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
and you feel so alone
he is gone
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
the image takes shape.
you've never much been fond of quill pens
you like charcoal
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
and you sketch
you keep moving
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.
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
desperate for something to change
because you can't hide in Shell Cottage forever
and you miss him
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
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.
in spring. you wait
and you sketch
it is over
and you aren't alone anymore
and you won't let him go
you've spent a year going in different directions
only to come back to the same place
but still so perfectly matched
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
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