The shop had finally quieted down after a long rush, the air still buzzing faintly with the smell of fireworks and sugar. Fred leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from the day. His grin tugged at his lips as he watched you straighten a shelf of Skiving Snackboxes like you actually cared about the display.

“I love you,” he said easily, the words rolling out of him the way they always did — casual, confident, like breathing. Normally you’d answer without thinking, like the two of you had created your own rhythm no one else could follow.

But this time, your lips curved into a small smile… and nothing more.

For a heartbeat, Fred didn’t notice. The grin stayed plastered on his face as if waiting for your reply to slot into place. When it didn’t, his expression flickered. The smile dimmed at the edges, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if he was trying to figure out if he’d misheard you.

“What’s this?” he said, forcing a laugh, his tone playful but carrying a strange edge. “Giving me the silent treatment now? You know the rules — you’re supposed to say it back.”

You still didn’t.

The air between you shifted. Fred’s grin faltered, his shoulders tightening as though someone had pulled a string. He leaned forward on the counter, closer to you now, his freckles catching the golden shop light. “Oi, don’t do that to me.” His voice dropped lower, and the teasing edge slipped out of it entirely.

You felt his hand cover yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, warm but uncertain. He always touched you like he owned the moment. Confident and claiming, but now there was hesitation, a quiet vulnerability that cracked through his usual bravado.

“You do love me, right?” he asked, barely above a whisper. His eyes searched your face, earnest in a way he rarely let anyone see. The cocky twin who could charm anyone, prank everyone, and laugh off nearly everything suddenly looked raw, like your answer was the only thing tethering him to solid ground.