Nightly
Rating: PG just in case, I'm not too good with ratings.
Summary: This is Remus's story of love. It is slash but involves nothing more than kissing, and the rating is just that high because I'm not good at ratings. One-shot fic, I don't care if it sucks because most of the ones I write do. I'm shocked I even finished it. I usually don't finish.
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It had become a nightly ritual.
One of those meaningless things you do every night at a certain time that was usually pointless and stupid, but you'd been doing it so long you just...did it. It was one of those things that you didn't notice you were doing anymore. Pointless. Meaningless.
The problem was that it wasn't meaningless to me. Pointless, yes, but so many things are pointless anyway. Meaningless, it wasn't.
You might be asking what 'it' was. The nightly habit. I would get scared at night. I was fifteen and hated to admit it, but there it was. I reckon if he hadn't been there for me I would have commited suicide long ago. But I had a reason. I still have a reason. Every night, I would wake up, look up, and see the moon. It always seemed to be in a position where I could see it clearly from whatever window I happened to look out of. The wolf in my blood was drawn to it. The human in me kind of was, too.
Every night that I was in the dorm (a few nights out of every month were lonely ones, because of the full moon) I would get up around midnight, go to the bathroom and get a glass of water, and come back. Only when I came back, I would set my glass on his bedside table, prod him lightly to make sure he was awake (he nearly always was) and he would lift the blankets for me to join him. I would lay there in his arms and fall asleep gradually, then wake up at five or so the next morning regardless of the day and go back to my own bed so as to avoid suspicion.
It went on for a long time before I realised why I enjoyed this ritual so much. Why I liked falling asleep in his arms. To him, it was a friendly gesture, not to be thought of as more, and I was a friend, also not to be thought of as more. But I thought of him as more. You see, I was madly in love with him. I was so sure he would have been apalled at the finding of the fact. But I loved him. I didn't care if he didn't love me back. It was enough just to let him think of me as a friend. I fooled myself, and him, for a long time. But he had to find out sooner or later.
Our weekly class, Potions. He and I were paired up (as we usually were; our professor hoped I would strike some sense into him) for a potion that, when drunk by two individuals from the same cup, would allow the first drinker to see the other's dreams of the night. I wasn't sure about taking the potion. Last night I had dreamt about him in a way that would make him recoil and look at me in disgust. Or so I thought.
The potion took five minutes to make, but ten to take effect. This class was only forty-five minutes long, but it would give him time to see the finer points of my dream. I didn't want him to know. But my professor had chosen the worst day to have us make this potion.
"Take yours." he said to me, handing me the goblet he had already taken a sip out of. I raised it to my lips and took a sip. He closed his eyes and let my dream overtake him.
The bell rang and I jumped, then looked at him quickly. He had come out of his trance. He had seen my dream. Now I wondered what he would say about it. And our next period was a free one.
I went back to our dorm. Our other two dorm-mates were never there during free periods, and usually, neither was he. But today, I sensed his presence behind me as I walked. I knew he would be following me. I got back to the dorm and entered, then I went over and sat down on my bed. He entered shortly after I did, and I looked up at him with fear in my eyes. I didn't want to be abandoned.
He sat down on my bed across from me and looked at me for a long time, a calculating, serious look on his face. He didn't speak for a long time, and I found myself wishing he would tell me I was revolting and get it over with. But when he finally spoke, he said, "Why didn't you tell me?"
It was all I could do to keep from crying, and he noticed. When you sleep in the same bed as someone for four years, you get to know when they need to cry or when they need words of comfort. He reached for me and pulled me into his arms and whispered, "It's alright to cry. No one is here to see you but me."
I cried for a long time. When I was finally calmed down enough for him to ask again, he repeated his question. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because I was afraid you would abandon me." I said, "I was okay with being your friend...for a while...then I started having these dreams. I mean, I knew I loved you, but I knew you wouldn't want me to bring anything like that up..."
"Remus." he said, "How often do you listen to what James says?" "Not often." I admitted. "Well, if you had paid a bit more attention, you would have known a long time ago that I had feelings for you. James said he told you on more than one occasion. You just need to stop pretending, Moony. You need to come out of your shell. We accepted you being a werewolf. Why wouldn't we love you even if you loved one of us more than just a friend?"
"I don't know." I said, "You just didn't strike me as the type to be okay with something like this. I had to keep it to myself, at least for a while." "How long did you plan on waiting, Moony? How long were you planning on keeping it from me?" "I don't know." I said again. "But, if you're okay with it...I mean..."
He leaned forward and kissed me. It was the beginning of the relationship that would destroy my life. When I was seventeen, he decided he couldn't be with me anymore, not because he didn't love me, but because he didn't want to be an outcast. So we hid our feelings and lived our lives. He died two nights ago. I once swore to myself that the last thing Sirius would hear before his death would be those three words we all know. But I wasn't there for him that last minute. I stood there struggling against his godson, telling Harry Sirius was gone, and watching my best friend die. My best friend, and the only one I ever loved.
