Harry had been curled up on the couch in the living room, trying to concentrate on that day's reading for Auror training. He wasn't having much success, because he couldn't stop thinking about Ron, and what he might be up to. The last week had been miserable, he hated fighting wiht Ron. Not that they were fighting, exactly, but he knew Ron wasn't happy with him and he knew it had to do with the kiss. What he couldn't figure out was what Ron's problem was.
Ron had said that he loved him, that he never wanted to lose him. Harry had thought he'd meant romantically. But maybe all Ron had meant was that Harry was his best friend. Or maybe it had been his fault. He wasn't very experienced with kissing, and Ron had become very experienced over the last month. He was probably will Williamson or someone else now. The thought had Harry growing angry. The least Ron owed him was an explanation that he just wanted to be friends.
So when Ron stumbled drunk through the Floo and collapsed on the carpet by Harry's feet, Harry wasn't inclined to be generous.
"You're such a fucking arse, Ron Weasley," he shouted, standing up and toeing Ron none-too-gently. "Get up and get sober, because I'm not going to hit a drunk man."