The Burrow smelled like warm bread and summer grass, and Ron was pacing like he’d been sentenced to the gallows instead of a simple afternoon with you.

“You sure I look all right?” he asked, tugging at the collar of his jumper for the third time.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too hard. “Ron,” you said, deliberately slow, “you’ve asked me that five times.”

He groaned. “Yeah, but this is you. I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

You stepped closer, straightening the jumper yourself. Up close, you noticed things you always did - the freckles scattered across his nose, the way his blue eyes softened when they landed on you, and how he stood a little taller without realizing it.

“There,” you said. “Perfect.”

He blinked. “Perfect?”

You nodded. “You’re handsome today.”

Ron’s ears went red instantly. “You- Merlin’s beard, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” you teased. “It’s true.”

He laughed, flustered but pleased, running a hand through his hair. “You’re mental, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, reaching for his hand. “But you like me.”

He squeezed your fingers, suddenly more confident, more Ron. “Yeah. I really do.”