FIC: Dust and Sun
Rating: PG-13? R? no sexing but language and general angst
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Notes: I AM SORRY FOR THIS
On the third night that Sirius wakes, screaming, Remus comes in and suggests (politely, impersonally) that they share the small, threadbare bed. If it would help.
Sirius’ heart stutters out an unsteady rhythm than means yes. His eyes would say yes, too, but the shutters have been drawn for twelve years and no one knows what they are saying anymore. His mouth doesn’t say a word. But Remus knows that his silence means acquiescence, and leaves to go back to his own room.
Sirius grabs a pillow and follows him. He tries not to remember the heady, gasping nights in fifth year, and sixth year, and seventh year. The way he invited Remus into his bed because Remus cried sometimes, quietly and alone. The way he was almost glad of Remus’ werewolf pain, because it meant that he needed things. He needed Sirius.
If there could ever be a bed-invitation that wasn’t a sexual proposition, Sirius thinks that Remus Lupin has probably just made one. Sirius knows that Remus does not know how to behave around him anymore - the chasm between them is twelve years long - but the problem is that Sirius still knows exactly how to behave around Remus. They’re older now and their knees creak in the mornings, but they’re still god help them the same people. Sirius climbs into the bed and on his side it is as cold as the sight of Remus’ curled up back. Neither of them sleep well that night.
Early in the morning, Remus steals away as he always has done, leaving Sirius in his bed like a stain. Sirius doesn’t awaken until lunchtime and the smell of cooking turns his stomach slightly. Since Azkaban he has eaten very little and his ribs stick out further than his stomach. Sirius thinks, distantly, that he might want to do something about that. But he already feels dead and hollow and now he looks dead and hollow, so it fits well enough.
Remus calls to him, “Are you going to get up, Sirius?” There is a hint of mild revulsion, judgement, in the way that he speaks, as though to say we’ve all got problems, Sirius, but not all of us are lying in bed until one thirty in the afternoon, you filthy animal. Of course, that is just conjecture. Remus Lupin would never call anyone a dirty animal. He would simply think it until he became so bitter he was unable to look the person in the eye anymore. We’ve all got problems, Sirius.
**
“When all this is over.” Sirius waves his arms as though indicating the entire universe. He is horribly, horribly drunk. “When all this is over, you and me, we’re going to get a nice house, and we’re going to have Buckbeak in the garden and lotsa dead ferrets for him to eat.”
Remus smiles pleasantly and unreachably and does not look up from his knees.
“Remus,” Sirius says, slurring, “Remus, c’mere. Let’s talk. About us.” He pats his lap in what he thinks is in inviting way.
Remus doesn’t move. There is a frown being dug into his forehead. “Sirius, you’re fucked out of your head,” he says icily. Remus never swears, so when he does, it feels like being stabbed. Remus only swears when he really, really means it. The precise, clipped way he pronounces “fucked” makes Sirius feel about three years old. He gets up and leaves, stumbling slightly, bumping into the door. Remus watches him go with a twitching, miserable mouth.
**
Sirius is sober and his hair is washed. Sirius feels like a failure.
**
“Remus, I think we should-”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
**
It’s been two weeks now and Remus and Sirius have fallen into an uneasy routine, with nothing really getting done and certainly nothing being said, ever. Remus drinks his tea with no sugar (sugar is expensive and has to be kept for special occasions, not just for when your old friend is living with you). Sirius drinks Firewhiskey (with no sugar). He’s ashamed of himself but he’s more ashamed of himself when he’s sober and has a chance to brood. Remus is ashamed of him too.
“I thought,” Remus says suddenly, “that it would be nice having you here.” He sounds bitter and cruel, very unlike himself. Or, at least, very unlike the person Sirius knew. Perhaps over 12 years of being alone really does change a person immeasurably. “But, well, all you do is drink, isn’t it, and when you’re not drinking you’re sleeping or wishing you were somewhere else.”
Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but then shuts it again. Then, “Fuck, Remus - you’re not the one who had to live through - twelve years - do you know what it’s like? Do you?”
Remus looks angrier than Sirius has ever seen him before and Sirius feels a flash of vindictive pride. “This whole thing isn’t about you, Sirius. It’s about the war.”
“THE WAR IS ABOUT THE PEOPLE,” Sirius shouts, losing his sweaty grip on control completely. “What the fuck are we doing here, if we’re not thinking about the people?”
“The people doesn’t equal Sirius Black,” Remus hisses. “God, you haven’t changed at all, you’re still the same fucking Sirius Black you always were, with your- and your -” Remus turns on his heel but before he can leave properly, as he does in the mornings, Sirius kisses him with the force he reserves for hexes and swearing.
Remus pulls back and pushes him away, his face painted with horror and disgust. “Don’t you even think about it,” he breathes, “no, I won’t, don’t even think about it.”
“THIS IS ALL ABOUT YOU AND ME,” Sirius bellows after him. “THIS IS ALL ABOUT US.”
Remus will think of these moments a few months later and feel sick with regret.
