day 18
Coming home, a shower of stars and what happens when the colours fade. PG-13.
When The Colours Fade
A band of red feathers grows along the horizon as they stagger homewards, all of them drunk on pure evening alcohol. Remus floats, suspended between James’s and Sirius’s shoulders, and lets them drag him on in a daze; rose red the insides of their hoods, russet the tips of trees whose branches run through the sky like pipes, like veins.
They keep bursting out laughing to maintain a certain level of noise, but compared to the concert, it is less than feeble in their still-crowded ears. London Hyde Park has never seemed so empty, even though there are more people than ever. Maybe it’s because everybody’s going home (only not), maybe because they’ve spread and lost the connection (that was really just the music).
“I think my legs just fell off”, Remus slurs into the spot right beneath Sirius’s jawbone which is not yet part of his throat but not part of his face anymore either. James snorts and pulls his head upright again as though he didn’t do that deliberately. For a second, he blinks and fights for air in the red-edged light, then swears quietly, his sight still blurry. Sirius laughs.
They leave the park wading through shadows and their own crystallizing breath (four streams blend and wrap around their necks like one large scarf knit by lungs; gently body-warm). “Fuck Sirius, what did he drink?” James yells over to them (snickering), and Sirius smirks while he holds Remus off the side of the path. He can feel his firm lower arm around his heaving chest and a hand underneath his belly, leaking heat into his skin; he’s opened his cloak for him (matching rose red clasps) and Remus groans weakly when it’s over.
The rough sound rolls away in the semi-darkness, and a tiny part of it slips into Sirius’s cupped hand as he cleans him up with a paper tissue. “Better?” he asks quietly. Remus nods and doesn’t really mean “yes”, but Sirius folds him apart again nevertheless and puts an arm around his shoulders, which feels nice. “Thanks”, he says, only his mouth is too numb to turn his voice into proper consonants, and Sirius smiles at the fragile result.
“Okay?” James says, his cheeks are flushed from the afternoon and the clasps of his cloak aren’t quite right. Peter’s worried look blows over to them, he’s chewing on his shaggy hair again. “Let’s go”, Sirius says. Together, they help Remus across the street, and after a while, they’ve arrived at Peter’s flat (because it’s the nearest and because they promised him).
“I still don’t get why you live in that rathole”, Sirius says, and they wait for Remus to finish in the bathroom while Peter rummages around for a half-empty and soaked pack of Aspirin. He shrugs. “I’m not often here anyway”, he replies - his gaze ducks skillfully out of Sirius’s eyes and he drops the Aspirin through a gap in the door.
Ten minutes later, they say goodnight to a fidgeting Peter (“You don’t need anything else? Are you sure? You could sleep here, you know…”) and try a sidealong apparition with Remus, who can barely stand. They arrive sprawled out at Lily’s feet in the Potter’s kitchen, Remus wound around Sirius and tangled with James, but they’ve made it.
“Oh fuck”, is the first thing Lily says, “you wanna crash here?” She’s dressed in a long scarlet robe, Chinese sticks in her hair, just a hint of eyeliner that slants her bittergreen eyes. Paperwork piles up on the table: anatomical drawings, diagrams, miles of text and illustrations (she’s taking her healer training as serious as she can while helping in the order).
Sirius tenderly pulls them both up and places a hand at the top of his spine. “Yeah, I don’t know if he’s up for another apparition”, he says, steadying him, and Lily bustles off to get the couch ready. Remus smiles, because she always manages to make it look like the most comfortable place on earth: a dozen mismatched pillows, bright red sheets and scarves, and especially those little squares of chocolate, one for each of them.
The couch is also big enough for two growing nineteen-year-olds.
“Come on, Moony”, Sirius coaxes and leads him over to the bathroom. “Let’s get you undressed.” Even in his alcohol-muddled brain, something stirs at this sentence, and he blushes into Sirius’s left shoulder. Lily is humming softly in the living room, the notes get stuck in his mostly concert-deaf ears. While Sirius peels his clothes from his trembling body, he clings to the song and tries not to curl up and protect his vulnerable ugliness like a canine its belly.
“There, all done”, Sirius suddenly says. (So gentle.) Remus’s arms cross over his chest automatically, and his face still burns. “Wha- but”, he splutters, at least give me a t-shirt, because he’s standing there in his boxers in front of a fully dressed Sirius and it doesn’t seem fair. For revenge, he thinks, he will watch Sirius undress, but in the end, he has to turn around and glare at the blurring door that Lily painted with red-golden flowers when they moved in.
They follow the sound of James’s and Lily’s quiet laughter and find them in the living room, tickling each other on the couch. Sirius jumps in to join them with a fierce battle cry, but Remus stays behind in the doorframe (hugging himself) and smiles thinly in the dim light of a reading lamp. He catches a glimpse of Lily’s knickers, his stomach twists at the sound of Sirius panting, and he actually colours when James slips his glasses on Sirius’s face. I, he thinks, am hopelessly in love with these people.
