Ghosting Along | F.W. x Reader
Summary: In which it's been a over a year since Fred survived his injuries. He's fully healed, yet some part of him is still missing. Fred finds escapism in the muggle world.
wc: 5.6k
cw: mentions of injuries, scars, bleeding. fred lived!....yaaaay...
a/n: this has been in the works for nearly a year im so sorry bro
requested here! <3
Constant sympathetic looks, looks of pity. Questions and comments on how he was doing as soon as a conversation started with him. Eyes lingering on his scars for too long.
And the constant gestures. How he hated the gestures.
Sure, he needed the help at first. Now it was just frustrating. He had healed.
It wasn’t like he was made of pure porcelain. It’d been a year, he would walk with only a slight limp and a cane for support. It was nothing he couldn’t do on his own.
Fred appreciated how many people cared, how much they cared.
But, it was starting to make him feel like his injuries were all he was, his scars were all he was, his suffering was what most people's first thoughts about him. His suffering was all he was.
Of course he was happy he survived, but he really wished people would stop bringing it up. Stop reminding him of it.
Why would he want to be reminded of a horrific day? Legs trapped under rubble and screaming with burned and broken bleeding skin.
He already was reminded of it everyday he woke up, every time he felt the dull sting in his leg if he moved it the wrong way. Every time he looked in the mirror and saw the scarred skin from the gashes he got on his stomach, leg, and neck. Whenever he had to do something with his hand, he’d see the small patches of burnt skin.
He wanted to go back to being Fred Weasley; the notorious prankster who used his humor to start up a joke shop. He wanted to be funny again.
Not Fred Weasley; the man who fought in a war that had a wall explode in front of him and leave him with scars.
He did feel different since it happened. As if a part of him was knocked out along with his body. He felt like some sort of ghost after it. He still does sometimes now. Some part of him was missing.
How do you come back the same after surviving something like that?
Escape. That’s what Fred chose.
Everytime his world got too much for him, he took a trip to the other one.
The world of muggles. He was starting to understand why his dad is so fascinated with them.
It was simple for him. He’d found a small street in Manchester, full of little cafes and shops.
No one he passed by on the street knew who he was, no one stopped him to talk, no comments on how he was doing.
He felt like a ghost there as well. Only this time, it was a good feeling. He was so used to attention for most of his life, being known.
He had full anonymity. He had his name written down in no records in this world. No one knew him, no one asked, no one paid much attention to his presence.
Now, he could drift down the streets without a care. He could feel normal for a moment, he was just another person on the street. He actually liked it. It felt nice, being simple for once. Being unaware.
Of course, he was going to be stared at by people and children wondering what happened to him when he didn’t wear his scarf. Like today. That scar on the side of his neck, formed from the sharp pieces of stones and glass that hit hard enough. Along with the few small barely noticeable marks on his face.
He would collect a few pounds to pay when he went out. He got the cash in a surely unethical way at those ATMs. But was it really considered stealing if he used magic to get the money?
He didn’t buy much when he was out, food and drinks mostly. Oh, he’d bought a few secondhand coats too.
He really didn’t care about spending money. Window shopping was enough for him. Walking through aisles and shifting through racks of old shirts, pausing to tell the ladies at the counter that he was “just looking” when they asked if he needed help finding anything.
The only pain was the amount of walking he had to do. Though fully healed, his leg would still ache with too much physical activity.
It’d been a rainy day, though the weather settled down in the evening–yet there was a high probability of starting up again later. Fred had been moving around with barely any stops for over thirty minutes now, his leg was beginning to throb with each step he took.
He really needed to sit down, because leaning against a wall really was not doing much to help with the pain.
The nearest spot to sit was a small, brightly colored, cafe. Large glass windows covered each wall next to the door. He could see clearly there were no open seats inside, there was outside seating at least. Yet, the few teal colored round tables with matching metal chairs surrounding them were all taken.
However, there was exactly one seat left at a table, but you sat on the other side of it, newspaper in your hands as a small cup sat on the metal round table.
Fred really didn’t want to be a bother. But he’d really like to take a break too.
He took in a deep breath before walking over. Hesitant to speak for once.
“Do you mind if I sit? My leg..I need to give it a rest.” Fred rasped out to you. You gave him a simple shake of your head and shrug when you looked up from the newspaper.
