Hands
967 word tale
I want to hear your voice again. I want to hear it in my ears, whispering on my skin and delving into my blood to change me. I want to hear you angry, like you got so easily; like you inherited from your mother. I want to hear your sarcastic, rude and hurtful comments – I want to hear your apologies.
I want you to tell you to forgive me for something I never did. I want you to say you believe me –I want you to say you never didn’t.
I want to see your face again. I want it imprinted on the insides of my eyelids like it used to be and I want it never to be forgotten. I want it close, to touch: My fingers to roam over your haughty looks and run through your hair in all its youthful glory, before worry thinned it and cut it short.
I want to be there as you walk through those doors. I want to be with you as your skin likens to their clamminess and your pulse quickens to keep pace with your increasing panic and you need me to be with you.
I want to be there in your cell on your first night. I want to be there to share the screams and the scars. If they give food, I want to be there to give you my share so your ribs remain clothed in your velvet skin and mine slowly appear.
Friends – I still hate that word; I wish we were more, us two – are never supposed to betray each other. We were the Marauders. The four of us, together.
I will never forgive you, but one day I will.
“What do you think of this house?” Remus asks, walking around the empty, somewhat shabby room. He likes it although there’s a patch of mould growing in one corner of the ceiling and the whole house smells of something that reminds him faintly of Dungbombs – Sirius, however, has a face impossible to read.
“I don’t like any house.” Sirius says. “I like being out in the open air. I want to just sleep under the stars sometimes. Don’t you?”
Remus shrugs and attempts to ignore the image that has sprung up in his mind of just him and Sirius, lying beneath the stars together with nothing and no one to interrupt them. “In summer, maybe. Not right now, in January, when it’s what? Minus twenty?”
Sirius’s laugh is like the bark of a dog and it pleases Remus to see the way his eyes light up, like they so rarely do these days. Times are too dark for easy laughter, but somehow Remus has managed to force some from his friend.
Remus hates that word.
“I suppose I’d better get a house then. What do you think of this one?” Sirius plucks sceptically at the floral curtains which cover the sash windows. Surreptitiously, he wipes his fingers on the back of his trousers, his mouth going down at the corners.
Remus likes the house, yes. The size is nice, considering the price, and there are not skeletons in the wardrobes that they’ve unearthed as of yet. It’s in a reasonable area, with other wizards and witches about in the area to keep him company. The house is even linked up to the Floo Network.
And yet, Remus doesn’t want Sirius to buy the house. In fact, Remus doesn’t want Sirius to move out of the tiny – so tiny they have to share a bed – two room flat they both live in on a grimy London street. He wants Sirius to stay with him in the flat forever so they can talk at night about the most mundane of things, debate the best defences against Voldemort over breakfast and visit James and Lily in the afternoon. Remus doesn’t want Sirius to leave.
Remus shrugs again, trying to pull himself away from his thoughts. “I like it myself. It feels homely – it’s your choice though.”
Sirius makes a face. “No, let’s try another one. This one doesn’t feel right.”
“Will you ever move out or am I going to be stuck with you forever?” Remus asks, pretending not to feel the wave of relief that Sirius still can’t jump on his motorbike and leave.
“I’ll just be at your flat most of the time besides, so you’re stuck with me. Come on.” Sirius pulls the door open and signals for Remus to step through before him.
Their hands brush as Remus passes and he hopes Sirius felt the same jolt of electricity that he did. He glances back but, as usual, Sirius’s face is unreadable.
I’m lying on my mattress and it’s too thin. I can feel a thousand crumbs beneath my heels and elbows. I am looking at the ceiling, lying on top of the duvet, and I am thinking all of this. My pillow is dry but my face is wet and my eyes ache and itch. The darkness does nothing to soothe them. My ears ring and my head pounds although there's silence.
I want to change under the influence of the moon – our moon. It’s the same moon for both of us, and that is a comfort.
You need me there with you and I need to be there with you.
You aren’t ever going to lie beside me on this bed again, like we used to, our hearts beating out of sync but our minds ticking in unison.
I can hear your steady breath but it's just the whistling wind outside the window, rattling the glass and fooling me. I can feel your hand in mine and our fingers entwined, like they never were in reality, but it's just the clump of bed sheet in my hand, tricking me.
