Summary: Juxstaposition equals two extremes together. Fred and George struggle to define their feelings for one another. SLASH, TWINCEST, ect. Don't like, don't read. One-shot.
Rating: M (maybe that's too high but I'm not taking any chances, considering the content of the second chapter too.)
My first shot at F/G. Please don't shoot me. Please review. And if you want to flame me my advice would be to go stick your head in a pig. Con crit is of course welcome, however.
War. War is so twisted and nothing is certain, nothing is a constant. In this confusing world it was only natural for me to reach towards the one person who knew me better than anyone else. It was okay for me to hold him close, cling onto him like I would lose him any minute. Completely natural is how we defined and justified our relationship.
We were careful, of course, oh so careful; secret smiles when no one was looking, hands, shoulders brushing accidentally. No one seemed to notice or care. They were too preoccupied with their own troubles.
As the years went by we grew bolder. We slept in the same bed, like when we were little and it was considered cute that we lay, tangled up together. Now it was weird but I suppose they figured it was a twin thing, a phase. We felt sure they'd notice the way we looked at each other at dinner when our feet touched accidentally (or more often than not it wasn't accidental), the way our eyes shined when we were with each other. But they didn't. They couldn't distinguish how close twins would act and how we would act. People do not often see what they don't think will be there, or what they don't want to see.
It was there all right, whether anyone wanted it or not.
When it was too dangerous to live in Diagon Alley, when the Ministry insisted all the shops be shut, we had to move back home again, away from our jests and jokes. It was much harder to conceal what we were doing now, much harder to lie, so we took chances; foolish chances, though they still didn't seem to suspect. Our family went on fighting Voldemort and evil, so none of us concentrated on each other so much.
Still, when we kept stealing kisses behind closed doors, in the attic, in the bathroom, at the bottom of the garden, we were sure they'd find us, locked in passionate embrace. They never did.
And the war raged on and on and through it all we tried our utmost to curb our feelings. Everything was so out of control. We were screwed, in all senses of the word.
One Christmas, when our family had tried to hold everyone together and act with a bit of the holiday spirit (as if that would lighten our mood), we were almost caught.
There had been nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Dad was putting up decorations everywhere, helped by Ginny, and wherever we went they'd probably find us. Mum was in the kitchen, cooking a large amount of food that no one would probably be able to finish; war often makes you lose your appetite. Bill and Charlie were over, lounging in their rooms, probably too uptight to come downstairs. Ron, Harry and Hermione were god knows where. Probably in Ron's room but we couldn't be too sure. Our room could hardly grant us the privacy we needed…
The only place had been the living room. I don't remember which one of us came up with the crazy idea of going behind the Christmas tree, but I hope it wasn't me. I can't imagine myself being that stupid.
That's what we did, anyway, and when it fell over we went right with it. George was on top of me, breathing heavily. When Mum and Ginny rushed in we made it out to be just another of our pranks, laughed when Mum started shouting.
That was the first time I doubted my long time belief that they knew nothing about what was going on between us. Of course I caught the look Hermione gave us when she saw our rumpled clothes, swollen, bruised lips, our ruffled hair.
Hermione. That was her last Christmas. Tortured to death by the enemy...
I told him we had to break it off. Neither of us wanted it in the first place, but it was one of the only things we had left. We only really had each other. The most time we managed apart was a few days, and that was difficult enough.
When we got back together, I was happy. Happy to snog my twin, my brother? Sick. Happy that I had someone when everyone was dying? Selfish. Happy that I could go on like this forever, disregarding everything else just for one touch of his lips, one look… Stupid.
Years later, the war was over, peace was finally brought to the land, evil had been eradicated, people could get their lives back on track…blah, blah, blah. Did they really think the conflict would ever truly end? Maybe Voldemort was gone, but somehow I don't see the issue disappearing at all, it will always be there and the loss this generation feels will never go.
