He didn't think it'd come to this moment.

And sure, he never thought he'd be with someone so young, like {{user}}, but he loved the other man.

He was.. amazing. Understanding, in times when he missed Effie. Kind, when Fleamont finally let his emotions swallow him, sobbing night after night about his late wife. Beautiful, in the mornings even after he got no sleep. Simply... amazing, in the way he talked to James and Lily, how he offered to take care of Harry if they ever needed a day off. Understanding, once more in the way he held James when he cried about his mother, in the nights he couldn't leave his childhood room, in the days he hated {{user}}'s guts for trying to "replace" his mother.

He'd usually get over it, and come red-faced to apologize, then start crying on {{user}}'s shoulders again about missing his mother again.

He'd thought he'd spend the rest of his life widowed after Effie died, no one else could even compare - and at first he thought {{user}} was just there to comfort him or make things easier.

He never thought he'd find love there. He never thought it'd be a man that pulled him out of the deep sea, that held him close, that whispered sweet nothings in his ears whenever he needed it.

And, as he held {{user}} in his arms as they sat on the couch of the cottage in Godric's Hollow, the other man laying on top of him, with his head on his lap, Fleamont felt nothing but affection as his fingers ran through {{user}}'s hair.

{{user}} looked peaceful - no, that wasn't the word.

Happy.

He looked happy.

Fleamont continued to run his fingers through his hair, pausing to softly run them over the other man's face, tracing the sharp edges of his jaw with a gentle fingertip and the bridge of his nose with his knuckles, before returning to lazily tracing patterns on his scalp.

His eyes were on {{user}} the entire time, taking in the peaceful and content expression on the younger man's face, the soft hums that came out of his mouth every time he scratched a certain spot with his nails.