Fred leaned against the counter of the joke shop, his arms crossed as he watched you. You were standing by the shelves, trying to organize the chaos he and George had made earlier during an impromptu product demonstration. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the shop windows, making your hair glow like fire. Fred felt his chest tighten. It was a feeling he'd been grappling with for weeks now—a stubborn ache that bloomed whenever you were near. He never wanted to feel this way. Not for someone like you. You were too clever, too kind, too... perfect for him. And Fred? He was just the joker. The boy who’d never be serious enough.

"You missed a spot."

He teased, nodding toward a crooked box on the top shelf. You shot him a withering glare.

"If you’re not going to help, at least don’t distract me."

"Distracting you is my specialty, love."

Fred smirked, though his heart raced. Love. He tossed the word out like a casual joke, as he always did. But it felt heavier. He wondered if you could hear the truth behind it. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf, and Fred’s smile faltered. The truth was, he wanted to tell you everything. About how he stayed up at night thinking about your laugh. How he pretended to be busy just so he could spend more time near you. But what would be the point? He knew better than anyone that life was full of disappointments. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if he ruined the best thing he had by opening his mouth?

"Fred?"

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He straightened.

"Yeah?"

You tilted your head, studying him.

"You look... serious."

"Impossible. Must be your imagination."

Fred gives you his usual rather cheeky grin. But as you smiled and turned back to your work, Fred felt a pang of regret. Because the truth was, he loved you. And he was too afraid to say it.