Miracle

Miracle

I love him.

I can't help but love him. He's the most beautiful thing in the world. He's - wonderful. Loving. Caring.

Beautiful.

I'm getting to the point where I'm repetitive, aren't I? But it's true. He's beautiful. He has the most amazing eyes - and the most loving touch - and the smoothest hair - and the most - the most -

When I'm with him, I'm just - lost in him. Lost in his sensual touch.

He loves me too. He hasn't said it - it's not his way - but I know it. He says it with his eyes - and he doesn't have to say it out loud. I just know.

He's always - normal - when we're in front of James and Peter. Just his normal, wonderful self - the same hair, the same skin, the same eyes - that he vents his built-up passion with every night.

But when we're alone, he's a whole other person. He desperately wants to tell James and Peter - he's never kept a secret from James before in his life, and he doesn't like it. Neither do I, of course. I hate it - the lying, I mean, not him.

Not Sirius.

I could never hate him.

Only as much as I love him.

But I'm just not ready, and I tell him this every night, almost in tears. I'm not ready. I just can't let anyone know yet. Having a relationship and letting people know about it are two wholly different things.

And every night I get the same reply.

"It's okay, Remus. Maybe tomorrow."

And he kisses the tears away.

And the next day he says the same thing, until the words hardly mean anything anymore.

He holds me like - like I'm something fragile. Something that if he holds too tightly, he might break.

I think I'm broken already. From all the years of hiding - all the years of teasing and taunting and jeering and hissing - I can never forget them, not even whilst I lay in his arms.

I think it makes our relationship even more of a miracle.

When he touches me, it's not just a touch - it's a gentle caress - whether he briefly touches my hand under the table in Potions, or he strokes me under my neck at night, or he runs just a single finger across my lips - I can feel it burning on my skin for hours afterward.

It's his gift.

He can do whatever he wants with me. From the moment our lips first sealed, I gave myself to him. I gave myself willingly, selflessly, lovingly. And he hasn't once broken that trust.

Not once.

He's had the opportunity so many times. To hurt me. To hate me. To break me - break my heart. To kill me.

But he hasn't.

Every time he could have sneered, he smiled - every time he could have hurt me, he cupped my cheek - and every time he could have turned me away as a heartbroken man, he kissed me.

His kisses taste of something so obscure, so quaint, that the taste hardly has a name. It's a sweet taste - pleasing to the mouth and calming to the soul. It's the most perfect thing I've ever felt.

I love it.

I love him.

He's my miracle.