Blabla: I feel like all of this angst I'm writing is getting the best of me, damn.
He could somehow feel Sirius' smile wash over him, his lips pursed in a relaxed line, and yellow lights filtered through the dusty curtains, little dots of colour splattered all over the dark shades of the walls.
Remus could hear the distinct sound of the rain, outside, the distinct touch of the chilly wind he'd grown used to, and felt the shadows progress up in the sky, masking the grey clouds; it wouldn't be long until nightfall, until his bones would grow cold with the dampness swirling in the air.
He remembered Kingsley say, "you don't look well," and, "you should sleep," but he couldn't just go to bed and sleep it all away. It wouldn't change anything: Sirius' body wouldn't press against his back during the night, and Sirius would still be dead when he would wake up.
Nothing would ever be the same, and he knew it.
Remus drew the curtain back and let his figure fall on his chair; dropping his wand on the old, wooden table, his face fell into his open hands.