Fic, October third
For 
scarvesnhats
Remus imagines that Sirius will be a phantom, the ghost of a man who was, coming to meet him in a wood of long forgotten secrets and lost promises. Remus will try to touch him, and his fingers will find only air, the wind between his fingers nothing but cold laughter to mock him.
He imagines he will be fragile as the dried leaves beneath his feet, too delicate to touch, homage to a season that has passed and will never come again. The breeze will carry him away, and Remus’s own cycle of loss and hope will come full circle.
He imagines he will be nothing more than a dream, as insubstantial as the threads of sleep. Remus will still look, will drink Sirius in as the elixir that will banish all that has haunted him, and then he imagines Sirius will melt away like mist, undone by Remus’s greed and the trust that came too late.
And Remus imagines that all of his fears will come to pass, or maybe something worse, but he goes to the woods anyway, because Sirius is there, and Remus will risk all the ghosts and fading seasons in the world for the chance of something real.
Sirius is too sharp angles and lost faith, a broken tapestry of pain and betrayal, but he is no phantom, nor dream; he is the thread of moonlight that works its way around Remus’s heart and pulls Remus apart and somehow makes him whole.
He is hands that shake when they reach up to cup Remus’s face, fingers that seek for answers in the changes so many seasons have brought there. He is laughter when he finds them, that comes like the first flakes of snow, hesitant and fragile, but promising that everything will soon be covered in its wonder.
He is a kiss that is warm like summer, and his voice is a whisper that cracks like leaves but which does not fade. It comes again and again, a chant of Remus’s name murmured soft against his ear, until it is a melody Remus remembers he has always known, and Remus thinks that the woods have only been keeping their secrets and their promises safe for them to find again.
scarvesnhatsRemus imagines that Sirius will be a phantom, the ghost of a man who was, coming to meet him in a wood of long forgotten secrets and lost promises. Remus will try to touch him, and his fingers will find only air, the wind between his fingers nothing but cold laughter to mock him.
He imagines he will be fragile as the dried leaves beneath his feet, too delicate to touch, homage to a season that has passed and will never come again. The breeze will carry him away, and Remus’s own cycle of loss and hope will come full circle.
He imagines he will be nothing more than a dream, as insubstantial as the threads of sleep. Remus will still look, will drink Sirius in as the elixir that will banish all that has haunted him, and then he imagines Sirius will melt away like mist, undone by Remus’s greed and the trust that came too late.
And Remus imagines that all of his fears will come to pass, or maybe something worse, but he goes to the woods anyway, because Sirius is there, and Remus will risk all the ghosts and fading seasons in the world for the chance of something real.
Sirius is too sharp angles and lost faith, a broken tapestry of pain and betrayal, but he is no phantom, nor dream; he is the thread of moonlight that works its way around Remus’s heart and pulls Remus apart and somehow makes him whole.
He is hands that shake when they reach up to cup Remus’s face, fingers that seek for answers in the changes so many seasons have brought there. He is laughter when he finds them, that comes like the first flakes of snow, hesitant and fragile, but promising that everything will soon be covered in its wonder.
He is a kiss that is warm like summer, and his voice is a whisper that cracks like leaves but which does not fade. It comes again and again, a chant of Remus’s name murmured soft against his ear, until it is a melody Remus remembers he has always known, and Remus thinks that the woods have only been keeping their secrets and their promises safe for them to find again.