Unreal City. [Harry Potter; 30-hath]
Inspired by today's prompt at 30-hath, this is...an odd little piece. I was trying for Remus/Sirius. I'm not any good at Remus/Sirius, as it turns out. Oh well.
((I don't usually write anything that merits a warning, but this story deserves one for a handful of swearwords. Well, just a few uses of the same swearword. Anyway.))
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, kind-of. [Background Frank/Remus, Frank/Alice, Lily/James, and Sirius's powerful platonic attachment to James].
Each is ashamed of the selfish grief he carries; neither speaks of it, but both are indelibly transformed. Both weddings happen in June, and afterwards the days stretch out endlessly with nothing to be done but to mope. Remus takes to reading and re-reading the same books over and over and over again, learning the words by heart, absorbing them into himself. When he sleeps he dreams of Frank (holding him close stroking his golden hair murmuring yes I’ll love you forever I’ll be here always always yes yours and it wasn’t his fault they turned into lies) and soon he stops sleeping, drinks only black coffee and nearly forgets to check off the passing days, to watch for the nearing moon.
Sirius never cries when he’s upset, he just laughs in all the wrong places. He pulls the shutters closed tight against the sun and spends the days unthinking and asleep. At night he’s found sitting motionless on his motorbike, drinking straight from the bottle of firewhiskey and watching the universe expand, thinking the sort of deep thoughts that are an indulgence reserved for the drunk. He remembers feeling like he was the only normal one left, only to be proven wrong by the passage of time, by watching everyone growing up all around him in a whirlwind of love and sex and mystery and he was left behind.
They’re sharing the house now but haven’t spoken in a week. Remus awakes with the sudden thought that this is ridiculous. It takes five minutes of pounding on the door before Sirius opens it, all mussed and half-asleep, stubble darkening on his cheeks and wide reddened eyes. He doesn’t ask why Remus is there, doesn’t do anything, just leans against the doorjamb until Remus takes a deep breath, says “I can’t stand the silence,” and Sirius nods and moves aside, settles himself amongst the mussed mess of bedclothes. Remus follows.
And there is more quiet, and then finally Sirius asks “Do you suppose they’re fucking right now?”
“James and Lily?” Remus responds, after considering and discarding the answer Alice and Frank.
“Yeah.”
Remus shrugs. “Maybe. Probably? I don’t know.”
“He loves her. He loves her best. Not because she’s his wife, but because they’re fucking.” He says this matter-of-factly, as if it’s something he’s been thinking of for quite some time.
Remus stretches out comfortably on his side of the bed. “Maybe. Yeah,” he says, trying not to think about Alice and Frank, but it doesn’t work.
“Remus,” he asks, his voice small, suddenly, uncertain. “Do you think?”
“Mmm?”
“If I’d fucked him. Would he have loved me best then?”
He leans up on one elbow, squints his eyes, tries to look at his friend in the darkened room. “Does it really matter?”
“Not now.”
And then more silence, filling in the spaces between them so all there is is darkness and the comfortable sound of their breathing. Remus turns over, curls up into a fetal ball, then eventually whispers “Sirius? At least we have each-other. They have their wives, but,” and then he falls silent, thinking perhaps he’s said too much.
There is a soft sound, the sound of Sirius’s dry laughter. “It’s not the same. It’s worlds away from the same.”
“It’s all we have,” Remus murmurs, “It’s all that’s left.”
More quiet, and then Sirius reaches out and pulls Remus closer in one awkward motion. He buries his face in against Sirius’s chest, listens to the soft shallow beating of his heart, as if there’s an answer to be found in the rhythms.
((I don't usually write anything that merits a warning, but this story deserves one for a handful of swearwords. Well, just a few uses of the same swearword. Anyway.))
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, kind-of. [Background Frank/Remus, Frank/Alice, Lily/James, and Sirius's powerful platonic attachment to James].
Each is ashamed of the selfish grief he carries; neither speaks of it, but both are indelibly transformed. Both weddings happen in June, and afterwards the days stretch out endlessly with nothing to be done but to mope. Remus takes to reading and re-reading the same books over and over and over again, learning the words by heart, absorbing them into himself. When he sleeps he dreams of Frank (holding him close stroking his golden hair murmuring yes I’ll love you forever I’ll be here always always yes yours and it wasn’t his fault they turned into lies) and soon he stops sleeping, drinks only black coffee and nearly forgets to check off the passing days, to watch for the nearing moon.
Sirius never cries when he’s upset, he just laughs in all the wrong places. He pulls the shutters closed tight against the sun and spends the days unthinking and asleep. At night he’s found sitting motionless on his motorbike, drinking straight from the bottle of firewhiskey and watching the universe expand, thinking the sort of deep thoughts that are an indulgence reserved for the drunk. He remembers feeling like he was the only normal one left, only to be proven wrong by the passage of time, by watching everyone growing up all around him in a whirlwind of love and sex and mystery and he was left behind.
They’re sharing the house now but haven’t spoken in a week. Remus awakes with the sudden thought that this is ridiculous. It takes five minutes of pounding on the door before Sirius opens it, all mussed and half-asleep, stubble darkening on his cheeks and wide reddened eyes. He doesn’t ask why Remus is there, doesn’t do anything, just leans against the doorjamb until Remus takes a deep breath, says “I can’t stand the silence,” and Sirius nods and moves aside, settles himself amongst the mussed mess of bedclothes. Remus follows.
And there is more quiet, and then finally Sirius asks “Do you suppose they’re fucking right now?”
“James and Lily?” Remus responds, after considering and discarding the answer Alice and Frank.
“Yeah.”
Remus shrugs. “Maybe. Probably? I don’t know.”
“He loves her. He loves her best. Not because she’s his wife, but because they’re fucking.” He says this matter-of-factly, as if it’s something he’s been thinking of for quite some time.
Remus stretches out comfortably on his side of the bed. “Maybe. Yeah,” he says, trying not to think about Alice and Frank, but it doesn’t work.
“Remus,” he asks, his voice small, suddenly, uncertain. “Do you think?”
“Mmm?”
“If I’d fucked him. Would he have loved me best then?”
He leans up on one elbow, squints his eyes, tries to look at his friend in the darkened room. “Does it really matter?”
“Not now.”
And then more silence, filling in the spaces between them so all there is is darkness and the comfortable sound of their breathing. Remus turns over, curls up into a fetal ball, then eventually whispers “Sirius? At least we have each-other. They have their wives, but,” and then he falls silent, thinking perhaps he’s said too much.
There is a soft sound, the sound of Sirius’s dry laughter. “It’s not the same. It’s worlds away from the same.”
“It’s all we have,” Remus murmurs, “It’s all that’s left.”
More quiet, and then Sirius reaches out and pulls Remus closer in one awkward motion. He buries his face in against Sirius’s chest, listens to the soft shallow beating of his heart, as if there’s an answer to be found in the rhythms.