Rating: PG just in case, I'm not too good with ratings.
Summary: This is Remus's story of love. It is slash but involves nothing more than kissing, and the rating is just that high because I'm not good at ratings. One-shot fic, I don't care if it sucks because most of the ones I write do. I'm shocked I even finished it. I usually don't finish.
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It had become a nightly ritual.
One of those meaningless things you do every night at a certain time that was usually pointless and stupid, but you'd been doing it so long you just...did it. It was one of those things that you didn't notice you were doing anymore. Pointless. Meaningless.
The problem was that it wasn't meaningless to me. Pointless, yes, but so many things are pointless anyway. Meaningless, it wasn't.
You might be asking what 'it' was. The nightly habit. I would get scared at night. I was fifteen and hated to admit it, but there it was. I reckon if he hadn't been there for me I would have commited suicide long ago. But I had a reason. I still have a reason. Every night, I would wake up, look up, and see the moon. It always seemed to be in a position where I could see it clearly from whatever window I happened to look out of. The wolf in my blood was drawn to it. The human in me kind of was, too.
Every night that I was in the dorm (a few nights out of every month were lonely ones, because of the full moon) I would get up around midnight, go to the bathroom and get a glass of water, and come back. Only when I came back, I would set my glass on his bedside table, prod him lightly to make sure he was awake (he nearly always was) and he would lift the blankets for me to join him. I would lay there in his arms and fall asleep gradually, then wake up at five or so the next morning regardless of the day and go back to my own bed so as to avoid suspicion.
It went on for a long time before I realised why I enjoyed this ritual so much. Why I liked falling asleep in his arms. To him, it was a friendly gesture, not to be thought of as more, and I was a friend, also not to be thought of as more. But I thought of him as more. You see, I was madly in love with him. I was so sure he would have been apalled at the finding of the fact. But I loved him. I didn't care if he didn't love me back. It was enough just to let him think of me as a friend. I fooled myself, and him, for a long time. But he had to find out sooner or later.
Our weekly class, Potions. He and I were paired up (as we usually were; our professor hoped I would strike some sense into him) for a potion that, when drunk by two individuals from the same cup, would allow the first drinker to see the other's dreams of the night. I wasn't sure about taking the potion. Last night I had dreamt about him in a way that would make him recoil and look at me in disgust. Or so I thought.
The potion took five minutes to make, but ten to take effect. This class was only forty-five minutes long, but it would give him time to see the finer points of my dream. I didn't want him to know. But my professor had chosen the worst day to have us make this potion.
"Take yours." he said to me, handing me the goblet he had already taken a sip out of. I raised it to my lips and took a sip. He closed his eyes and let my dream overtake him.
The bell rang and I jumped, then looked at him quickly. He had come out of his trance. He had seen my dream. Now I wondered what he would say about it. And our next period was a free one.
I went back to our dorm. Our other two dorm-mates were never there during free periods, and usually, neither was he. But today, I sensed his presence behind me as I walked. I knew he would be following me. I got back to the dorm and entered, then I went over and sat down on my bed. He entered shortly after I did, and I looked up at him with fear in my eyes. I didn't want to be abandoned.
He sat down on my bed across from me and looked at me for a long time, a calculating, serious look on his face. He didn't speak for a long time, and I found myself wishing he would tell me I was revolting and get it over with. But when he finally spoke, he said, "Why didn't you tell me?"
It was all I could do to keep from crying, and he noticed. When you sleep in the same bed as someone for four years, you get to know when they need to cry or when they need words of comfort. He reached for me and pulled me into his arms and whispered, "It's alright to cry. No one is here to see you but me."
I cried for a long time. When I was finally calmed down enough for him to ask again, he repeated his question. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because I was afraid you would abandon me." I said, "I was okay with being your friend...for a while...then I started having these dreams. I mean, I knew I loved you, but I knew you wouldn't want me to bring anything like that up..."
"Remus." he said, "How often do you listen to what James says?" "Not often." I admitted. "Well, if you had paid a bit more attention, you would have known a long time ago that I had feelings for you. James said he told you on more than one occasion. You just need to stop pretending, Moony. You need to come out of your shell. We accepted you being a werewolf. Why wouldn't we love you even if you loved one of us more than just a friend?"
"I don't know." I said, "You just didn't strike me as the type to be okay with something like this. I had to keep it to myself, at least for a while." "How long did you plan on waiting, Moony? How long were you planning on keeping it from me?" "I don't know." I said again. "But, if you're okay with it...I mean..."
He leaned forward and kissed me. It was the beginning of the relationship that would destroy my life. When I was seventeen, he decided he couldn't be with me anymore, not because he didn't love me, but because he didn't want to be an outcast. So we hid our feelings and lived our lives. He died two nights ago. I once swore to myself that the last thing Sirius would hear before his death would be those three words we all know. But I wasn't there for him that last minute. I stood there struggling against his godson, telling Harry Sirius was gone, and watching my best friend die. My best friend, and the only one I ever loved.