A/N: This was done for a drabble challenge on LiveJournal. This prompt was "Hold Me."

He admitted it was hard, at first.

I mean, if anyone had a right to a private life, it was Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived (oh yeah, Chosen One, now) had gone through too much in his short, rushed sixteen years of life for anyone to expect otherwise.

Savior of the wizarding world or no, Harry was a teenage boy. Ron knew this especially. Harry ate twice his weight, was growing up rather nicely, his voice changing, limbs stretching, eyes darkening with each new experience. And he was beginning to see things in a new light, just as Ron himself was. This was no real surprise.

Together, they discovered the wonders of wizarding porn, flipping through magazines he was sure would earn him at least a month's detention if the teachers ever found it under his bed. Together, they worked through the troubles of rushing testosterone. And together, they overcame their mutual fear that their first kisses would be complete and utter blunders.

But discovering girls? Harry managed to do that all on his own.

So yeah, it was hard. It was hard seeing Harry lean in close to Cho Chang the year before, hard to see her using him and see him be completely unaware of this. It was hard seeing Harry struggle and hearing about his worries, so very very hard to listen to that story of Harry's first kiss.

He'd laughed, back then, at the description of it. Looking back, he supposed that he'd laughed just to keep himself from hitting things. Because dammit, it was meant to be together. Everything they did was… together. There was no 'apart'. It was always 'HarryandRon' and now Harry had gone off on his own and who knew what kind of mess he'd get into?

Laughed because, really, it was all so infuriating.

Their breakup had been such a relief for him. It felt nice to have his best friend where he should be – at Ron's side. It was nice to feel the warmth beside him when it got cold, and nice to listen to Harry talk, and nice to be able to have someone to share things with (because Merlin knew Hermione was always so strange about sharing things with him).

It was nice to have Harry back, and perhaps it was a bit selfish, but out of everything in his life, Harry would be the one he'd want at his side when it all went to hell. And not just because of the Chosen One stuff either; it was because Harry, in short, was his best mate. They did everything together. Harry's place was at his side.

That summer was decidedly not the best for them. The impromptu drop-off at the Burrow was possibly one of the happiest he'd had since second year. (Though he must admit, nothing could possibly top kidnapping Harry from that stupid Muggle house.) It was so simple and so good until the attack. It was… He wasn't sure what it was, but whatever it was, it was good. Harry was there and talking to him and they were laughing together and there was no Cho to get between them now. No girl to take him away.

So perhaps it was a bit… overwhelming, the whole Lavender Brown thing. And no, it wasn't a relationship, it was a thing, this stressful, sleepless, restless thing that kept him on edge and nervous and, frankly, at his wit's end. He never did quite understand girls, and Lavender simply proved that point (clingy, crying, smelled like cheap and overused perfume). Ron had been nervous, of course, of what Harry would think. But Harry seemed fine with it; more than fine, actually, like he was genuinely happy that Ron had finally discovered girls (Mum had always called it being a "late bloomer".)

The end of that whole ordeal was too good to properly put into words. Harry took the news as a relief too – "Honestly, I thought you'd let her swallow you up or something. Glad to have you back."

Have him back. It was good to be back. He didn't like being away from Harry, didn't like giving himself over that way to someone he didn't trust, didn't know or want. Harry was always there for him. Harry was his friend, his best mate, his brother and companion. Harry was something more than any girl could ever be. Something… more permanent, he supposed. Harry just was.

And then… then there was that single moment that Harry told him.

In truth, he hadn't been entirely sure what to feel. He always knew that if Harry was going to fall for a girl, it would be Ginny. But then again, Ginny was his little sister, and seeing them together like that (snuggled up close, all warm and soothing and happy) made him…

Sick.

Because Harry was his best mate, and Ginny was his sister, and he wasn't sure why, but it was wrong. Ginny was too tall and too red-haired and too familial for Harry. No, no, no, they couldn't date, they couldn't be together like that, warm and happy.

They just couldn't. It was wrong.