He said a small thanks in response and sat, letting out a small breath of relief, finally able to take some pressure off his leg.
He sat and watched as people passed by; business women and men, children and their parents, groups of teenage friends.
“Hi.”
Fred turned his head to you, then he looked behind and around him before answering, making sure it was him that you were trying to talk to.
“Hi?”
“You don’t come around to these shops a lot do you?” You folded your paper and put it down on the table. Despite your words, your tone was friendly. There wasn’t a single intimidating bone in your body.
Fred opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. Instead he just replied with a simple shake of his head and frown. Your face faltered at his reaction.
“Sorry if that sounded rude. I just- I saw you over there and you looked a bit…confused. A little overwhelmed.” You stumbled over your words, “You can just always tell when someone is new here.”
He realized this is the first genuine conversation he’s had with someone in a long time, this is the first conversation he’s had with anyone here.
“Oh, it’s fine. I just moved to this place.” He said with a smile and small shrug. Your mouth changed into a small ‘o’ shape as you nodded.
Fred introduced himself, sticking out his hand.
The scarred skin of the front of his hand was out on display, it was too late to take his hand back now. You took his hand and shook it gently, Fred noticed how you barely paid any attention to the scars, only looking at his eyes when you introduced yourself in return.
“Really? How are you liking it here?” You started as you leant back against your chair, one leg crossed over another.
“Good. Really, uh, great. Is it strange to say that it’s…quiet here?” Fred was aware of the irony of it. Both sides of the street were busy most hours of the day. It was the same down in Diagon Alley.
It was most likely the muggle aspect that made it feel quiet. Yeah. It was definitely the muggle aspect. Everything was simple.
He watched as you tilted your head slightly, hesitating what to say. “Sure. I guess.” You said with a puffed out bottom lip and shrug. “So you're enjoying it here?”
“I feel a bit..lost. Everything is so new, and it seems like everything is so easy to understand for everyone but me. I feel like the odd one out, some weirdo on the street.” Fred really wasn’t sure what it was about you that was making him be so honest.
“You look pretty normal to me.” An amused breath left your lips.
The tightness in his chest loosened a little, he had never realized it was there in the first place.
“Even with the cane?” There it was. Those self deprecating ideas that took up Fred’s brain slipping out. He mentally told himself to stop with the self pity.
“Lots of people around here walk with canes. It’s not some rare sight.”
“Makes me feel like an old man.” He pursed his lips. “I feel like I need to start hunching over and groan every time I take a step.”
“You certainly don’t look old.” You indulged, leaning back in your chair.
“I feel it though.”
“Well, I happen to like your cane. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an old man who has a purple and orange striped cane.” You tried to help, you hoped it would help.
“If I’m gonna have to walk with it for the rest of my life, I might as well make it look lively.” He gave you a timid smile.
“It’s very Halloween-y. Because of the color combo, you know?” You said tentatively, trying to soften the slight tension that appeared due to the uneasy look in Freds face. “Is it your favorite holiday or did you just decorate it for Halloween?”
“I loved it as a kid. I could prank people and get away with it..most of the time.”
“Oh, so you were the kind of kid to TP houses and throw eggs, right?” An open mouthed grin broke out on your face, you were pointing a jokingly accusing finger at him.
“Oh, no! No! I haven’t ever done that. Surprisingly.”
Fred wasn’t lying, but he had done worse with poorly planned pranks that included fireworks. He couldn’t tell you that though, so he made up a quick half-lie.
“I went to a ...boarding school, so I didn’t attack any houses. I just really liked to spook people. The classic popping out from behind a wall with a creepy mask on, you know?”
“But my brother and I were very big troublemakers during the entirety of every school year. We really liked to prank the teachers.” You didn’t talk, giving him a small nod to elaborate. “We’d steal things from them, usually the meaner ones. Just small stuff, like papers or textbooks, we’d scatter the papers all over, hide the textbooks or whatever we took in silly places in their rooms.”
“That’s a bit more tame than I expected.”
It sure was. Those small pranks were definitely the most tame ones compared to the others the twins pulled during their years at Hogwarts.
“Well, a few times we set off dungbombs- smokebombs–we called them dungbombs–in this one professor's office, he was rude however. Deserved it.” Fred muttered the last two words. “And once in the dorms at the end of the year.”
