chapter five
The job brought him the sense of normalcy he never knew he needed. It wasn't the kind of exhaustion he felt everyday when he came back to the apartment just to collapse on the couch, ignoring his wife's ask for a helping hand with the dinner or when two of his children ask him to play with them, it wasn't exactly the unpleasant kind of tiredness, more like a much-needed mind-relaxing pile of exercises that free him from his mental cage. Even the paperwork and small chitchats seem so much better than being left alone with the mind of his own, and the silence start to gets too loud for his like.
At about 6 in the afternoon, his shifts ends. Usually, unless there's an emergency call for some certain cases which his presence is required, he would often call it a day when the clock announces the time. Today's no different. Packing his things up and ready to leave, he caught the glimpse of himself in the frame placed nicely on the desk. There's a picture of his family in it. Well, former-family. He remember taking it with Hermione and the two of his children in a rare day that the two of them don't go to work.
In a almost gentle way, he reached out to touch the wooden frame. The cool sensation of the frame felt a bit strange at the tip of his fingers when he pick it up and use the heels of his palm to wipe the slightly dusted glass, reveal the evidence of happiness he once had the luck to accompanied. His finger rested on the carved details of the frame, while his eyes stayed on the sight of love.
It sooth his heart. It always had. There are big smiles on every face of them. Hermione with Rose in her hand, a polite little curve drew on her face, the big grin of his daughter, standing beside him with Hugo on his back, all smiling at the camera. At the second, he silently relieved that they didn't had the picture developed with the developing solution. He wouldn't know what he'd do, seeing the happy family in the picture comes alive. The majority of his mind would be under the impression of him throwing the picture away, for its constant reminder of what he'd lost, but a part of him agree on keeping it as the last piece of memory he can cling on while mourning over his grievous life.
It was pathetic. He knows. But what can he do? He wasn't left with much choice, now all that he once had slipped away from his hands like sands.
Letting out a small sigh, he set the picture back its place, before picking up his back and when for the door. It's time to go back, back to where his silent " i'm home " responded with another dreaded silence. It was on himself, after all.
+++
Turning on the light with a quick luminous, he went straight to the balcony, bringing his phone within. Now that they're in the developing period, the contact methods was, much to his delight, promoted into something that proved convenience than ever. Still, for someone whose life dedicated to the owl-delivering way of keeping in touch, he has gotten a great while trying not to freak out at the buzz of the box-shaped thingy in his bag. Back when the phone had just come into the witches' life, when his DMs were full with texts. Now, there were only some of the accounts that shine when he visit the contact list, and even fewer calls he'd received. Much of the time, they were from Harry and 'mione, or his family's when he forgot some gather-up occasion, which he usually do given the amount of work he had as an internship Auror.
Elbows rest on the railing, he lean forwards a bit, standing in a comfortable position that allows his back to relax. He opened the phone to a familiar announcement of his friend's call, Harry's. Slide the accept icon, he brought the phone up to his ear, let his gaze wanders to the sight from above while waiting to hear the reason of this call.
" Hey, Ron "
His friend's greeting are still benign as ever. No formality needed, they've known each other long enough to drop that phase, or more correctly, they never had that from the very start, just came straight to the first-name basis right when they first met. And they keep it till now.
" hey, Harry, how's it going? " He answered, focus on the sight of the empty street in the back alley of his apartment. Trash cans placed side by side against the wall, along with a street lamp to keep the vision. He usually doesn't go there, finishing his meals at the ministry and little needs for necessities means he don't have much of a waste to throw away. He usually just bring the empty toothpaste, which made up the most percent of his garbage, within to buy a new one before throwing the old one to the bin he come across on the way home.
" great. Crime rate's reduced, not much work that i was given other than paperwork, though reports can be boring sometime. That's quite a thing, y'know, peace. Don't have to fight against death eaters or criminals. Figured out i enjoyed this kind of life. "
Harry's words draw a subtle smile on his face. Shaking his head although he knows Harry can't see it, he respond with the quiet laugh.
" yeah, we already known that the golden child has a secret kink for stability, don't have to remind me of that every time we call, yeah? " He can't help a friendly tease towards his friend, waiting for the snarky remarks he'd get back from pulling the joke on him, and predictably, he'd be able to hear that pretending protest followed right after his words. " oh fuck off. It's not a kink. I was just feeling comfortable with the fact that we don't have to worry so much about the criminal and everything. And don't deny, i know you secretly enjoy this too, sir Ronald Bilius Weasley. "
" oh, spare me! "
Laughter came easy with the flow of the conversation, and honestly, he should feel ashamed for having his friend as the source of happiness and cling on every little jokes to lighten up his mood. However, maybe it's because of the extra amount of caffeine he got from having consumed over four cups of plain black coffee, or maybe he's felling a bit bold, he decided to address the problem right away. And the problem, as you can imagine, is concerns about his well-being.
" Calling to check up on me, Harry? "
Gazing at the street lamp, he cut the comfortable silence with a rather stating-truth-ing more than questioning tone, absentmindedly rubbing on the little scars he had on his fingertips, both from works and chores. Tiny, sparsely spread white marks that slightly bulge from his calloused skin he had a bit later when he joined the aurors and start picking up the habits of throwing himself in harm's way no matter who's the one he tries to cover, well, just a worsen situation from the heroic mindset he was born with. He never make the scars fade, surprisingly, and had asked the medics not to have them removed, as he has this little relationship with anxiety that he found rubbing the scars help a lot.
" .... You know we worried about you. " Harry words come with a soft sigh, just a bit after the silence Ron created. He can practically feel the concerns rubbing onto his ears just from how his friend phrased the sentence, how the subject used was 'we' but not 'i', how the word 'you' comes out quieter than a whisper, yet loud enough to make him frown. Biting back a scoff, he tried to appear at ease, just so he can fool his friend into being reassured about his well-being, which he is sure, from the way his friend sounds, the only thing they can't be assured about.
" come on, mate, i'm fine, you know it. I come to work everyday, yeah? Talking to people, sorting the paperwork, going on missions, what part of me made you worry? "
" It's not about how you, function, " He can hear his friend inhales from the other side, mostly from frustration and self-control not to start a debate with him, which means Harry's approached with the idea of having this talk in peace, and try to de-escalate the situation, " It's about you, your health, your well-being and it doesn't stop at mere physical, ... "
His jaw tensed as he looked away. Even though they're having this conversation through the phone, he still feel as uneasy as they were meeting in person, and from the way he adverted his gaze, you can tell how the situation will go.
" Ron, we worried about your way of coping with this, your mental well-being- "
The call was abruptly cut off with his shaky form curled up on the railing, forehead rest on the cool surface of the phone hold by his trembling fingers. Gritted teeth and furrowed eyebrow, he let himself stay still for a few minutes, trying to calm down.
He was fine.
He is fine.
He just don't want to have this conversation, that's all.