And he consented, that was the worst part. He had to, because Ginny made Harry smile. Harry's smile was something he'd missed seeing, and having it there again was something too good to pass up. It made sense that it was Ginny.

But… no. It was wrong.

Ginny was his sister. Harry was his best friend. Harry was there and attentive and caring and frustrated and broken, and Harry was the single thing in Ron's life that he hadn't had to share with his siblings. He thought that this unspoken agreement between them was solid. To stick together, to be there for each other, to forget about girls and just…

How could Harry violate that? How could he run off with his sister and…

Leave Ron behind?

So happy. So… bloody happy together. So picture-perfect and disgusting and happy. Ron hated it. Hated seeing the two of them together, hated the way Ginny would feed him like a child and the two of them laughing about it, hated the way Ginny's touches lingered on his Harry's skin.

Hated that Harry couldn't see why this was just so very wrong.

It was meant to be together.

HarryandRon.

Together.

He sat and stewed and laughed along with them, pretending, pretending he was okay with it, pretending it wasn't making him ill, pretending that Harry didn't make him want to hit things. He couldn't have fourth year all over again. He couldn't have a long-term argument break out over a spout of jeal—

Not jealousy. How could I be jealous? It's my sister. I spend every day with her, it's not like he's taking her away or anything. It's long time for her to grow up. There's no jealousy there.

But she keeps touching him, keeps touching him and it makes me sick, makes me nauseated and queasy and violent and…

Jealous.

That should be me.

And the revelation hit, with the force of a full-grown mountain troll. He should be in Ginny's place. That should be Ron touching Harry, Ron nuzzling him and feeding him and acting like a child. They'd always done everything together, after all. They'd grown up together, they'd matured, they'd fought and cried and bled and all but died together. Shouldn't this be together too?

It wasn't a matter of petty jealousy, not really. It was simply the fact that Harry was snogging the wrong Weasley.

He thought it over in his head a million times. It made even more sense than Harry falling for Ginny, really. After all, they were so in-pocket, finished one another's sentences, made promises, laughed, shared pornography habits at three in the morning. Pretended to study when really, they were just catching their breath after a fit of laughter over Hermione's book of Lockhart pictures. Leaned close enough to touch foreheads during breakfast as they gossiped about Snape. Fought Trolls, saved first years from near-death, foiled evil plans.

It made so much sense to him now, that he would be in love with Harry. It didn't even freak him out. Well, except for the fact that Harry was a bloke, and Harry fancied girls, and Harry was busy saving the world from You-Know-Who, and Harry really only thought of them as friends, as brothers, because that's all they were, in the long run.

How would he even go about explaining something like that to someone like Harry? He'd be seen as another twittering idiot. Everyone fell for Harry at one point or another. Rather, they fell for the Chosen One. But it was so much more than that. It was the glasses and the curve of his nose and the light in his eyes. It was the way he laughed and the way he talked and the way his shoes scuffed the ground when he walked.

It was everything else in addition to the Savior thing. Ron loved everything about Harry. That had always been the way it was.

So when Harry and Ginny parted ways, Ron told himself that it was for the best. And in a moment of sheer stupidity and some Gryffindor bravery he didn't know he had, he got Harry in a moment alone… and told him.

"I love you," he said.

Harry blinked at him, a flash of bright green in the afternoon light, and said, "I love you too."

"No," Ron tried to clarify. "I mean… I mean I…"

"I mean, too," Harry reassured him with one of his stunning smiles, and reached out for Ron like he had many times in the past, took Ron's face in his warm warm hands, and brought him forward into a kiss.

It was different, somehow, from kissing Lavender. Lavender was all tongue and spit and forceful approach, while Harry was soft and inviting and how a kiss should be. For a few moments, Ron couldn't remember his own name. Only that this was the way it was meant to be.

The two of them, facing down the perils of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the troubles of puberty and the complete and wonderful sensation of a first kiss.

He held on as long as he could, because anything that came after could never be as perfect as this. For this one single moment, he didn't have to share. For this one moment, they could be how they were meant to be: together.