Disclaimer: Fred and George do not belong to me, and neither does anything else in the Harry Potter universe. Meh.
By Emerald Riddle 2005
I never noticed another boy's eyelashes before... but I noticed yours. They were dark and thick and curved perfectly outward, like decorative frames for your eyes. I always loved your eyes. Some people would laugh at that, I guess, since we're supposed to look like each other in every way. But there's something special in your eyes that mine don't have.
Maybe it's an extra twinkle when you laugh, or the perfect specks of green that always seem to be in the right place at the right time. Or maybe, it is just the way they crinkle in the corners when you smile... then they are just two sparkling slits in a face that is so much like my own.
I sometimes lean over you while you sleep and count the freckles on your shoulders. Thirty-two and twenty-nine. There are thirty-two freckles on your right shoulder and twenty-nine on your left. I'm not sure why I do this, but it makes me happy to know something everyone else seems to overlook. Of course, I am your twin. I didn't have to sneak up on you just to know how many freckles you have. I could just count the freckles on my own shoulder.
But it is so much nicer to count yours.
To watch as you sleep and to gently run my fingers over the fringe of your fiery red hair. My hair. I shouldn't do it, I know I shouldn't. Yet, sometimes I can't stop.
These are the times you wake up as I brush your precious eyelashes. I still don't stop, though you stare at me. You are just so beautiful, Fred, so beautiful... no matter what anyone else says, you are so much more beautiful than me. You're like some type of hex, I get pulled in by your radiance, and pushed away by your reluctance.
This is what I was doing presently. But you don't shove me away this time. You let me trail designs on your cheeks and feel your skin.
Feeling brave, I touched your lips. I was always fascinated by your lips. They were never really moistened or chapped. Just dry. Like you've never slid your tongue over them. I wondered if our lips were exact replicas, stupid really, but I wondered how they would fit together. You haven't moved yet, just watched me in silence. This egged me on, so I moved my lips to your own.
They tasted salty and dry, just as I imagined. I lick them, cherishing the taste. For a moment I humor myself in thinking that you would make a good Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. Then I started tasting you again. Your mouth, your teeth, I sucked on your tongue, but you never kissed back.
You just stared at me with those gorgeous eyes of yours. I continued our kiss, hoping you'd respond. However, you never moved. I lifted your shirt and pinched your pink nipples with a mischievous smile.
You didn't even flinch.
I called your name and planted kisses all over your face. One for each freckle. My eyes started filling up with tears and I asked you, no begged you to do something. To push me away, scream in frustration, punch me in the face, anything!
Your eyes just stared me down, glassy and cold. If you didn't blink, I would think you were dead. At least then I'd have an explanation for your unfeeling rejection.
Giving up, I lowered my face so it was inches from your own, every feature mimicked. You closed your eyes and so did I, tears spilling over my lashes and onto yours.
Funny, it sort of looked like you were the one who cried. In a way, I guess you did. Everything you feel, I feel. The only thing different are our choices.
You chose to be alone.