“Oh that’s just evil!” Your jaw went slack with an appalled smile.
“We also set off fireworks on the train home. Just small ones though!” Fred realized there was no way of saving himself after admitting that to you. Your jaw dropped to the floor and your eyes widened.
“You maniacs!” You playfully slapped his shoe with your newspaper. “Did you never get punished for that? Did your mother not care?”
“Oh, she cared. Constant scoldings, constant punishments. We were just too hard headed to listen.” Fred rolled his eyes at the memory of his teenage antics, though he never fully outgrew them. Maybe he should stop rambling and go back to your original question.
“I think I’m starting to prefer Christmas as I get older. I think it’s cozier.”
I’m starting to prefer Christmas over Halloween because I don’t get that sinking feeling in my chest when I hear anyone screaming or yelling down the street after getting scared.
That’s what he would’ve really said. It’s what he wanted to say. But he’d rather not dump all his traumas on a girl he met less than ten minutes ago.
“We make these really great linzer biscuits here around winter time. Have you had them?” Fred puffed out his bottom lip and shook his head in response. You gawked at him.
“Are you serious!” It was more of a statement rather than a question, “You’ve ought to come back here, we plan on making them and putting them out next month.” The use of pronouns made it click in Fred's brain.
“Oh, do you work here?” Now it was your turn to respond with a simple head movement.
“Yeah.” You smiled with a head nod. “I’m on my lunch break right now. You know, I could get you something, a hot chocolate? Scone?”
“Oh no, you don’t need to. I’m fine.” The offer was tempting, his stomach was empty and he began to feel the feeling of hunger. But again, Fred didn’t want any help from anyone.
“Oh come on! At least let me get you a drink, our hot chocolates are super good!” You pleaded, grinning and clasping your hands together. Shaking them for extra effect. “And you’re not wearing any gloves, so I know your hands must be cold with this wind. It’ll warm them up.” You pointed at his hands, they were hidden inside his coat for warmth and to hide the scarred skin.
He couldn’t back down once he saw your pleading smile. With a defeated smile on his face, he pulled out £5 from his coat pocket and held it out to you, who was already beginning to stand up.
“Fine. I’ll take a hot chocolate.” You nodded in response as you took his request along with the pound, snatching it from him with two fingers. His smile stayed there on his face even after you went into the cafe.
After a few minutes you returned, hot chocolate in hand along with a small pink colored to-go box. You put the cup down carefully in front of him once you returned to the table.
“I- uh- may have gotten you a little dessert with it as well.” You bit the inside of your cheeks as an attempt to bite back your smile. You slid the small container towards Fred, opening it to reveal an assortment of biscuits.
“Oh come on. You didn’t have to do that.” He huffed, his head rolling back, faux annoyance.
“Look I got them for free, I get discounts since I’m an employee here.” You said apologetically, scooting out and sitting back down in your chair.
“I’m serious, I would’ve been just fine with only the-” Fred began to protest, you cut him off.
“Just eat the damn biscuits.” You commanded. Playfully. Mostly.
Fred loved it. Usually when people offered him food or anything else, they’d try to persuade him into taking it like he was some scared stray dog. He liked that you didn’t try to overcoat your words with pity.
Blood rushed to his face and he bit back another smile. “Fine, but I’m sharing them with you.” He slid the box to the middle of the table, taking out one of the sweets.
“Deal.” You bit back your grin as Fred took a small round beige biscuit with a circle of jam in the middle, powder surrounded it. You took out one of the same.
Once he took a bite and let the flavor settle on his tongue with you failing to pretend you weren’t watching closely for a reaction, he let out a low hum of satisfaction.
“Oh, these are good. I wish they had these in Diagon Alley.” Fred's words slipped out, he was thinking out loud.
“Diagon Alley? What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s- it’s just some old bakery I used to go to in my teens, closed down awhile back. I never saw these being sold there.” He waved a dismissive hand, going back to the original topic. “These are absolutely delicious.”
“I told you, we got the good stuff.” You leaned forward, whispering the sentence like it was some big secret.
Soon enough you split and shared the rest of the sweets with each other, the box now empty. You wiped your mouth of any crumbs with a napkin, posing a new question.
“So, what do you do for work?”
Fuck. He’d have to come up with something quick.
“I’m a magician.”
