AN: Sirius/Remus angsty drabble, for the 101 kisses challenge #67 'night never stays.' I had just finished re-reading the fifth book before I wrote this, and I was in a very depressed mood. But then again, who wouldn't be? It always makes me want to cry :(
So, go read now (or go read it here, which would please me to no end www. shipmypirate. com?pageid37 ) -- just remove the spaces because is messed up.
Disclaimer: Not mine, please dunt sue, yah?
(Nissie: If you're reading this and wondering why I didn't force you to beta it, it's because I've decided I'm only going to bother you with the longer stuff XD)
He sees him, at night, as he lays in bed. He sees dark shadows of lanky black hair and pale, moonlight breaths of an expanse of barely there skin. He sees at night like he cannot see in the daylight; he sees with eyes that are closed, eyelashes spiked together, blond hair stuck to his face.
He feels cool hands breeze over his too thin face and soothe the warm, salty tears that trail lazily down his cheeks. He feels a warm body pressing in the bed next to him and he feels every creak and groan of the mattress as he lays silent, unmoving, alone.
He can smell the spicy, tingling aroma that hasn't been there for three months. He can smell it on his pillow and on his sheets, though they've been washed and scrubbed and very nearly burned so many times. There is a scent that is so familiar and so far away, but he can smell it in his room and it wafts through his memories, resurfacing and clinging.
There is a taste in his mouth that is not the mint toothpaste he had used before bed. It lingers after he swallows and haunts him every time he licks his painfully chapped lips. It is not the blood seeping from the cracked skin, it is sweet and tempting.
There is a whispering in his ear, though the window is closed. It tickles and makes his skin prickle eerily, and he's not sure if he very much likes it or can barely stand it. He can hear the voice that isn't there purring softly,warming his mind that is so very, very numb.
He loves it, God how he loves it. He can feel Sirius and taste Sirius and smell him. He can hear those whispers and see his body and those glowing, fierce slate eyes. Sirius is there. He is there, right next to Remus and Remus will not let him go. Never, not ever. He will hang on for dear life, or death, or whatever anyone wants to call it. And whatever anyone says, Sirius is there.
Remus wakes the next morning, he always does, wishing he wouldn't, couldn't, didn't have to. He wakes up, clutching blindly next to him, short nails clawing hopelessly at the cold sheets beside his shivering body. Where is Sirius? It's Saturday, and Padfoot loathes waking up on weekends. He sleeps as long as he can and only wakes up when Remus threatens to throw away the already cold breakfast and not to make lunch.
Sirius is not there because Sirius is dead and those nights of madness that Remus both fears and longs for never stay. Summer is drawing to an end now, the nights are getting longer. Remus can live in madness for a little longer every night, feel those kisses that aren't there for a few more moments. But it's a little bit colder every time he wakes up, and when he goes back to sleep that smell is a little more faint and those whispers are a little farther away. Twice now, he has lost him. Sirius has fallen.
AN: Review now? Pwetty pwease? (or you can go review here www. shipmypirate. com?pageid37) -- no spaces