|The Little Things
Author: RonaldAndMione PM
To Ron, the little things matter the most.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Ron W. & Hermione G. - Words: 1,437 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 55 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-04-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7438400
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Little Things
It's the little things that make it matter so much.
It's the way she introduces me to people. She always says 'This is my boyfriend, Ron Weasley,' with that pleasure in her voice. It makes me feel on top of the world when I hear her emphasise the words 'my' and 'Ron'. She sounds so proud, and it makes me wonder why the bloody hell she feels that way, when it's obvious that I'm the one who's lucky to have her.
It's the way she laughs at anything I say, even when no one else does. It's the fact that we have so many inside jokes no one else is a part of, and I love it when I see that hesitant look on her face when someone asks us what it means. She doesn't want to reveal a secret of ours, because otherwise it would lose that special quality it has – the reason we love it so much. It's something ours, and only ours.
It's the way I look forward to the end of an evening when I'm out with her. Sure, eating out is nice, and being outside is also good, but my favourite part of the night is the way she turns to me in the middle of the street and just says, 'Let's go home.' In that moment, I always feel so unexplainably happy – she's mine, I'm hers, and we're together, and we have a home that's ours.
I end up kissing her right there on that street, because I just need to remind myself that this is real, she's real, and us is real, and kissing her is the most real sensation I've ever felt, but at the same time it's the most surreal thing I know. I feel grounded but at the same time like I'm flying without a broom. Bloody hell. Hermione once said I had the emotional range of a teaspoon. Listen to me now. I feel so much I sound completely mental.
It's when I walk into the kitchen of our flat that we both live in and see that Hermione's cooking. It's not the fact that she's preparing food for me, but it's the fact that she's preparing something for us, because we both live there, together. Before we moved in together, Hermione told me there was no way she would become the stay-at-home cook, and that I'd have to do things around the home too. Unfortunately, since then, Hermione discovered I'm a hopeless cook. I watch her spinning a wooden spoon around a pot with one hand whilst tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the other, and I feel so incredibly lucky, and so in love with her.
That's when I walk up to her and wrap my arms around her. I rest my chin on her shoulder and peer over to see what she's cooking. It always smells so nice, but the way she smells is so much better. It's her own, unique scent and it's unbelievable. I kiss her neck and she laughs as I kiss a sensitive, ticklish spot. I always grin against her neck and it only makes her laugh harder. One time I distracted her to the point where we only pulled apart when we smelled something odd coming from the pot she'd been stirring earlier. She wasn't mad though, instead, we couldn't help but laugh even more at the situation. It amazes me that I can actually distract Hermione Granger, the most focused worker in the world. It's a power only I have, and I'm very careful with it... most of the time.
It's the way she listens patiently when I'm ranting about my boss. I scream and yell about the git, and stomp around our home, un-tucking my buttoned up shirt and throwing my loose tie on the ground. Hermione follows me around the home as I scream curse words, and picks up the tie I throw and only says 'Language, Ronald', in between my rant. I know that later I'll get a good telling off for messing up the flat, but at that moment, Hermione can see how mad I am, and so she lets it slide. I usually end up in our bedroom, lying on my side facing the window, and she does this really nice thing where she snuggles up behind me and rubs my arm soothingly. I love the feeling of her hair against my back as she accidentally brushes it against me when she kisses my neck lovingly. After that, I usually forget about why I'm angry at my boss because all I can think of is Hermione.
It's the way I walk into the kitchen on a Saturday morning to find her there. My eyes are still half closed, and almost everything is blurry, but I see her and my vision becomes clearer. She stands against the counter, holding a cup of tea, wearing nothing but the t-shirt that she had viciously ripped off me the night before, and she looks so bloody attractive that I want to pick her up and take her back into our room to repeat the previous night.
Sundays mornings are sometimes repeats of Saturday mornings. There are other times, though, when I wake up to find her sitting up with a cup of tea in her hand. I smile at her, and she gives me a teacup filled with warm tea. One time, as I spun the spoon around inside the cup, she said to me 'Take a good look at the size of your emotional range.' I love those Sunday mornings when we just lie in bed lazily, drinking tea and laughing at anything. Whenever I wake up earlier than Hermione, which is rare, I always give her tea in bed. It's the least I can do.
I love how I can find her in sitting in front of the fire reading a book. I sit down across from her and just watch her. It reminds me of Hogwarts, the fleeting glances I'd sneakily give her in the Gryffindor common room, except this time, I don't have to look away, and I can watch her as much as I want. Sometimes she ignores me, but sometimes she blushes in that cute way of hers and looks up at me. I know she's feeling self-concious but she really doesn't need to. She's perfect, and when I watch her read I use that time to just think about her and how lucky I am.
When she does look up at me, I know what she's thinking – 'Why are you watching me?' and I just say out loud, 'Because I can.' It's exhilarating to know that I can watch her as long as I want, and no one else can, because I'm her boyfriend, and anyone else who dares try looking at her will instead get a good look at my fist when it's in their face.
The little moment that means the most to me, though, is when I meet her gaze when we're across the room. I find her looking at me with this amazing smile on her face, and I can't help but give her a goofy smile back – I know it's nothing compared to her smile, but bloody hell, you can't blame me when my legs feel like jelly and I can't remember my name. This exchanged look happens so often between us, but every time it does, I feel so special, because she's looking at me like I'm the only one in the room – in the world – and it's amazing. I can see how she's feeling just by looking at her, and in that moment, in her eyes, I always see the words 'I love you'.
And in that little moment, I always hope she sees the same thing when she looks at me, because I know that the little things matter the most to her, too.
I feel like I haven't posted in ages! Here I am, posting a story I've had for awhile, but just haven't posted. It's in first person, which I dont particularly enjoy doing, but decided to try. Anyway, here it is.