Ficlet: Telling you 'I Love You.'
Title: Telling you 'I Love You.'
Author: native_spirit
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: Diary
Format & Word Count: Ficlet, 1378.
Summary: One sentance in a diary can change everything, when found.
Authors note: I was procrastinating from writing my longer fic when i wrote this. I'm trying to use my mystery/suspense prompt, but i wanted to use the diary as well. so yeah. enjoy!
It was dark in her bedroom; the only light was the green glow of the alarm clock on her bedside table, announcing that it wasn’t even 5am yet. She was still fast asleep. Her chest rose and fell regularly, her breathing deep and quiet. However, Tonks wasn’t alone.
Remus lay in her bed beside her, and he was wide awake. He had been for the past 37 minutes, according to her clock. He was lying so close to her, he could feel her steady breathing on his cheek, and her arm had draped itself over his chest while he was sleeping. He traced his finger on her hand. It was so much smaller, and softer than his own.
He didn’t mind lying with her in the dark while she slept. It wasn’t that he found her almost constant chatter annoying- on the contrary, he was fascinated by the number of words she was able to get out without taking a breath. But it was nice when they were alone, and everything was quiet, and it was just the two of them- just them and the early morning silence.
But with that said, he didn’t usually wake up before 5, with the knowledge that her alarm wouldn’t go off till 7, which meant he had over two hours before she was even going to think about stirring. And he’d already been awake for 39 minutes now.
Sighing, he gently moved her arm, sitting up and kicking his legs out from under the sheets. Standing, he stretched, wincing slightly as his back clicked. 7Am. What to do till 7am? He picked up his wand, and muttered “Lumos.” Glancing around the room, he stopped at her overflowing bookshelf. Over half of it was dedicated to old school texts, and ones she needed for work. The remaining shelves were stacked with records, cassettes, and tattered, second hand books. Frowning, he pulled an extremely woebegone copy of Hairy Snout, Human Heart from the bottom of one of these piles. He quickly put it back, not wanting to dwell on why on earth she would want such a depressing read. On top of another small pile was something much more interesting. At first, Remus took the plain black leather bound book as a notebook, or perhaps an ancient copy of something like Shakespeare or Dickens. However, on closer inspection, the word Diary was embossed in gold on the front. He pulled it off the shelf, instantly interested. She kept a diary? Was he in it? Were there any other guys in it that he should know about?
Of course, he also felt slightly guilty about this invasion into her priv- oh, what the hell. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, he opened it. It was after new years now, but judging by the tattered state of most of the pages, this diary was full; obviously last years. Her familiar handwriting was scrawled messily over the pages, sometimes accompanied by photos or silly sketches. In this manner he learnt not only about the three guys she had dated previously that year, but also how excited she had been to join the order, how pissed off she was at the ministry for many various reasons, as well as her obsessive love for Turkish kebabs and Chinese takeout, which he had not fully realised the extent of.
Unsurprisingly, the first mention of him was not too large.
I love being in the Order. It feels amazing to be doing something. Sure, the meetings are pretty serious, but there are so many great people. Sirius is hilarious, and Remus is great too. And Molly sure can cook. I’m sure I’ve put on weight, and I am blaming her and her chocolate peanut cookies.
He skimmed through the rest, occasionally looking up to check the time, and to make sure she was still sleeping. It wasn’t till he reached pages that only dated back a few weeks, in the end of December, that he was stopped by one particular entry. It was short; not even a full line. Just one sentence.
I think I love him.
He snapped the book shut.
He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his stomach felt like it was about to drop out. She thought that she what? He was suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was, and how close he was to her- not to mention how sweaty his hands had quickly become. Turning to look at her, he thought. It was, now, fairly obvious that she felt that way about him. He should have noticed. It was suddenly all so obvious in everything she did around him. She would do anything for him, she had told him herself. And he would take a bullet for her. Or an unforgivable. But did he love her?
He wanted to. He wanted to love her badly. But he had a terrible track record when it came to love. His family. His friends- James and lily, and Peter- as good as dead- they were all gone. All of them. Would she end up any better if he admitted to loving her?
There was also the war that was undoubtedly about to break out to consider. Would it make it more painful if he admitted it, and then something happened to one of them? Would keeping his feelings to himself dull the pain?
