Being a twin, Fred was always a little grateful for the few things in his world that belonged only to him. The subtle differences that, to everyone else, went entirely unnoticed.
There were the little things, like the way George smelled of autumn. Fred had always envied and, if he was honest with himself, lusted over the way George smelled like dry, burnt leaves and apple cider. Sometimes, in their little room at the Burrow, Fred would even feign nightmares to sleep with his twin, curled up against him, burying his nose in the crook of his brother's neck to breathe in that comforting scent.
And then there were the larger things. The instances that he feared were becoming increasingly obvious to the rest of the world, including George. The gazes between them he held a little too long, and the furtive glances across desks during class, only to see his doppelganger staring back at him, with a look of confused amusement on his face.
And finally, there were the things he couldn't quite describe. Both too large and too small in size to be categorized. Like the way he loved his brother in a slightly less than brotherly way, and the way he longed to clamber into bed with him, eyes clouded with lust and prove just how much he loved him.
Fred Weasley was never one to be ungrateful for these things.
But he'd always wish that George would notice.
I hadn't read any Fred/George in a long time, and this was just lovely. The description of how George smells of autumn seems oddly appropriate--because of his red hair, maybe? I hope Fred's affection isn't unrequited for long. :)