Every day it's the same: by the time the birds begin their morning symphony (or cacophony, depending on how you look at it) he is putting on his shoes, and by the time the sky is blushing pink he is halfway over the hill, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. He gets to the top and sits, staring out over the village. Sometimes he sits for an hour, sometimes three, but he never moves.
I know this because I watch. I watch because I cannot sleep. And I cannot sleep because I watch. Sometimes I wish he would do something different: continue walking into town, perhaps, or to a different hill. And yet, I can't help but think that if he did, my world would dissolve. Nothing so melodramatic as shattering, but simply melting into nonexistence. As long as he walks and sits, I have faith that the sun has risen once again. I haven't always believed that, you know.
One day I go out after him. By the time I reach the top, I am out of breath, and he hears me and moves his arm in a gesture inviting me to sit next to him. I do, and he holds me against his chest. It is a tighter embrace than I was expecting, but that makes it no less precious. We are silent for hours, watching the clouds show up as purple offsets to the rose of the horizon until he shifts his weight to stand up.
"Tomorrow?" he grunts. I nod. He nods back and shuffles off towards the house.
This becomes our new routine. At first it is the same, but then we begin adding small gestures and formalities which, once began, become the norm: he would pat the ground next to him before I sat; I would bring him toast when I came; he would kiss my temple as he left, until it became a rather elaborate morning ritual.
Once I find him weeping, and though he shakes jerkily, he performs our little ceremony as dutifully as ever. I squeeze his fingers and feel his tears hot on the back of my neck as I fight back my own.
The next day, in place of the customary parting kiss on the temple, he turns my chin towards him with his finger and crushes his lips to mine. He traces my jaw with his index finger and I find my shy smile mirrored in his face.
In a sense, the sun rises and sets, but really it's just a continuous turn of the earth on its axis; it's a circle, not a wave. Circles don't end, you know.
The next day I am woken by a sharp rap on my door. He is standing there, his shoulders hunched as usual. He scratches the back of his neck nervously as he says, "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the pond today instead?"
A/N: JKR owns it all. This is another one that was written really quickly and ever since has just been sitting on my computer. Please review :-)