A magician? Really? Good fucking pick, Fred.
“I do magic. Magic tricks.” He swallowed. Fred was good at lying through situations to get out of trouble. But with you it was too fucking difficult, he did not want to fuck up how you thought of him. “I do stand up comedy too. Simple stuff.”
“Really? So like making things disappear and card tricks?” Fred nodded quickly in response, “Show me a magic trick.” You bounced up in your seat.
“Wh- Right now? Here?”
“Right here, right now.” You gave him a single nod, clasping your hands together, leaning forwards with your elbows propped on the table and your chin resting atop your hands.
Fred inhaled, sticking his hand in his coat, “Alright, uh,” he said while pulling out a stack of cards.
“You carry around cards in your pocket?” You narrowed your eyes at him, an amused breath leaving you.
“Every magician does.” He smiled, shuffling the cards.
He did the classic guessing-the-card-you-chose trick. Letting you choose a card from the spread as he kept his eyes closed, letting you look at it–four of hearts–having you put it back, shuffling the cards.
He put all the cards back into a neat stack, he knocked on the top of a stack as if it was a door. He pulled out the top card, asking if it was yours, and you laughed.
“No? It’s not the ace of spades? Hm.” He pouted out his bottom lip as he looked at the card, pulling the next one from the stack that wasn’t your card. You felt bad for laughing as he gave you a defeated look.
“You know what?” He sighed, putting the deck back in his coat pocket as he leaned back in his seat. You began to feel guilty with his look, your smile began to fade. “3rd times a charm. Check your back pocket.”
You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously. As your hand slid into your back pocket, your face faltered. The tips of your fingers felt the small rectangular card sticking out.
You pulled out the card, looked at it, it was a four of hearts. You looked back at Fred, then the card, then Fred again.
You didn’t have to say a word, your face was telling him every thought going through your head.
Fred leaned back in his seat, a smug smile already on his face.
“How?” You gawked.
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Fred frowned and shrugged.
“No, no! This- you- what! How! This has to be some sort of setup! There’s no way!”
It really wasn’t difficult to pull off, some trick cards from his shop and a flick of his wand was all he used for it.
“You just don’t believe in magic enough I think.”
Fred kept smiling—even more—when you shook your head at him, trying to act as if you were offended even though you were smiling.
A loud screech from down the street pulled him from your gaze, his posture straightened up immediately and he turned his attention in the direction of the noise.
The cry had come from a child who obviously had just fallen on the sidewalk, now holding his scraped knee as his mother bent down to comfort him. But it set off a switch in Fred's brain.
Fred often had moments like these. Panic. Fear. Tension. Though he was in an open space it felt as if everything around him was shrinking and squeezing together.
Everything sounded distant but so loud at the same time.
His clothes felt too close to his skin and his jaw was tightened to the point it felt like he could feel the pressure in his teeth. He didn’t realize the white knuckle grasp he had on the handle of his cane.
“Hey, are you alright there?” Your voice pulled him from his mind fogging up. Fred took a moment, nodding breathlessly.
“Do you want to go on a walk?” You proposed, the look of concern on your face was obvious.
“A….walk?” Fred repeated your words, still coming back into the present moment.
“Yeah. Yeah. The- The parks just right at the end of the street, we could take a stroll there.” “The scenery is better there, unless you prefer to look at crowded sidewalks. Or if you just want to stay here. It’s fine if you-”
“Yeah. That sounds nice.” Fred had already stood up before finishing his sentence, he went on the move quickly. You trailed behind him, slipping your small bag over your shoulder and picking up the trash on the table and throwing it in a nearby bin.
Despite the small soreness still lingering in Fred's leg, he was in a rush to get out from that area.
You followed along, not saying anything as you went down the sidewalk and passed through the opening between the small park fences. You let him take the lead, you let him stop when he wanted to.
He stopped in front of a pond, a few ducks already gliding around in the water. He stared at them, there was a plain black metal bench behind you.
“Do you want to sit down?” Others would say it with such pity in their voice, almost as a sympathetic demand. You said it as a suggestion, an actual question, where you’d let him make the choice. If he said no, you would listen.
You wouldn’t try to push and persuade him into having a seat, you wouldn’t pull out the constant prompts of “oh but i’m sure you're sore!” “you need to let yourself rest!” “you need to take a break!”
