REMUS/SIRIUS LOVE POST
HAI GAIS. Okay, so yeats and I are having a fucking amazingface, pathetichead conversation right now that could have happened about 5 years ago, back when Remus/Sirius fandom was experiencing a bit of a "heyday", and everything was still relatively hunky-dory, and like, stuff was still REALLY ANGSTY AND SHIT but at least NOBODY WAS DEAD OR STRAIGHT YET
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Mr Peppers nods at a stack of newly delivered post when Remus walks into the small office, and he sets about sorting it at once. He works mechanically until it's time to clock out for the day, his mind wandered back to the woods and the note - heavy as a stone - in his pocket.
Twenty minutes on the train and Remus is home, though it hasn't felt like home since the biggest, loudest presence in it went away. He follows the routine he's set for himself: remove blazer, loosen tie, take off shoes, make a kettle of tea. He's found that keeping his mind in a constant state of autopilot makes it easier to cope.
Remus pads toward the bedroom, pausing to lean against the door frame as he sips at his still-too-hot tea. The box, charmed so that it's much larger than it appears, stares at him from the floor, empty and taunting. He sighs to himself, and the next three hours are spent packing up everything in the flat that has Sirius' stamp on it. It looks as if someone has robbed him when he's done, but Remus thinks he can live with the bare minimum as long as it means no constant reminders of what his life once was - and what it could have (should have, he tells himself) been. He Spellotapes the box shut and pushes it into the far corner of the hallway closet.
He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, his hand slipping into his pocket out of habit. Remus freezes when his fingertips brush the parchment. He turns around, hastily pulling out the box and tearing into the tape. He holds the parchment above the open box full of Sirius: Buzzcocks albums, his favourite pair of fuzzy socks that Mrs Potter had knit for him, smiling pictures, pictures frowning and gesturing rudely at being shoved into a box, the hair products he swore he never used. But the piece of paper stays where it is, between shaking fingers, and Remus eventually closes the box once more.
He sinks down onto the sofa, unfolding the note again, staring at Sirius' handwriting. "I hate you, you know," he says to both the parchment and the boy who wrote it, the boy who'd turned into the man now rotting away in Azkaban.
But, deep down inside, Remus knows he really doesn't mean it.
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thanks for reading! <3
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Post this in your journal, if you haven't! Or somewhere where it's not buried in comment threads!! It's fucking GORGEOUS. HOGOD.
THANKS FOR ALL THE SEX LAST NIGHT.
*crying and crying* ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
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i could NOT think of anything to write for that note, but then that hit me and it was so SIRIUS.
oh, this ship. these boys. ahhhhh ♥♥
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wow. that was. :( :( :( i can't even. that was so perfect.
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it was going to be this little, happy drabble. then something happened! :(
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♥
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thank you, doll ♥
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I agree with Lee, you really should post this elsewhere so it won't be lost someday when this party is over....
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also? i just had to say, since this is the best place to do it all lovefest-y and such, you're an amazing cheerleader for this ship! authors and artists and vidders keep doing what we do because other fans like you are so supportive and enthusiastic, and i don't think cheerleading gets the credit it deserves. so thanks! ♥
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