The fight ends as Sirius gets hold of some of Lily’s golden glitter and blows it into Remus’s hair and face. Lily falls off the couch laughing, while Remus is far too tired to grasp what has just happened and protest at the same time. “Oh, bloody hell”, he mutters finally, and that’s their goodnight kiss, along with a cloud of golden glitter that he shakes from his hair.
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Lily calls and closes the door behind her. It’s painted with red and golden stars. Remus imagines them falling off one by one when James and Lily will have left this place, too; a shower of Gryffindor pride and sincerity, slowly greying to dust on the empty floor. And all that’s going to remain, he thinks, will be the roots of the flowers Lily painted, and the tiny hole James has burnt into the wall.
He’s been tired for so long that he’s wide awake again by now. Breathless, he lies a few spaces away from Sirius and plays with the little claret Buddha statue which had stood in the shower until it fell down one too many times and they made it retire to the living room.
Like always, it doesn’t take long until the muffled sounds float over from the bedroom. Like always, Remus wants to hide under the blanket and shut down his ears, but, like always, he’s unable to move. Sirius breathes quietly beside him; his elbow brushes his side and Remus closes his eyes as the noise grows louder (still remaining quiet, though), almost like a conversation, almost like a dozen more voices now.
“Kinda makes you listen, doesn’t it”, Sirius suddenly whispers and turns over. Remus nods carefully, avoids his eyes.
“You’d think they wouldn’t… you know, when there are others around”, he whispers.
Sirius grins a little. “Can’t keep their hands off each other, I suppose”, he simply replies. A strand of hair falls in his face and Remus wipes it away, just to make a bit of noise himself (because rustling sheets are so much louder at night), and Sirius’s eyelids drift shut for a moment.
“You always do that, you know”, he whispers. “Not that I mind, though.”
The sounds coming from the bedroom stop, then, and they both snort into the pillows at the same time. “Wrong, isn’t it? Listening to other people getting it off. Especially people that, well, that you know”, Sirius says (almost shyly). Remus feels his body heat, his breath, his whole presence like heavy summer sunlight on his skin. He thinks of the dirty snow piling up outside the door, and scoots a few nothings closer to that pole of warmth, that inside sun.
Sirius places a loose kiss on his forehead that’s more of a touch of excitement-red lips (blue in the darkness), slips an arm around him (bare skin on bare skin), and Remus thinks that this really is the most comfortable place on earth before he slowly, softly falls asleep. “Night”, Sirius mumbles, so close that the word is wedged between them, so warm, so quiet, a little hoarse from all that shouting and cheering earlier -
And Remus knows he needs them to cope, needs them to be able to love.
When The Colours Fade
A band of red feathers grows along the horizon as they stagger homewards, all of them drunk on pure evening alcohol. Remus floats, suspended between James’s and Sirius’s shoulders, and lets them drag him on in a daze; rose red the insides of their hoods, russet the tips of trees whose branches run through the sky like pipes, like veins.
They keep bursting out laughing to maintain a certain level of noise, but compared to the concert, it is less than feeble in their still-crowded ears. London Hyde Park has never seemed so empty, even though there are more people than ever. Maybe it’s because everybody’s going home (only not), maybe because they’ve spread and lost the connection (that was really just the music).
“I think my legs just fell off”, Remus slurs into the spot right beneath Sirius’s jawbone which is not yet part of his throat but not part of his face anymore either. James snorts and pulls his head upright again as though he didn’t do that deliberately. For a second, he blinks and fights for air in the red-edged light, then swears quietly, his sight still blurry. Sirius laughs.
They leave the park wading through shadows and their own crystallizing breath (four streams blend and wrap around their necks like one large scarf knit by lungs; gently body-warm). “Fuck Sirius, what did he drink?” James yells over to them (snickering), and Sirius smirks while he holds Remus off the side of the path. He can feel his firm lower arm around his heaving chest and a hand underneath his belly, leaking heat into his skin; he’s opened his cloak for him (matching rose red clasps) and Remus groans weakly when it’s over.
The rough sound rolls away in the semi-darkness, and a tiny part of it slips into Sirius’s cupped hand as he cleans him up with a paper tissue. “Better?” he asks quietly. Remus nods and doesn’t really mean “yes”, but Sirius folds him apart again nevertheless and puts an arm around his shoulders, which feels nice. “Thanks”, he says, only his mouth is too numb to turn his voice into proper consonants, and Sirius smiles at the fragile result.
“Okay?” James says, his cheeks are flushed from the afternoon and the clasps of his cloak aren’t quite right. Peter’s worried look blows over to them, he’s chewing on his shaggy hair again. “Let’s go”, Sirius says. Together, they help Remus across the street, and after a while, they’ve arrived at Peter’s flat (because it’s the nearest and because they promised him).
“I still don’t get why you live in that rathole”, Sirius says, and they wait for Remus to finish in the bathroom while Peter rummages around for a half-empty and soaked pack of Aspirin. He shrugs. “I’m not often here anyway”, he replies - his gaze ducks skillfully out of Sirius’s eyes and he drops the Aspirin through a gap in the door.