It was such a relief to hear something other than that pitied tone when he was asked a question.
“Sure.”
Sitting down at the same time, Fred left a comfortable amount of space between the two of you. Not too far apart from each other, but not too close either.
This was such a cliche moment. Such a cliche day. Sitting on a bench in a park in the autumn weather, watching ducks go in the water with a girl he’d just met. Fred had only seen these types of moments in muggle films he watched in the theaters. As cheesy as it felt, Fred really liked being in one of the scenes he thought only happened on screen.
He told you about how the ducks and the pond reminded him of the small one behind his house. He told you about how he raised and took care of pigs. He went along with your assumption that he grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
That last part wasn't really a lie. He just bent the truth a bit, left out the magic part of everything.
He told you about how he and his twin brother would trick their parents by pretending to be the other twin, how they’d set off fireworks in the field, how he once broke his arm swinging off a tree branch.
You told him about all the hobbies you’ve had growing up, the time you lost one of your baby teeth biting into an ice cream bar, the time you got knocked over by a wave at the beach so hard you had saltwater coming out your nose once you got back up, how you made your house smell like burnt popcorn after forgetting about the jiffypop you had on the stove.
You exchanged stories until it felt like you had no more to share. There was that silence again, that comfortable silence. But you didn’t want the conversation to end.
“What other crazy stories do you have?” You stretched your back, puffing your chest out a tad bit.
He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing and roaming to see if they’d catch on something that’d remind him of a new memory to tell.
“You never asked how I got like…this?” Fred’s jaw tightened slightly as he looked down at his cane, twirling it.
“I’m sure more than enough people have asked that question without warning. You must be tired of explaining what happened. I thought I’d let you explain when you wanted to, if you wanted to.”
Surprisingly, Fred didn’t have to explain what happened to all that many people. Since most of them were fighting in that same battle that caused the marks left on him.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” You asked, a cautious tone in your voice. You crushed a leaf by your foot.
Fred’s face faltered a tad bit, for the first time. He did want to talk about it. Maybe not in full detail. But this time, he didn’t put that pit in his stomach whenever he thought about it.
With Fred’s long pause you decided to speak. Maybe you could reassure him rather than pushing, you’d be fine if he didn’t want to talk about it.
“When I was younger, I had a girl in my class who broke her arm. And every time someone asked what happened, she’d make up a new story. She fought ninjas, or she turned into a werewolf, or she was attacked by witches. You could give it a try if you’d like.”
“You can give me an answer, it doesn’t have to be the truth.” You shook your head from side to side as you puffed out your bottom lip, showing your unbothered expression.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Taking in a sharp breath.
“I fought in a huge wizarding war. I fought…evil wizards.” A smile formed on Fred’s face as the words left his mouth, he knew you would think he was joking.
“Wow. A wizarding war. Must’ve casted some nasty spells on you.”
If only you knew.
Fred forced out an awkward laugh. You noticed the tension.
“Well, we could play a game of twenty questions? But we could keep asking them until we get bored.” You prompted, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees.
“I don’t think I could ever get bored of you.” Fred said with a tiny smile. It earned a playful roll of your eyes
“You have no idea what I can do.” You teased back with a toothy grin.
The game started off with basic questions. Favorite colors, animals, memories, season, usually every answer came along with an explanation. They got more interesting farther in.
“Have you ever had a paranormal experience?”
“Uhhhh. Oh! There were ghosts at my school- uh, rumored ghosts. One of them was called Nearly Headless Nick.”
“Nearly Headless Nick.” You repeated the name, letting out a breathy laugh of disbelief.
“I’m sure you can imagine why he was called that.”
“Sounds like you were familiar with him.”
Fred hummed in agreement but didn’t elaborate, keeping you on edge. Because why not? Now it was his turn.
“What would be your dream life?”
You straightened your position, holding onto the bench's metal seat as you thought about it.
“I’d have a nice little house up on a hill, with stained glass windows. I’d have the cliche privileges where I wouldn’t have to work, or worry about money. I’d have a lovely pool to swim in during the summer, and in the winter I’d have a machine that would automatically make me a hot chocolate. I’d sleep in as long as I wanted, stay up as long as I wanted, make as much noise as I wanted. Nothing and nobody would bother me. I’d be magically well off. It would be like my own little dream world to be living in.” You swayed slightly from side to side, corners of your mouth twitching up at the idea of a life like that.
