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“Remus, it’s like,” Virgil looks blearily at the clock on his nightstand, “four am, what are you doing?”
Remus, notably not in bed beside Virgil where he should be but currently hopping around as he tries to get a sock on his foot in the dark, turns to grin at him, white teeth shining in the low light. “It’s gonna storm, babe, can’t you hear the wind?! Listen to it go, whew!” He whistles, running to the window with the sock dangling half on-half off his foot so he can gaze out at the way the trees bend and writhe around like they’re dancing. “I gotta go out there. I gotta be in that-”
“Remus. Please, I love you very much, but it is four am. We are on holiday. I- how are you not tired right now?!” Virgil sits up, rubbing at his eyes with a groan while Remus hops from one foot to the other in restrained excitement like a dog waiting to be let out. “Come back to bed.”
“You aren’t the boss of me.”
“Ugh, Remus, can’t you just come back to bed and enjoy it from here? Please? We had a lovely romantic night and now I really just wanna sleep soundly in this adorable, peaceful little cottage in the arms of my dearest forever-fiance. Wh- wait what are you doing?”
Remus has started grabbing Virgil’s clothes now too, chucking them at him. “Trust me on this one, babycakes, you won’t regret it. For me? C’mon, I behaved myself all of yesterday didn’t I? I wined and dined you, and treated you so sweet...” He sits on the bed and brushes the back of his knuckles over Virgil’s cheeks, causing him to blink sleepily- and grumpily, it’s a heckin’ cute combination- at him. He even pouts, but Remus just cups the back of his head and pulls him forwards to kiss his forehead, knowing all of Virgil’s weaknesses. It came with the life-partner territory. “Won’t you come dance in the stormy wind with me, my love?”
His soft and low murmur finally breaks Virgil’s resolve, which had admittedly been steadily crumbling since he’d started properly waking up and resigning himself to consciousness. He heaves a great big sigh and nudges Remus out of the way so he can get out of bed and pull all the extra layers on.
They descend hand in hand in the darkness, and they dance just like the trees in the stormy wind, under the cloud-hidden stars, whooping and laughing like madmen, the sounds snatched from their lips. The sweet nothings they murmur later on are passed mouth to mouth, protected from the wind by their closeness. But they don’t need to hear each other to know what’s being said anyway.
And in the end Remus is right, as he often is; Virgil very much does not regret it. Not one bit.