f: nights like this (R/S, G)
nights like this, G, 260 words, for blanketforts.
His father asks, “Have your eye on a girl, Remus?” and Remus doesn’t know what makes him shake his head and say, “a boy,” but he does.
“Oh,” William says, takes a drinks of tea and turns the page of his book. Remus puts his knife aside and leans his head against the window. The moon is new and clouds obscure the stars; the sea is so black that it blends with the sky. On nights like this, William says, it feels like they’re on the edge of the world, like they could walk down the hill and fall forever.
Remus tries to feel this way, but he can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and it ruins the illusion. He picks up the knife again and presses his hand against the wooden window frame. The runes are deep, but not deep enough -- all night, all winter, and they will never be deep enough.
“Has he his eye on you, too?” William finally asks, and Remus looks away from the window to smile at him.
“Sometimes I think so,” he says. Remus nicks his finger on purpose and runs it along the lines, as if he could bleed protection into the house. Perhaps he can.
“Tell me about him.”
Remus opens his mouth, but all he can think of are sounds and colors, secret smiles, the smell of dog, things that would lose all of their magic if described aloud. He sucks on his bleeding finger instead, smiles and shrugs.
“Ah,” William says. “Your mother was like that, too.”
His father asks, “Have your eye on a girl, Remus?” and Remus doesn’t know what makes him shake his head and say, “a boy,” but he does.
“Oh,” William says, takes a drinks of tea and turns the page of his book. Remus puts his knife aside and leans his head against the window. The moon is new and clouds obscure the stars; the sea is so black that it blends with the sky. On nights like this, William says, it feels like they’re on the edge of the world, like they could walk down the hill and fall forever.
Remus tries to feel this way, but he can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and it ruins the illusion. He picks up the knife again and presses his hand against the wooden window frame. The runes are deep, but not deep enough -- all night, all winter, and they will never be deep enough.
“Has he his eye on you, too?” William finally asks, and Remus looks away from the window to smile at him.
“Sometimes I think so,” he says. Remus nicks his finger on purpose and runs it along the lines, as if he could bleed protection into the house. Perhaps he can.
“Tell me about him.”
Remus opens his mouth, but all he can think of are sounds and colors, secret smiles, the smell of dog, things that would lose all of their magic if described aloud. He sucks on his bleeding finger instead, smiles and shrugs.
“Ah,” William says. “Your mother was like that, too.”