Fred was staring straight at you, his lip pouted in adoration.
“What would yours look like? Your dream life.” You did your turn, still moving, waiting for his response.
“I’d own a shop. A gift shop with my brother, we’d sell fireworks. And people would come there everyday to buy them. And no one would give me pitiful or strange stares, and the only questions they would ask would be where to find a certain product. I’d smile so much from the pride of my success that my face would hurt.” Fred already had a grin on his face talking about it, he really did already have all of that.
He continued on.
“And I’d walk without a limp. Without a cane. I’d want to be able to run down the street or even across the room. I’d feel smooth skin on my hands again. I’d wake up, look in the mirror, and recognize who I’m staring at.” He stopped to clench his jaw in between sentences, keeping his eyes trained on the ducks in the pond then moving them to the brown leather of his shoes.
“I’d get to bed, and sleep as well as I did when I was a kid. I’d have no nightmares or paralysis, and I’d wake up the next day. Do it all over again.” Fred hadn’t noticed that you’ve been looking straight at him until he looked up from his shoes, he had no idea how long you had been. You were still. Your head was turned straight towards him, lips ever so slightly parted, your eyebrows slightly knit together.
It wasn’t a look of pity. Or worry. It was a look of understanding.
If you asked him about his watery eyes, he would blame it on the cold wind blowing your way. You’d say the same if he asked you.
Neither of you did. You stared at each other for a moment, both taking in his words.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
In a leap of impulsiveness and what you’d say wasn’t exactly confidence–you weren’t quite sure what the feeling was–you laid your hand over the top of his.
He couldn’t figure out what it was about you that made him so open, so vulnerable in front of you without feeling nervous about it.
You were a stranger on the street. The both of you barely knew much about each other except the basics.
What he did figure out was that those ugly thoughts and memories that always lingered in Fred’s head went away more and more each time you laughed, smiled, even when you spoke. He couldn’t understand how you did it.
Your fingers cupped his palm, your thumb rubbed the back of his hand. Fingertip tracing the scarred skin, back and forth in a soothing manner. He timidly smiled.
He gave your hand two small squeezes.
Staying there in that position like statues, the both of you looked at your two hands connected. It was quiet for a minute.
“You're really sweet, Fred. I’d really like to talk to you again.” You told him, your voice so soft, so gentle. You slipped your hand off of his.
“I’d love to talk to you again too.” He said meekly, seeming nervous to look back at you. He could still feel the warmth of your hand on top of his.
“Well, how about I give you my number?” Fred gave you a blank smile, trying to hide the twitch of confusion in his face. “..My phone number?” You explained. Fred made a little ‘o’ shape with his mouth before nodding quickly.
You smiled and scrambled through the mess of the inside of your bag, praying there’d be something to write with and something to write on hiding in there.
Fred mumbled “here” as he reached into the inside of his coat, retrieving a pen and tiny notepad out of it. It was as if he pulled the supplies out from thin air, he probably did.
“Magic man!” You teased, grinning as you took the supplies.
Fred watched as you kept your face close to the paper you were writing on, putting down your contact information in the nicest handwriting you could. Adding a little smiley face with its tongue sticking out for good measure at the bottom.
He walked you back to the cafe, your shift would be starting soon then. Neither of you said a word on the short stroll, there were no issues with it. Talking was nice, the quiet was nice too.
“Thank you. For talking to me.” He spoke once you reached the front of the building. You waved a dismissive hand.
“Of course, you can call me anytime you’d like. Maybe..you could show me some more of your magic tricks?” You suggested, tilting your head to the side. “I should probably go get ready for my shift.” You spoke through a sigh, taking a small step back.
Fred held the front door of the cafe open for you, yet you still pressed your hand against the door. You stopped and stilled for a moment, taking one more look at him.
“I’ll be waiting.” You pointed at him before letting go of the door. He let out a tiny laugh and nodded, a silent promise to you.
Fred waved at you through the glass as you disappeared into the back of the cafe. He’d been smiling for so long his cheeks were starting to sore.
As he looked at the combination of numbers on the paper that you wrote, Fred knew what his next plan was.
Getting a phone and learning how to use it.
tell me what you thought here! <3 thank you for reading!
