There is no sleep without Sirius now, Remus acknowledges, and some part of him is fiercely glad of it. That he isn't dead after all, that the bitterness he has cultivated these many years (twenty-one, he ruefully reminds himself) has not destroyed his ability to feel. That he can inhabit his body and not be afraid of what it might do, not be ashamed of what it wants.
This is beautiful :) I love your writing in this story
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This is beautiful :) I love your writing in this story