Ginny,
What say you about sleeping over my place? I will provide you with good food and comfort and four hundred amazing stories. Also a cocktail. Yes, only one. Come now.
-Fred
It was one of those things that he would never admit to, but Fred Weasley hated being alone; which was normal for a man who’d never been alone. Ever. Since the moment of his beautiful conception, he’d shared space with someone- that someone more often than not being George, but also five other siblings, two parents, and more friends than he could count.
And thus, on nights George made himself scarce with girls, work, business runs, trips to other lands to improve their line of whatever at the shop, leaving Fred behind to man their pride and joy by himself, he felt... lonely. It’d been far too long since he’d shared company with his favorite, albeit only sister, and thus she was the first to cross his mind when figuring out plans for that evening.
He’d sent the owl just thirty minutes prior and had since busied himself cooking-- yes, he cooked-- and picking up after his own messes. The time alone was already getting to him and he’d be lying if he said an internal pep-talk wasn’t running through his mind on repeat.
S’okay, Freddie. You’re fine. You got this. You’re like, old now, no biggy. It’s just one night.
A soft patter outside made him halt, mid-cleaning, to saunter over to the door, seeing if it was an owl, his sister, or otherwise.
