“‘Love you,” slipped out of him, into the little conversational void the moment had left behind, fueled by the bundle of emotion that was always at the surface around her, always dying to escape, be freed, be known.
He heard her gasp, just slightly, and then she stilled for a half second. Before he could take it back or make light of it, she released a tiny sigh, fluttery and affected, and whispered back, “'Love you too.”
His eyes snapped open just in time to see her go, a sliver of her suit visible as the door clicked shut behind her.
He bit his lip and breathed deep, insides wobbling at the… confession? Endearment? Salutation?
So now I’ve reached the point where I know this is my only option, and it needs to happen VERY QUICKLY or I won’t know what to do anymore. I’ve started a GoFundMe campaign to go towards finally getting a chest binder. I need to raise £50, which is about 63 US dollars.
I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you could donate anything or even just reblog this post I would really appreciate it. The issues surrounding my gender are what’s been making me ill recently (mentally, I mean) and I don’t want it to happen again, so if you could please donate to the campaign it would mean the world to me.
from the apartment plot thing, 4th from "the walls are paper thin" or 5th from "you broke into my apartment" with romione ((these two are s c r e a m i n g romione)) if you want to, please!
“The walls are paper thin and every night I watch jeopardy and I guess you’re really smart because every night you shout out the correct answer and at this point I’m not sure there’s a question you can’t answer?”
A/N: this was supposed to be a small drabble i promise but somewhere along the way it turned into an absolute monster of a fic and now i’m thousands of words deep into a romione university au i never planned to write. it’s a long way from being finished but i didn’t want to leave this ask unanswered any longer so here’s the first scene of what i have so far :)
There are few things more pathetic than drinking cheap beer alone in your apartment on a Friday night, Ron thinks to himself as he takes another sip. Unless, of course, you’re drinking cheap beer alone in your apartment whilst watching jeopardy on a Friday night.
It’s not that he doesn’t have anywhere else to be- he has friends he could hang out with, sure- but campus life is new to him and he hasn’t quite figured out the logistics of college yet.
Harry would probably be amendable to exploring the area with him, Ron’s sure, but Harry had to go and get themself knocked in the head during rugby practice earlier- the bastard- and is under strict instructions to get some rest before the match tomorrow.
Logically, Ron’s next course of action would be to see if Seamus and Dean wanted to hang out- only, he’s pretty certain it’s date night for them, and Ron does not fancy trailing them around like some useless third wheel, thank you very much.
Next on his list is Neville- but Neville is already fretting about falling behind in his classes (it’s been a week!) and as such has already informed Ron that he’ll be spending the night in the library, which is- well. Ron’s never been much of a library guy, to be honest.
Which leaves Ginny. And whilst Ron may be pathetic enough for cheap beer and old jeopardy re-runs, he is not pathetic enough to resort to spending Friday night intruding on his little sister and her friends.
So here he is, alone, drink in hand, trying to guess the next answer before the contestant.
At first, he’d tried to turn it into a sort of drinking game. For every answer he got that the contestant didn’t, he’d take a drink. This fell rapidly, however, when he’d gone five whole rounds without touching the can in front of him, at which he promptly gave up and resorted to shouting out whichever option hadn’t been the answer in a while (a winning strategy, if he does say so himself.)
The answer onscreen (”Harper Lee was a childhood friend of this ‘In Cold Blood’ novelist when they were neighbours in Alabama”) has only just appeared when Ron makes the executive decision that the question is option two- it hasn’t been option two in at least three turns, so he’s pretty confident in himself when he yells “Who is Tony Hillerman!” at the screen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” yells a voice that is decidedly not Alex Trebek. “It’s- ‘Who is Truman Capote!’”
The voice that speaks sounds verging on exasperated and seems, bizarrely, to be coming from Ron’s wall.
It takes a second for the pieces to click together in his slightly-less-than-sober brain, but once they do, Ron feels like smacking his palm against his forehead for being such an idiot.
His new apartment has unbelievably thin walls (he suspects it’s one of the reasons it was so cheap) and his next door neighbour must have been able to hear his less than dignified yelling from her place.
Overcome with the urge to hide his face behind one of his newly purchased sofa cushions, Ron settles for groaning instead- before abruptly shoving his fist into his mouth when he realises that she’ll be able to hear that too.
“Thanks!” he calls back instead, because it’s only polite, right?
“No problem.” he hears shouted back, and damn him if there isn’t something like a hint of amusement in her tone this time.
He briefly entertains the notion of going over to her place. Then he realises the numerous problems with that scenario. Mainly being that he doesn’t even know this girl- he can’t even remember her name (although he’s pretty sure it was something weird, beginning with an H) - and also because he is well on his way to becoming drunk, and Ron may not be that well acquainted with college etiquette yet- but he’s pretty sure most people don’t take too kindly to having half-drunk strangers appear on their doorsteps.
So he watches the rest of jeopardy in silence.
(What he definitely is not doing is hoping to hear his neighbour’s voice shouting the answer through the walls again. Nope. Nuh uh. Not at all.)