ink - sirius black

vivid senses and longing

this is the best writing ive done in a long, long time. idk why the past ones have been so bad. its stepped up. <3

January 21, 1980
6:51 am
Callaway, Anderson, Black, and Lupin Home

"I have to get back," he said, hinges squeaking. "I'll see you tonight, yea?"

"Yea," she said with a sad smile, staring at the door for a few seconds even after he left.

The sheets rustled as Sirius turned to look at the vacant side of their bed, an empty whisper against the cold silk and his exposed chest. No golden bit of warmth turned around to meet his eyes, pulling closer to press his head against her stomach.

Anneliese hadn't come back from America since she left twenty-two days ago.

Black shut his eyes, trying to get the words of her letter out from his head so that he could try and get some sleep that was turning into a luxury as rare as going a week without another one of their friends disappearing.

Violet asked me to help her plan a funeral. Queenie's funeral. She can't do it alone. Safa and Myra can handle Callaway Investigations while I'm gone. This isn't a secret. Show anyone (who we trust, obviously) this letter if they don't believe you. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Sirius had assumed that meant a few days, not the weeks this had stretched into. She was coming back this morning, and Black hadn't been able to sleep all night in anticipation of finally seeing her again.

This was probably good for her, he thought, giving up on staying still with his eyes shut. Spending time with her other friends. But it definitely wasn't good for us.

Black swung his legs out of bed so that his feet hit the rug, slowly pacing over to the freezing hardwood floor. The lights in the kitchen were off when he entered, but he didn't bother to turn them on.

I should have been nicer to Fabian, he thought, letting the faucet run cold. I should've gotten to know Gideon better. And now we can't even use the Burrow because of how angry it makes Molly to see any of our faces.

He took a long sip, looking out through the giant wall of windows to the streets of London below him. The city was tantalizingly alive.

I don't blame her.

January 21, 1980
6:02 am
Hutchison Cottage
Savannah, Georgia

"Hit me harder," Cliff demanded through gritted teeth. "Or has that place made you weak?"

Anneliese's foot throbbed in pain from the repetition of hitting the same pad Hutcison had pressed against his stomach and over, like flesh colliding with rock until they both started to yield to the force of the impacts, chipping away and leaving each surface bloody.

You deserve this pain, she thought as the gnawing sensation eating at her skin got to an even rawer level than she thought possible. You left Fabian and Gideon to die even after everything they've done for you because of one kiss. All because you were hurting because of Queenie, so you wanted them to hurt, too. You deserve to rot in hell.

A single but deep breath was snatched from the air into her lungs as Callaway launched off her back foot and hit Hutchison so hard that he stumbled off balance.

"I'm weak?" she challenged with an unremorseful tilt of her head to the side, chapped fists braced in front of her. "Let go of the pad and see if my hits are still light."

Cliff threw the rubber to the side, shaking the tension out of his hands from the grip.

"Fine," he said. "But remember I'm the one who gave you your reflexes."