"Life isn't as beautiful as it is in story's Sirius." He sounded sincere as though he believed that nothing of daydreams existed, that he held no room for idle fantasy lands and far away countries.
"Why can't it be?" I'm sat next to him with my hand hovering next to his, this is as close as I'll get this evening.
"Because, life's not fictional images and characters of someone else's imagination."
"You don't know that, we could be nothing more than an idle wondering of some ones daydreams." He gives me a look of amazement, as if he doesn't expect me to think like this, I suppose he's right it is a rather childish thought. "Why do you read then, if you don't think that any of it is possible?" There's a more important question I want to ask, but I need the basing for it first.
"Escapism, and I never said that none of it is possible, just a large majority, usually the beauty isn't real, horrors seemed to hold more truth." I can almost hear his thoughts add; 'like me'.
"I can see beauty and I'm pretty sure it's real." I don't look anywhere else apart from those burning amber eyes; they glow like the dieing flames of a fire. He flushes and I fight hard to beat the smirk off my face. He hates that smirk.
"Cheesy." He smiles at me and I want to believe it isn't as restrained as every other movement he seems to be making this evening.
"You're just pessimistic you know that?" There's a slow shake to his head, almost like he' giving in.
"No, you just don't see the bad things. Story books are dreams written down; novels are wishes and nightmares combined… Reality doesn't come in to it. That's why life isn't as beautiful as story books because you can't find reality in splendour." It isn't true. There's more to it than that. I find it impossible to accept that someone of his knowledge, someone who rarely lets his nose leave the crevasses of a book believes this crap he is spewing.
"That has to make you bitter, real bitter, reading something that can never be true. Losing your self in someone else's life because yours sucks?" He looks at me then, direct and pointed. His gaze is sharper than it has been all night; the fire isn't dying out anymore.
"That's… That's beside the point." I hear him swallow loudly and he shifts away from me, it's only a slight movement but the rigid way in which he sits makes everything rock with him.
"Why is it? It has everything to do with it I reckon. People must have seen this beauty to be able to create it. The minds a wonderful thing, it just isn't that clever." His fingers flex it's a slow motion but I watch intrigued. His fingers are long and his nails bitten, I find that curious I have never once seen him chew on his nails; his hands are feminine to say the least.
"You're thinking too much." His lashes rest against his cheek for the longest of moments before he sighs. There's a small frown playing on his features and I reach out to smooth it away. Frowns don't belong on his face he is fair to perfect in imperfection. My stomach twists painfully when he leans in to my touch.
"Your life can be as beautiful as story books Remus, I'll show you."
