Bill/Fleur
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Bill cannot sleep well once a month, twice sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights; he can't find comfort in his own bed.
The heat of the bedroom increases, thick drops of sweat run down his bare chest. He moves around his side of the bed trying to find a position that'll help him fool at least for an hour the symptoms that are provoking his insomnia. Suddenly he's short of breath, and within minutes his sweat turns cold.
He feels a dense, suffocating vapor taking over him, beginning at the bottom of his thorax, rising brutally up his chest and traveling all the way towards his throat. It's a process, by now, but he still cannot sleep each time he has to suffer it.
He takes one hand towards his face and feels the healed, yet deep cuts burning his skin as his fingers touch them. The temperature of the room increases again, to him only, and he starts feeling as desperate as always, he still cannot get used to this.
Bill knows what to do. One night a month he fights it until it gets the best of him, he never wins, for the anxiety and the heat always beat him. As always, Bill gets out of bed and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs and out of the cottage. He sits in the same spot as he did last month and contemplates the silver, platter moon and its wide reflection on the sea.
The wind stroking his skin, the grass beneath his feet and body, and the priceless view of the moon painted on the sea are enough to lower his anxiety, at least a little. He never goes back inside on those nights until the moon hides and the sun rises, because if he does then the symptoms of his insomnia will come back to get him. He has to settle for that purifying process, because it's the only way he can calm down. He takes advantage of the situation. He sits alone to think, to meditate. But that's just because Bill has always been a good administrator of time.
Tonight the sea breeze is more pleasing than ever. Bill breathes in and welcomes the microscopic particles of salt that enter his lungs. It has been only three…four years since he was cursed with this unusual disease. It is a disease indeed, because more than once he thought it would get the best of his sanity. He's not waiting for it to go away anymore, he has learned to deal with it. He's lucky; he knows he is, because it could have been much worse.
A soft, warm hand embraces the back of his neck, and without turning his head around he feels Fleur's body sitting next to him.
"I woke you again…" he says softly, staring deeply into the full moon that's in front of them.
"No. I couldn't sleep eizer," she whispers, and her lips brush his shoulder. The lines that define her mouth travel to his neck and end up kissing the lower corner of his ear softly. During this precious second she whispers something to him, something so short that for a moment gets lost in the sounds of the waves hitting the shore; but something so big that Bill feels short of breath again, his chest rises and he smiles to the meaning of her last words.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost broken.
Fleur nods, taking one hand to caress her belly while Bill stares at the beauty of her smile shining in the dark. He sees the light of the moon reflected in her hair, and he immediately wishes to have a girl, just so he can see that smile and that hair more times around the house.
Bill has forgotten about his so feared diseased, he can't remember much from the previous hours. Right now it is just about the sea, the breeze, Fleur and him. He laughs in the darkness and takes his mouth to her ear, he whispers something back.
"A girl?" Fleur asks, smiling radiantly before she says something in French. He's not sure what it means but he doesn't ask. His lips are far too busy tasting hers.
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A/N: A little description of Bill's reaction to full moons, turned into something else. I loved writing this, for many reasons. Please tell me what you think!