Ten minutes later, they say goodnight to a fidgeting Peter (“You don’t need anything else? Are you sure? You could sleep here, you know…”) and try a sidealong apparition with Remus, who can barely stand. They arrive sprawled out at Lily’s feet in the Potter’s kitchen, Remus wound around Sirius and tangled with James, but they’ve made it.
“Oh fuck”, is the first thing Lily says, “you wanna crash here?” She’s dressed in a long scarlet robe, Chinese sticks in her hair, just a hint of eyeliner that slants her bittergreen eyes. Paperwork piles up on the table: anatomical drawings, diagrams, miles of text and illustrations (she’s taking her healer training as serious as she can while helping in the order).
Sirius tenderly pulls them both up and places a hand at the top of his spine. “Yeah, I don’t know if he’s up for another apparition”, he says, steadying him, and Lily bustles off to get the couch ready. Remus smiles, because she always manages to make it look like the most comfortable place on earth: a dozen mismatched pillows, bright red sheets and scarves, and especially those little squares of chocolate, one for each of them.
The couch is also big enough for two growing nineteen-year-olds.
“Come on, Moony”, Sirius coaxes and leads him over to the bathroom. “Let’s get you undressed.” Even in his alcohol-muddled brain, something stirs at this sentence, and he blushes into Sirius’s left shoulder. Lily is humming softly in the living room, the notes get stuck in his mostly concert-deaf ears. While Sirius peels his clothes from his trembling body, he clings to the song and tries not to curl up and protect his vulnerable ugliness like a canine its belly.
“There, all done”, Sirius suddenly says. (So gentle.) Remus’s arms cross over his chest automatically, and his face still burns. “Wha- but”, he splutters, at least give me a t-shirt, because he’s standing there in his boxers in front of a fully dressed Sirius and it doesn’t seem fair. For revenge, he thinks, he will watch Sirius undress, but in the end, he has to turn around and glare at the blurring door that Lily painted with red-golden flowers when they moved in.
They follow the sound of James’s and Lily’s quiet laughter and find them in the living room, tickling each other on the couch. Sirius jumps in to join them with a fierce battle cry, but Remus stays behind in the doorframe (hugging himself) and smiles thinly in the dim light of a reading lamp. He catches a glimpse of Lily’s knickers, his stomach twists at the sound of Sirius panting, and he actually colours when James slips his glasses on Sirius’s face. I, he thinks, am hopelessly in love with these people.
The fight ends as Sirius gets hold of some of Lily’s golden glitter and blows it into Remus’s hair and face. Lily falls off the couch laughing, while Remus is far too tired to grasp what has just happened and protest at the same time. “Oh, bloody hell”, he mutters finally, and that’s their goodnight kiss, along with a cloud of golden glitter that he shakes from his hair.
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Lily calls and closes the door behind her. It’s painted with red and golden stars. Remus imagines them falling off one by one when James and Lily will have left this place, too; a shower of Gryffindor pride and sincerity, slowly greying to dust on the empty floor. And all that’s going to remain, he thinks, will be the roots of the flowers Lily painted, and the tiny hole James has burnt into the wall.
He’s been tired for so long that he’s wide awake again by now. Breathless, he lies a few spaces away from Sirius and plays with the little claret Buddha statue which had stood in the shower until it fell down one too many times and they made it retire to the living room.
Like always, it doesn’t take long until the muffled sounds float over from the bedroom. Like always, Remus wants to hide under the blanket and shut down his ears, but, like always, he’s unable to move. Sirius breathes quietly beside him; his elbow brushes his side and Remus closes his eyes as the noise grows louder (still remaining quiet, though), almost like a conversation, almost like a dozen more voices now.
“Kinda makes you listen, doesn’t it”, Sirius suddenly whispers and turns over. Remus nods carefully, avoids his eyes.
“You’d think they wouldn’t… you know, when there are others around”, he whispers.
Sirius grins a little. “Can’t keep their hands off each other, I suppose”, he simply replies. A strand of hair falls in his face and Remus wipes it away, just to make a bit of noise himself (because rustling sheets are so much louder at night), and Sirius’s eyelids drift shut for a moment.
“You always do that, you know”, he whispers. “Not that I mind, though.”
The sounds coming from the bedroom stop, then, and they both snort into the pillows at the same time. “Wrong, isn’t it? Listening to other people getting it off. Especially people that, well, that you know”, Sirius says (almost shyly). Remus feels his body heat, his breath, his whole presence like heavy summer sunlight on his skin. He thinks of the dirty snow piling up outside the door, and scoots a few nothings closer to that pole of warmth, that inside sun.
Sirius places a loose kiss on his forehead that’s more of a touch of excitement-red lips (blue in the darkness), slips an arm around him (bare skin on bare skin), and Remus thinks that this really is the most comfortable place on earth before he slowly, softly falls asleep. “Night”, Sirius mumbles, so close that the word is wedged between them, so warm, so quiet, a little hoarse from all that shouting and cheering earlier -
And Remus knows he needs them to cope, needs them to be able to love.