Getting Better
"Remus?"
"Hmm?" Remus continued idly to stroke along Ron's side, admiring freckles and a firm, pale arse.
"Does it ever get better?" He sounded scared, more like a child looking for reassurance than the confident lover he had been just moments before.
Remus knew instantly what he meant and was harshly reminded of how well his lover managed to convince Remus that he was whole and well, and in control. Remus wished for Ron, for himself, for their relationship, that Ron needed merely to worry about whatever it was a boy in his early twenties worried about. Not that Remus knew what that would be; when he was Ron's age he had already spent what felt like a lifetime as a so-called Dark creature, he had lost two of his best friends and been betrayed by the other.
No, Ron wasn't whole and well and in control, however well he managed to conceal that fact most of the time. It was usually Ron's eyes that betrayed him; they often lost their sparkle, even while he was still smiling broadly.
Remus sighed. "I suppose you get better at dealing with it over time." There wasn't any use in lying to him. Ron wouldn't believe him if he did. Remus could well imagine how acutely Ron felt the pain at that moment, a pain that Remus knew all too well.
There was nothing he could do but remind Ron that there were other things apart from the hurt and the unfairness and the unbearable weight of his losses.
Remus's hand stroked along Ron's side, firmly, reassuringly. "It will get better."