One day though, it’ll really be yours.
I want you to tell you to forgive me for something I never did. I want you to say you believe me –I want you to say you never didn’t.
I want to see your face again. I want it imprinted on the insides of my eyelids like it used to be and I want it never to be forgotten. I want it close, to touch: My fingers to roam over your haughty looks and run through your hair in all its youthful glory, before worry thinned it and cut it short.
I want to be there as you walk through those doors. I want to be with you as your skin likens to their clamminess and your pulse quickens to keep pace with your increasing panic and you need me to be with you.
I want to be there in your cell on your first night. I want to be there to share the screams and the scars. If they give food, I want to be there to give you my share so your ribs remain clothed in your velvet skin and mine slowly appear.
Friends – I still hate that word; I wish we were more, us two – are never supposed to betray each other. We were the Marauders. The four of us, together.
I will never forgive you, but one day I will.
“What do you think of this house?” Remus asks, walking around the empty, somewhat shabby room. He likes it although there’s a patch of mould growing in one corner of the ceiling and the whole house smells of something that reminds him faintly of Dungbombs – Sirius, however, has a face impossible to read.
“I don’t like any house.” Sirius says. “I like being out in the open air. I want to just sleep under the stars sometimes. Don’t you?”
Remus shrugs and attempts to ignore the image that has sprung up in his mind of just him and Sirius, lying beneath the stars together with nothing and no one to interrupt them. “In summer, maybe. Not right now, in January, when it’s what? Minus twenty?”
Sirius’s laugh is like the bark of a dog and it pleases Remus to see the way his eyes light up, like they so rarely do these days. Times are too dark for easy laughter, but somehow Remus has managed to force some from his friend.
Remus hates that word.
“I suppose I’d better get a house then. What do you think of this one?” Sirius plucks sceptically at the floral curtains which cover the sash windows. Surreptitiously, he wipes his fingers on the back of his trousers, his mouth going down at the corners.
Remus likes the house, yes. The size is nice, considering the price, and there are not skeletons in the wardrobes that they’ve unearthed as of yet. It’s in a reasonable area, with other wizards and witches about in the area to keep him company. The house is even linked up to the Floo Network.
And yet, Remus doesn’t want Sirius to buy the house. In fact, Remus doesn’t want Sirius to move out of the tiny – so tiny they have to share a bed – two room flat they both live in on a grimy London street. He wants Sirius to stay with him in the flat forever so they can talk at night about the most mundane of things, debate the best defences against Voldemort over breakfast and visit James and Lily in the afternoon. Remus doesn’t want Sirius to leave.
Remus shrugs again, trying to pull himself away from his thoughts. “I like it myself. It feels homely – it’s your choice though.”
Sirius makes a face. “No, let’s try another one. This one doesn’t feel right.”
“Will you ever move out or am I going to be stuck with you forever?” Remus asks, pretending not to feel the wave of relief that Sirius still can’t jump on his motorbike and leave.
“I’ll just be at your flat most of the time besides, so you’re stuck with me. Come on.” Sirius pulls the door open and signals for Remus to step through before him.
Their hands brush as Remus passes and he hopes Sirius felt the same jolt of electricity that he did. He glances back but, as usual, Sirius’s face is unreadable.
I’m lying on my mattress and it’s too thin. I can feel a thousand crumbs beneath my heels and elbows. I am looking at the ceiling, lying on top of the duvet, and I am thinking all of this. My pillow is dry but my face is wet and my eyes ache and itch. The darkness does nothing to soothe them. My ears ring and my head pounds although there's silence.
I want to change under the influence of the moon – our moon. It’s the same moon for both of us, and that is a comfort.
You need me there with you and I need to be there with you.
You aren’t ever going to lie beside me on this bed again, like we used to, our hearts beating out of sync but our minds ticking in unison.
I can hear your steady breath but it's just the whistling wind outside the window, rattling the glass and fooling me. I can feel your hand in mine and our fingers entwined, like they never were in reality, but it's just the clump of bed sheet in my hand, tricking me.
One day though, it’ll really be yours.