A/N: Revised. Re-written. I should be doing my English homework.

The day you slipped away,
Was the day, I found out it won't be the same.

May 2, 1998.

They had only been twenty, already risking their lives to fight a war they were born into. Fred and George hadn't left each others' sides the whole war, but the one time they had gotten separated, the motherfucking wall collapsed. All because of Rookwood.

George Fabian Weasley looked down at the tomb that currently had his best friend and twin brother laying in it. His mouth was still turned upward into a smile, his hair brushed neatly; every ginger hair in place. He was put in a muggle suit, the black tie perfectly tied and set.

Percy gripped his shoulder as tears fell fast down each of their faces. Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Arthur grabbed the corners of the casket, and slowly lowered him into the ground. Molly gave out a loud cry and Fleur rubbed her arm soothingly, tears falling down her face as well. Ginny was holding tightly on to Harry's neck.

Fred and him had never actually said 'I love you' to one another. Yes, they knew they both loved each other brotherly, but neither of them ever said it out loud.

He regretted it more in that moment than anything else.

After the dirt had covered the casket, Harry suggested everyone go inside The Burrow and get something to drink and eat. People followed slowly, each showing their own way of remorse. George stayed about ten minutes after, before Apparating into his bedroom, and crumpling to the floor in tears.

Why can't it be some big prank?

It had taken a week before his funeral, and every day he walked down the stairs, slowly, as if questioning if he should dare step foot in the kitchen with his family, Hermione would smile and tell him simply, "He's having fun."

"I miss you, Gred."