For Cheeky's weekly Drabbles: Bonus round. Freeverse about Dean Thomas using leaf, spinning, fall chosen from among other prompts.

.

you sit under the tree

in autumn

and you feel so alone

he is gone

living

moving forward

leaving you behind.

it is autumn.

everything is changing.

you are a leaf spinning in the wind

and you don't know where you'll land.

your quill scratches across the parchment

scratchskidslide

the image takes shape.

you've never much been fond of quill pens

you like charcoal

pencils

texture.

you use the quill because he gave it to you

the last night you saw him

when you hadn't had anything to draw with and he'd seen your fingers twitching

in autumn, you sit under the tree

alone

and you sketch

.

you keep moving

in winter

you aren't alone but you feel that way

and you miss him.

some days you wonder if he misses you, too

if he wonders where you are

if he notices you are missingrunninggone.

it is winter.

everything is stagnant.

you are a snowdrift in the northern forest shade

and you don't know when you'll see the sun again.

your pencil scratches across the parchment

the ink of your last quill (his last quill) is long since gone.

scritchscratchslide

your pencil skids across the parchment

his smile takes shape

then those so-familiar dimples

the freckles spattered across his cheeks

until he is staring at you from the depths of your sketchbook

and you run your fingers over his cheek and are almost surprised when it doesn't feel warm.

in winter, you don't stop moving

you are alone in company

and you sketch

.

you are desperate

in spring

desperate for something to change

because you can't hide in Shell Cottage forever

and you miss him

so desperately

you don't know how to express it.

it is spring

and you are waiting

you are a seedling in the ground

waiting for the rain so you can grow and change.

your pencil stub scrawls across the last empty page of parchment in your notebook

scrapeslidescratch

and you wonder if you can ask for more

but you've already imposed enough.

you page through the sketchbook and note that it's a gateway into your thoughts.

every

single

sketch

is him.

in spring. you wait

desperately

and you sketch

.

it is over

in summer.

and you aren't alone anymore

and you won't let him go

again.

you've spent a year going in different directions

only to come back to the same place

different

but still so perfectly matched

balanced.

it is summer

and you are happier than you have been in a long time.

you are a flower

leaves turned toward the sun.

your brand new pencil slides across a fresh sketchbook

slideslipscrawl

and a smile spreads across your face.

you don't have to draw from memory today

he is there in front of you

flipping a quarter over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth

the image is oh-so-familiar and you love that.

after a moment, you set the half finished sketch aside — something you don't normally do

he looks up in surprise

but why do you need a sketch

when you've got the real thing in front of you?

and 'i missed you' falls from your lips as you take his face in your hands and kiss him fiercely

it's not the first time you've said it

it won't be the last

in summer, it is over

and it is only just beginning