Sometimes, George talked to him. Sometimes, when he was alone and stressed or upset or even just bored, George would quietly mumble as though having one-sided, imaginary conversations with him, pausing after every sentence as if listening to Fred's responses that only he could hear.

"Fred," he would start, "You would not BELIEVE the trolls I had to deal with at the store today."

He would laugh at his jokes. He would argue with him. Sometimes when the conversations were over he would just stare at empty space with a small smile on his face.

And sometimes, as Fred watched him, he would answer back. He knew George couldn't see him nor hear him, but sometimes he would fill in the pauses. Every time their responses would coincide, every time his answer was spot on, it felt like a tiny victory. If George manages to finish his sentence for him, it's a big one.

But every time he makes a wrong turn, every time the timing wasn't right or the conversation becomes incoherent, Fred would feel a chill down his spine, his pulse would bound in his ears. Desperation would wash over him; it's like he was losing George, the way George had lost him. Fred needed his brother, he needed that connection. He had no idea how George could manage being so... disconnected.

Fred enjoyed, no, cherished his conversations with George. He knew it would only be a matter of time before they would stop happening completely.

"Fred."

"What is it now?" He was only pretending to be exasperated.

"Only one more week 'til the wife gives birth."

"Oh. Um. I don't know what t-"

"Yes of course I'm excited, who wouldn't be?" Wrong response.

"I'm gonna be a dad! Can you imagine, mate?"

Fred couldn't. He didn't know what to fill the pauses in with.

"You know what we're going to name him? 'Course you do."

Fred smiled sadly as they said it together, "Fred."

It was Fred II's fourth birthday. George watched across the living room as his wife handed out cake slices to a bunch of rowdy toddlers who ate them with their hands and got the sticky marshmallow icing all over the front of their shirts. He laughed at the sight of his son with white gunk stuck in his flaming hair, with just the teeniest inkling of pity for Angelina who would struggle to wash it off later.

Fred watched as a tiny wrinkle formed on his twin's forehead.

"Fred," he whispered, "Sometimes I don't know what you would say anymore."

The familiar chill ran down Fred's back, and he felt the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Th-that's alright, mate," he choked. "That's great. I'm happy for you...y-you have a great life."

But his brother couldn't have heard his reply as he had already crossed the room to join his beautiful family. Fred may still be a teenager, but he had forgotten George had already become a man.

From then on, when Fred hears George say his name, he knew it wasn't him his twin was talking to. And it took time, but eventually Fred became okay with that.

He would just have to wait, then. It might be a long wait, but he could do that.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my very first ffnet fic, hope it made your heart hurt as mine does every time i think of these two! :'( Comments/critiques welcome