chapter one
He was just about to greet them with the usual tiredness on his face when his wife, his Hermione, mentioned about the stuff.
He was completely clueless about the thing which was about to happen when he listened to her words while lowering himself down the couch, earning the little break he deserves after a long day he had. He let his guard down, and he guess, if don't want to say he realizes, that it is the reason why her words sank fast and effectively into his mind with a speed that made him dizzy.
" i'm leaving you, Ron. "
Those are her words. Just a couple of meaningless noises brought together by the love of his life, knowing so well that his unintelligent mind can't comprehend what called implying or anything that don't come to the point directly.
She knows him. She always does.
It's sweet and sad at the same time, how she could be so caring, so loving to remember the way his mind functions to chose the words that would not create misunderstandings, yet chose those that would hurt the most.
It's bittery, the taste he felt when he sit so dumbfoundedly on the couch, muscles tense from the late-visiting relazation, eyes stare at her face in disbelief.
She chosed the most effective way to voice out her wants.
And she wants to leave him.
Ah, how much he want this to be just another nightmare he had to face everynight, or the enemies he fights everyday on a daily basis, or some trashy-content of the fake news, something that nobody will believe, not to mention take into heart. Merlin, he wants it so bad, craves the salvation so bad. He couldn't end like this.
Not like this. Not without her.
He carefully takes into heart the content of her words, quickly, raise his head up to look at her, to have the knowledge of something he wish he could never learn, he did with a wish that he wouldn't miss any signs, any warnings about situation like this, anymore. Though he guess there won't be a 'next time'.
She wants to leave him. He thought, letting the words of her reach deeper and deeper, weighting on his heart, sinking the poor thing down to a valley with no end.
It was such a want. The want what had made him stunned, bewildered and shocked at the same time. The want he wish he could unheard. The want he wish it never exists.
It happened follow an arrangement, how he came through all those feeling in a brief time, with the speed and the depth that he could never imagine any curse could win over.
He didn't really get what was happening, didn't aware of the concerning signals that was presented by wrinkles on her face and the red, pluffy eyes staring at him which filled with uncomprehensible emotions, and even after her words were all spoken, he was thinking whether he should took a bath first to clean off the filthy dirt on his body or reassured his aching empty stomach by eating dinner first.
He practically was just thinking of himself when the thing happened, violently bent his concentrations to another direction, and that was when his eyes found hers, and his heart - which missed a beat - catched up with the sudden wave of panic and nausea.
That was the signals he missed. And there won't be a 'next time' for it. " 'mione- "
He called out, voice dreamy, like a dream which only nightmare exists, desparatedly searching for the familar curve of the smile she always had on her face whenever someone fooled by her joke. But he found nothing.
Nothing.
He couldn't find anything to convince himself to believe that this is just another jokes she wants to pull out. He couldn't find any evidence to ignore her wants. Not now, not anymore. She voiced it out, and he can no longer avoids it.
Instead, he found a pair of pluffy eyes, and he found out why she looks rather strange this evening.
It was because of her wrinkles.
He had spent years looking at her, observing the changes of her biology body, gotten used to witnessing the way her skin went from silky smooth to another sensation of familarities - good way to recalling him of the unbelievable amount of times that they had spent together, and of course, no strange in counting the increasing number of wrinkles on her face.
He used to seeing it as good signals, lightening up her gorgeous features - though she had agrued against him that they are not, he feel like they do anyways - with joy and happiness that he was once craving to be the deliver.
But this time it was different, they were different. None of the number, or degree, or position of the wrinkles on her face gives him a sign of relief.
They were all placed wrong. He can feel that. Because Hermione, his mione, love of his life, isn't smile, like he used to, like he wanted her to, His mione, his four-year-wife and life-mate, is staring at him, with the curve of her mouth goes down, with the look that he has only seen in the past when they were facing with the cruel fate of defeating Voldemort, with the emotion he wished he could never bring to her: Grief.
He felt scared.
Because she didn't let him address her, didn't let him finish his sentence, didn't let him have the chance to process the shocking news she gave- she thwarted his attempts to save the situations with her words, a way that he was so so familar with, a way that she had used all her life, and old habits that he used to hate, now bring him fear.
" No, ron- no, .... i ... i can't go on like this, i can't, ron ... i don't- i can't stay here, ron ... i don't want to hate you no more .... "
Her voice, it's broke, it's hoase, sharky and trembling with the way her whole body was, with the way that made he wants to come and brush it all down by a warm embrace. But he just couldn't.
Neither bring himself up the couch, nor bring himself to face her. He couldn't.
It shouldn't have been this way, It shouldn't have gone like this. He thought, eyes still lingering on that pair of dark brown eyes he maddeningly fall in love with. They were supposed to live a happy life, they were supposed to be the happiest couple after the lost of Voldemort. They were meant to be together.
Something just can't seem to shake out of his head.
Those thoughts, arise again from the depth he never dares to reach.
He knew this was gonna happened, didn't he? He knew this all along. From the begining of the moment they met, then the time when they were together, even at the day they were getting married, during the nightmares he had that only her could comfort him- that she hated him.
But hearing such truth from her mouth is another story.
It hurts, much more than he thought, beyon the level that words can describe, cause he didn't think he remember how to breathe at that moment, though he did. He just never thought words can hurt this much, can hurt him this much.
Did he do anything wrong? Did he do anything right? He thought, staring at her with his eyes widened, with his mouth opened just to let out inaudible plead, and with the great amount of unbelief that he never thought he would have to had again after attacks from the enemies from work.
Maybe this was all a bad dream, he prays, maybe this was all a nightmare that he has to woke up from, that he has to open his eyes and searching blindly in the dark for his comforting provider- but the pain was so real, and the grief that formed by her wrinkles was too realistic to be fake.
And he found himself unable to face this reality.