No, he told himself firmly. He knew how she felt now. And she had to know that he felt the same. But neither of them had ever said it, or mentioned saying it, and he hadn’t even thought about saying it. He was sure it was always tucked away in the back of her mind, but that was girls for you. He would never understand them.
Still pondering the subject, he put her diary back, and began pacing.
He wanted to tell her, really, he did. But was that giving her false hope? Could they ever have anything? He had thought for years that he would never marry, or have kids. Children were out of the question, no matter the situation. He wouldn’t pass on his condition to a child; that was just cruel. But settling down? Having a long term relationship? He’d never really thought about it before now. It had never been an option.
The truth of it was: if he did spend the rest of his otherwise miserable existence with someone, he’d want it to be with her.
“Remus?” a bleary voice mumbled from behind him. “What are you doing?”
He spun around. Tonks was pulling herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, grabbing the alarm clock with the other. “What’s the- Merlin Remus, its half past six!” she moaned groggily.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, sitting next to her. “Did I wake you?”
She nodded, yawning. “Your pacing and muttering wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“Sorry.” He said again. She shook her head.
“S’alright. I should wake up earlier anyway. But-” she yawned again- “What were you doing?”
“Thinking. You see, I figured… that is, I mean… there’s something I have to tell you. Ask you.” He corrected himself.
“Okay…” she said slowly.
He took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”
She didn’t reply. Instead she looked down, and he could see a blush creeping up into her cheeks. He was right though. He could tell now by the pinkness of her hair, her small smile, her crinkled dark eyes, the way her hands were clasped tightly.
He gently placed one of his old, worn, and scarred hands over both her small ones. She wasn’t going to say it aloud. Not until he said it first.
“It’s just that… well, I think I love you, Nymphadora. I know I do.”
She moved one of her hands and ran her fingers through his tangled hair.
“I love you.” She smiled. He pulled her into his chest, his smile even bigger than hers. “I love you.” She repeated, nodding, as if reassuring herself.
“I love you.” He whispered. It was a strange and foreign phrase on his tongue, but if it applied to nothing else, it would always be the way he felt about her. Always.
Author: native_spirit
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: Diary
Format & Word Count: Ficlet, 1378.
Summary: One sentance in a diary can change everything, when found.
Authors note: I was procrastinating from writing my longer fic when i wrote this. I'm trying to use my mystery/suspense prompt, but i wanted to use the diary as well. so yeah. enjoy!
It was dark in her bedroom; the only light was the green glow of the alarm clock on her bedside table, announcing that it wasn’t even 5am yet. She was still fast asleep. Her chest rose and fell regularly, her breathing deep and quiet. However, Tonks wasn’t alone.
Remus lay in her bed beside her, and he was wide awake. He had been for the past 37 minutes, according to her clock. He was lying so close to her, he could feel her steady breathing on his cheek, and her arm had draped itself over his chest while he was sleeping. He traced his finger on her hand. It was so much smaller, and softer than his own.
He didn’t mind lying with her in the dark while she slept. It wasn’t that he found her almost constant chatter annoying- on the contrary, he was fascinated by the number of words she was able to get out without taking a breath. But it was nice when they were alone, and everything was quiet, and it was just the two of them- just them and the early morning silence.
But with that said, he didn’t usually wake up before 5, with the knowledge that her alarm wouldn’t go off till 7, which meant he had over two hours before she was even going to think about stirring. And he’d already been awake for 39 minutes now.
Sighing, he gently moved her arm, sitting up and kicking his legs out from under the sheets. Standing, he stretched, wincing slightly as his back clicked. 7Am. What to do till 7am? He picked up his wand, and muttered “Lumos.” Glancing around the room, he stopped at her overflowing bookshelf. Over half of it was dedicated to old school texts, and ones she needed for work. The remaining shelves were stacked with records, cassettes, and tattered, second hand books. Frowning, he pulled an extremely woebegone copy of Hairy Snout, Human Heart from the bottom of one of these piles. He quickly put it back, not wanting to dwell on why on earth she would want such a depressing read. On top of another small pile was something much more interesting. At first, Remus took the plain black leather bound book as a notebook, or perhaps an ancient copy of something like Shakespeare or Dickens. However, on closer inspection, the word Diary was embossed in gold on the front. He pulled it off the shelf, instantly interested. She kept a diary? Was he in it? Were there any other guys in it that he should know about?