We were able to re-open our shop, go back to living in our tiny flat with only one bedroom… Able to cowardly hide behind our jokes and laughter again. It made things easier, but never better. We were still… together. It haunted me, appalled the both of us, but we couldn't stop it. We were bound tightly and neither of us could untie the knot we'd created.
Customers would pour into the room, their eyes roving over the many products adorning the shelves, children enthralled by the endless possibilities, parents glancing disapprovingly around. We didn't show our affection for each other, the smiles on our faces did not portray our real selves, the chaos of our lives. No one saw the way I'd casually slip his hand into mine, or how we'd disappear to the back of the shop even when it was full and a long line stretched in front of the counter.
Some days it grew too much and we'd walk out, hand in hand, sitting at the bar of The Leaky Cauldron and toasting 'to us'. People turned a blind eye, the other cheek. They didn't want to accept the truth. Neither did we.
We've always hated rules, loved to break them, and I still do. There was one rule between us, however, and that one rule was never broken. The Forbidden word was never uttered by either me or him. It would make it all too real. The wrong we were doing, the way I couldn't help but stare at him and wonder what it would be like to be his. To tell the whole world about us, to shout it out loud and clear. They could never ignore it then, could they? It infuriated me, how we couldn't be together like a normal couple. But we weren't a normal couple, and that infuriated me more.
Saying the word, embracing even more taboos, would be acknowledging the wrongs we were committing. We would rather stay under the delusion that had held fast since it began, until we could hardly tell the truth from the false. But the truth was still there, a terrible contrast to the beauty of our relationship; tainted perfection.
Finally we heard the Forbidden word spat by someone who dared say it to our face. We got more involved than ever before, there was an intensity between us that was previously unmatched. You could feel the tension in the air. Our kisses became even more urgent, our… love making becoming even more frantic.
Now that it had been said, we had to admit to ourselves what we felt. Revulsion. Deep in our hearts and minds we loathed each other for what we were doing.
We never voiced it, but we knew exactly why we'd become further caught up with each other. It was final. We couldn't continue this, not with the world watching, not with the truth now laid so bare.
I left him. I left the pain, the suffering, right with him. He was the cause of it, so I left him. I moved far away, where no one had ever heard of the Weasley family, no one knew me there. I had a new life.
Ron was the last person in our family I saw before I went. He told me not to leave, said it would break Mum's heart. Ever since Dad and Ginny were murdered she's been confined to the house and her memories. I doubt she'd even notice if everyone left her to her melancholy.
At first, me and Ron managed to keep in touch. He begged me to return, said Mum was even worse, but from what I heard, I doubt he'd really know. He was too busy shagging Harry fucking Potter to notice. I guess I'm not the only messed up one of the family.
Now we don't talk. I have no connections with my old life. I've found a girl, settled down…I'm living my mother's dream and existing in a nightmare.
Whenever she and I kiss, I close my eyes and imagine it's him. His kisses were wonderful and they sent shivers down my spine and clouded my brain like hers never will.
When he and I kissed, we always kept our eyes open, locked in furious battle as we both tried to control our emotions, which would have been visible only to the other. We've known each other our whole lives and are unable to hide anything from each other. I could tell he felt the same disgusted delight as I did whenever we kissed and I could feel him trembling as he fought the urge to pull me closer or push me away.
In one word, our feelings were juxtaposed. Two extremes together.
I don't love her; I can't love anyone else but George. Yes, that's what it was. Love.
I think she realises that I can't love her, too. She doesn't mention it though, not anymore. Once, in the aftermath, she asked me if I loved her. When I remained silent she sighed and told me everyone has insecurities.
My insecurity is him. Whenever I walk through the streets I still hear that word, it echoes through my mind and I wonder if they know all about it. It will hang over my head forever, just as it will for him. I can still see him now, twisting his fingers nervously before our first kiss. We were so young. His hair always hung over his face and sparkling blue eyes that I loved and hated so much… I'm so tempted just to go back to him and take him in my arms and despise and adore every moment of it but every time I think that I force myself to whisper the word and the urge vanishes instantly.
Some hearts are meant to ache, some love is meant to break.