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#happy birthday cerbie i'm sorry about this
thedevillionaire · 21 days
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and there will your heart be also
She’s been away five days and will be away two more.
He sneezes again, curses under his breath about it and gazes out the window for an uncertain time. It’s raining still, and bitterly cold. The flowers she’d left on the sill are starting to fade. Wintry sleet falls steadily, constantly, and he has a thousand things he’s supposed to do and he’s not doing a damn one of them, his focus both scattered and singular as he claims a tissue from the box by the flowers.
He wipes his nose firmly and recalls her placing the bouquet just so, fresh and vibrant, smiling at him so pleased with her arrangement of it all, her arms around him in soft devoted embrace. The ghost of her touch caresses him in memory; the image brings a suffusing warmth, and he loses himself to its comforting spectre.
For a moment, at least.
He sniffles, chilled despite the hearthfire’s radiant heat, and an ominous shiver runs through him. A catch in his throat follows, barbed and wicked. He frowns at it, shakes his head in an irritated, unspoken refutation of what it might imply. Any further acknowledgement of coming down with something is pushed as firmly from his thoughts as he can; he can’t be sick. It’s not going to…
Hh-HH…
It’s not… *snf!* Not going to happen. He won’t allow it. He won’t… *SNF!* It’s not…
His breath sharpcatches and all thoughts crumble capitulated to urgent, desperate sensation.
“HHTSSCH-uu! Hh-TSSSCH-uu! Ah, gods.” With a wetly insistent series of sniffles, he takes yet another tissue and, after a moment of consideration, another for good measure. Another.
He sighs.
And he misses her, and he misses her.
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