Of course, he also felt slightly guilty about this invasion into her priv- oh, what the hell. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, he opened it. It was after new years now, but judging by the tattered state of most of the pages, this diary was full; obviously last years. Her familiar handwriting was scrawled messily over the pages, sometimes accompanied by photos or silly sketches. In this manner he learnt not only about the three guys she had dated previously that year, but also how excited she had been to join the order, how pissed off she was at the ministry for many various reasons, as well as her obsessive love for Turkish kebabs and Chinese takeout, which he had not fully realised the extent of.
Unsurprisingly, the first mention of him was not too large.
I love being in the Order. It feels amazing to be doing something. Sure, the meetings are pretty serious, but there are so many great people. Sirius is hilarious, and Remus is great too. And Molly sure can cook. I’m sure I’ve put on weight, and I am blaming her and her chocolate peanut cookies.
He skimmed through the rest, occasionally looking up to check the time, and to make sure she was still sleeping. It wasn’t till he reached pages that only dated back a few weeks, in the end of December, that he was stopped by one particular entry. It was short; not even a full line. Just one sentence.
I think I love him.
He snapped the book shut.
He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his stomach felt like it was about to drop out. She thought that she what? He was suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was, and how close he was to her- not to mention how sweaty his hands had quickly become. Turning to look at her, he thought. It was, now, fairly obvious that she felt that way about him. He should have noticed. It was suddenly all so obvious in everything she did around him. She would do anything for him, she had told him herself. And he would take a bullet for her. Or an unforgivable. But did he love her?
He wanted to. He wanted to love her badly. But he had a terrible track record when it came to love. His family. His friends- James and lily, and Peter- as good as dead- they were all gone. All of them. Would she end up any better if he admitted to loving her?
There was also the war that was undoubtedly about to break out to consider. Would it make it more painful if he admitted it, and then something happened to one of them? Would keeping his feelings to himself dull the pain?
No, he told himself firmly. He knew how she felt now. And she had to know that he felt the same. But neither of them had ever said it, or mentioned saying it, and he hadn’t even thought about saying it. He was sure it was always tucked away in the back of her mind, but that was girls for you. He would never understand them.
Still pondering the subject, he put her diary back, and began pacing.
He wanted to tell her, really, he did. But was that giving her false hope? Could they ever have anything? He had thought for years that he would never marry, or have kids. Children were out of the question, no matter the situation. He wouldn’t pass on his condition to a child; that was just cruel. But settling down? Having a long term relationship? He’d never really thought about it before now. It had never been an option.
The truth of it was: if he did spend the rest of his otherwise miserable existence with someone, he’d want it to be with her.
“Remus?” a bleary voice mumbled from behind him. “What are you doing?”
He spun around. Tonks was pulling herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, grabbing the alarm clock with the other. “What’s the- Merlin Remus, its half past six!” she moaned groggily.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, sitting next to her. “Did I wake you?”
She nodded, yawning. “Your pacing and muttering wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“Sorry.” He said again. She shook her head.
“S’alright. I should wake up earlier anyway. But-” she yawned again- “What were you doing?”
“Thinking. You see, I figured… that is, I mean… there’s something I have to tell you. Ask you.” He corrected himself.
“Okay…” she said slowly.
He took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”
She didn’t reply. Instead she looked down, and he could see a blush creeping up into her cheeks. He was right though. He could tell now by the pinkness of her hair, her small smile, her crinkled dark eyes, the way her hands were clasped tightly.
He gently placed one of his old, worn, and scarred hands over both her small ones. She wasn’t going to say it aloud. Not until he said it first.
“It’s just that… well, I think I love you, Nymphadora. I know I do.”
She moved one of her hands and ran her fingers through his tangled hair.
“I love you.” She smiled. He pulled her into his chest, his smile even bigger than hers. “I love you.” She repeated, nodding, as if reassuring herself.
“I love you.” He whispered. It was a strange and foreign phrase on his tongue, but if it applied to nothing else, it would always be the way he felt about her. Always.