CalliFragilistic
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The door swings shut behind them, blocking out the howling wind and the bitter chill and instead there's a gently crackling fire and a patchwork sofa and layers and layers of tapestry rugs spread out over an old oak floor. The air is so toasty Sirius could weep, and he can smell chocolate and woodsmoke and something that might be peppermint, and then someone is taking his coat and grinning at him and he thinks, maybe, he did die out there on the icy roads. Maybe this is his own personal Elysium, and as he blinks stupidly at the man in front of him and takes in his freckles and his hat-flattened curls and the way his jumper has little knitted reindeer woven into the pattern, he thinks death maybe isn't so bad, actually.
Remus is the owner of a Christmas tree farm deep in the New Forest. Sirius is a curmudgeonly writer who doesn't believe in Christmas. It's snowing, there's a roaring fire, and we all know how this is going to go.
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Bookmarked by CalliFragilistic
26 Apr 2021