only cared about Harry.
So he sat and he waited; his head in his hands, hunched over, shoulders shaking and eyes watering as he hiccupped short breaths and sobs. And finally after ten more minuets of thinking that Harry never wanted to speak, see, or hear from Ron again, the bedroom door opened and Harry stepped out, looking flushed, cheeks and eyes red, in clothes that were too big for him and still Ron thought that Harry was the most beautiful thing he had ever had the privilege to lay eyes on.
“Ron?” he whispered, his voice soft yet so Harry, exactly as Ron remembered and for a moment Ron pictured himself getting up from the couch and sweeping Harry into his arms, kissing him, wiping away his tears and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
But he simply couldn’t do it. So instead he sat up, gave a small, sad, crooked smile and laughed “Yeah, it’s me,” while his voice cracked and his eyes leaked more tears that he didn’t even have the right to shed.
Harry took a step forward and crossed his arms, looking around the room that had changed so much since Ron had left. The walls were covered with posters again, muggle. The mantle had pictures of him and his new friends, bowling, playing pool, foosball, and other games. The coffee table had TV guides, and magazines, and books from Michael’s studies. The small black and white TV that they had bought together was currently sitting on the floor of the closet, now replaced by a bigger, color TV.
Harry noticed that Ron had taken in these changes too. He sighed and looked back at him. “Why are you here? After all this time, why is now you decide to come here?” Harry asked, his voice cracking as he tried to force out the words, tried to make them sound angry but failing miserably.
Ron shrugged, looking down at his clasped hands. “I wanted my shirt back,” he mumbled.
“What?” Harry asked, surprised and now annoyed. That was why he came back? For his stupid, bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt which clashed horribly with his hair? “You’re shirt? That’s why you came back?”
“Well I-“
“Save it!” Harry turned around, going back to the room and extracting the shoebox from the top shelf, the dust that had settled there shifting and wafting out in clouds from being jerked. He returned to the sitting room and opened the box, throwing the top on the ground in anger as he pulled out the shirt, disrupting the neat organization inside, and threw it at Ron. “There you have it.” He took the sock that had been left behind and chucked it at him, doing the same with the other items that crowded the box. “There’s the sock you left, there’s the snitch from the first game we played together, here are some pictures, no use for them here, they move.” He stopped, walked over to Ron and turned the box over his head, the ticket stubs raining down on him, covering his hair, his shirt, his pants, and the couch. “All the ticket stubs from every movie we saw together. You know what, just keep the box too.” He dropped the box, hitting Ron on the head and landing in his lap. “Everything. Every last thing I had of you, it’s yours now to do with ever you want. Keep it, burn it, rip it to shreds, whatever. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.”
He took a step back and huffed angrily, his eyes narrow and wild and watery, tears threatening to spill over and run down his already tear stained cheeks. “Just take it all and get out. It’s what you’re good at!” he spat, his fists clenching.
Ron sat silently turning over the ticket stubs and pictures in his hands, finding them to be in top condition, perfect, whole, and cared for. Harry had kept everything, had taken care of everything and had obviously kept it close to his heart. And Ron had ripped it all apart by muttering the wrong thing. He always said the wrong thing at the worst possible time. “Well? Get out! You got what you came for so just go and leave me be!” Harry cried angrily, pointing at the door.
“No,” Ron whispered, looking up at Harry. “I didn’t come for the bloody shirt, you know that Harry.”
“What do I know?” Harry yelled, stepping back and wrapping his arms around himself, gripping at his sides, trying to hold himself together as his eyes went wild and finally the tears pored over. “What the fuck do I know about you Ron? I don’t know anything. Everything was lie! What we had was a lie! You didn’t care about me! Did you ever? I was just a trophy for you! Something you could parade around! You, the sacred best mate of me, famous Harry fucking Potter! That’s all I ever was to you! A fucking trophy!” Harry yelled. “But you got tired of me! You left! You fucked me and left!”
Ron shook his head and stood up, reaching out to Harry who stumbled backwards, shaking his head. “That’s not true Harry. I love you, you know I love you. I never treated you as a trophy,” he whispered as Harry shook his head and stumbled backwards as Ron began to advance again. Finally Harry backed into a wall and there was no where to go and Ron was able to touch him again. Touch his face, feel the warm, wet skin there and hold on. He stepped forward, closing the distance, both hands resting on Harry’s cheeks, wiping at the tears found there, and holding, holding him there so Ron could take him in; take him all in. “I love you. If you can’t believe anything else, please believe that. I’ll tell you everything. Why I left, why I acted the way I did. I’ll give you everything, all of me. Merlin Harry, it’s been so hard. I’ve wanted to see you, touch you, kiss you.”
“Well then you shouldn’t have left!” Harry cried angrily, now pushing weakly at Ron’s chest as if to try and fend him off. Ron nodded and pressed his forehead to Harry who shook his in protest. “No! You can’t do this! You’re not aloud too! You left me!”
“I did. I did leave and I’m so sorry Harry. You’ll never know how sorry I am, but give me a chance. Please Harry. You always did before.” Harry shook his head, closing his eyes, not looking at him because he knew if he did, he’d give in, and he couldn’t. It was too late.
Ron didn’t pay attention however and proceeded to kiss Harry’s brow, his cheeks, his lips, though Harry made no move to respond. He removed Harry’s glasses and kissed his eyelids, his jaw, his neck, his nose. He sank down on his knees and hugged Harry’s middle and whispered and begged and wept. He buried his head in Harry’s shirt, inhaling his scent, now mixed with Michael’s but he didn’t care.
“I hate you,” Harry wept, shaking his head and Ron looked up, stunned. “I hate that you can still make me feel like this! You shouldn’t have this much control over me. I let you go. I promised myself.”
“Harry.”
“It’s not right Ron. This relationship is so fucked up. It’s not healthy. It’s not good. It’s wrong.” Ron shook his head, tightening his hold on Harry, pressing his nose into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling. “It is.”
“Then I’ll make it better. We’ll start over.” Harry looked up at the ceiling, feeling Ron’s arms around him and it felt right.
Fin.