Ron Weasley | Mafia

The front door shut with a heavy thud, followed by the sound of Ron’s shoes scraping against the floor.

He looked exhausted.

His tie hung loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his usually neat hair was a mess from him running his hands through it all day. The sharp look he wore when handling family business was gone now, replaced by something softer—something only ever reserved for you.

Ron let out a low sigh the moment he spotted you.

“There you are.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased as he crossed the room toward you, loosening the holster at his side before setting it down on the table like he wanted to forget it existed for one night.

“Today was a nightmare,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

Without another word, he sank down beside you, large hands immediately reaching for yours, grounding himself in your warmth.

“I’ve spent the whole bloody day dealing with idiots,” he said, voice quieter now, exhausted but fond.

He leaned into your shoulder, eyes closing for a second.

“Can we just stay like this tonight?” he murmured. “No calls, no work, no family drama… just you and me.”