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Giving Severus’ shirt one last longing sniff, Moony trotted over to the fireplace to curl up and wait for his mate to come home.
After a moment, he went back, grabbed the shirt, and brought it to the hearth with him.
Wishing desperately for his opposable thumbs, he pawed at the ashes, tracing Severus’ profile in a far inferior grade of charcoal. Drawing Severus usually eased the emptiness, but tonight, like this, it just added to the frustrating loneliness. Sighing, he gave up and slept.
He later woke to long fingers buried in his fur and a muttered, “Foolish wolf.”