Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝕽emus groaned quietly to himself, shifting in his seat for what felt like the millionth time this lesson, his bones aching and tired preparing for the snapping and shifting they would be doing in two days time for the full moon.
The group had tried to send him to the Hospital Wing this morning but he was insistent on being in lessons, not wanting to miss as much as he would have to— and when Willow's in the room, somehow he feels slightly better, though she can't use her charm on him from her seat besides James. He tries to ignore the tapping of someone's foot at the back to the left of the classroom behind him, and the person on the opposite side at the front who had been eating biscuits the entire lesson unbeknownst to Mcgonagall at the front of the class.
He places his hand on his burning forehead up forehead, feeling the desperate urge to break into a sob from the repetitive banging like a ton of brings hitting his skull mercilessly and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he knows she's watching, she's been watching him cautiously and concernedly the entire lesson, probably preparing if she needed to leave with him— Mcgonagall would, he knew that.
He relaxed his shoulders and played with his moon necklace around his neck in hopes when she saw this, she'd be more relaxed and stress free. He didn't want to worry or stress her out, especially seen as this was his problem, his condition, he didn't want to wear her out because of it too. He quirked an eyebrow when he spied something sticking out of his textbook, compelling him to pull it out, a sudden wave of lemons and jasmine he now has labelled filling up his lungs strongly as he held the small envelope.
Curiously, he opens it, the wax seal lifting to reveal somewhat of a letter, his heart beat quickening in his chest when he spies the familiar, neat handwriting, his lips tugging upwards before he could help it, managing to find some concentration within to read this,
'My Casanova,
Whenever or wherever you find this, I want you to know I love you. I love you more.
When I say I love you more I don't just mean I love you more than you love me. I love you more than these bad days ahead of us, I love you more than any light we will ever have, I love you more than any distance we may ever have between us, I love you more than any obstacle that tries to knock us down.
I love you the most, Re.
— Your Buttercup ❀♡︎☽
P.s.... A written gesture of a nose kiss from me to you'
If he wasn't close to melting and bursting into tears before, now it truly would happen. He reads over the words again, his hand shaking as he feels love work it's way through the pain in his bones and takes it for their own. He doesn't know how she does it, how she always manages to find a way to help him— this time through words alone, he's forgotten his pain, his transformation, his full moon. He's now focusing on the small crescent one drawn next to a buttercup with a heart in between. Them.