**
Sirius is right: it is all about them. Of course it is about them - who else could it be about? Ever since there was a them, they’ve been fighting and kissing and everything that couples do when one of them is crazy and one of them isn’t really anything.
Dumbledore comes to visit occasionally and Remus knows from the expression on his face that he is aware of the situation between them. And Remus knows, from the way he never mentions it, that he doesn’t particularly care because, in the grand scheme of things, two ex-maybe-still-lovers being holed up together isn’t really a big deal. Remus knows that but it doesn’t stop the ache.
**
“I’m not that different, Remus, you could still have me, I could still have you-”
Remus pulls back his scarred arm roughly and viciously and spits, “You’ve always fucking had me.” There is nothing but hollow hatred and resentment, fists drawn up inside his pockets.
And then, “God… Sirius, I’m sorry-”
“Can we just - be friends?” Sirius would laugh at the utter ridiculousness of that question if he wasn’t trying not to cry.
After that, there is an improvement of sorts, and when things are so bad, it’s okay if there’s only an improvement of sorts. Remus’ hands linger a little longer on the back of Sirius’ chair and in bed there are a few conversations, even a few beautiful shards of laughter. Hope and tentative happiness. It’s a cliché, but light shines through the bedroom window and illuminates the dust, and them.
**
Sirius dies and there is only dust and sun. And the sun doesn’t seem strong enough to illuminate anything, let alone Remus’ dust-covered heart.
You
Always
Fucking
Had
Me
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Notes: I AM SORRY FOR THIS
On the third night that Sirius wakes, screaming, Remus comes in and suggests (politely, impersonally) that they share the small, threadbare bed. If it would help.
Sirius’ heart stutters out an unsteady rhythm than means yes. His eyes would say yes, too, but the shutters have been drawn for twelve years and no one knows what they are saying anymore. His mouth doesn’t say a word. But Remus knows that his silence means acquiescence, and leaves to go back to his own room.
Sirius grabs a pillow and follows him. He tries not to remember the heady, gasping nights in fifth year, and sixth year, and seventh year. The way he invited Remus into his bed because Remus cried sometimes, quietly and alone. The way he was almost glad of Remus’ werewolf pain, because it meant that he needed things. He needed Sirius.
If there could ever be a bed-invitation that wasn’t a sexual proposition, Sirius thinks that Remus Lupin has probably just made one. Sirius knows that Remus does not know how to behave around him anymore - the chasm between them is twelve years long - but the problem is that Sirius still knows exactly how to behave around Remus. They’re older now and their knees creak in the mornings, but they’re still god help them the same people. Sirius climbs into the bed and on his side it is as cold as the sight of Remus’ curled up back. Neither of them sleep well that night.
Early in the morning, Remus steals away as he always has done, leaving Sirius in his bed like a stain. Sirius doesn’t awaken until lunchtime and the smell of cooking turns his stomach slightly. Since Azkaban he has eaten very little and his ribs stick out further than his stomach. Sirius thinks, distantly, that he might want to do something about that. But he already feels dead and hollow and now he looks dead and hollow, so it fits well enough.
Remus calls to him, “Are you going to get up, Sirius?” There is a hint of mild revulsion, judgement, in the way that he speaks, as though to say we’ve all got problems, Sirius, but not all of us are lying in bed until one thirty in the afternoon, you filthy animal. Of course, that is just conjecture. Remus Lupin would never call anyone a dirty animal. He would simply think it until he became so bitter he was unable to look the person in the eye anymore. We’ve all got problems, Sirius.
**
“When all this is over.” Sirius waves his arms as though indicating the entire universe. He is horribly, horribly drunk. “When all this is over, you and me, we’re going to get a nice house, and we’re going to have Buckbeak in the garden and lotsa dead ferrets for him to eat.”
Remus smiles pleasantly and unreachably and does not look up from his knees.
“Remus,” Sirius says, slurring, “Remus, c’mere. Let’s talk. About us.” He pats his lap in what he thinks is in inviting way.
Remus doesn’t move. There is a frown being dug into his forehead. “Sirius, you’re fucked out of your head,” he says icily. Remus never swears, so when he does, it feels like being stabbed. Remus only swears when he really, really means it. The precise, clipped way he pronounces “fucked” makes Sirius feel about three years old. He gets up and leaves, stumbling slightly, bumping into the door. Remus watches him go with a twitching, miserable mouth.
**
Sirius is sober and his hair is washed. Sirius feels like a failure.
**
“Remus, I think we should-”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
**
It’s been two weeks now and Remus and Sirius have fallen into an uneasy routine, with nothing really getting done and certainly nothing being said, ever. Remus drinks his tea with no sugar (sugar is expensive and has to be kept for special occasions, not just for when your old friend is living with you). Sirius drinks Firewhiskey (with no sugar). He’s ashamed of himself but he’s more ashamed of himself when he’s sober and has a chance to brood. Remus is ashamed of him too.
“I thought,” Remus says suddenly, “that it would be nice having you here.” He sounds bitter and cruel, very unlike himself. Or, at least, very unlike the person Sirius knew. Perhaps over 12 years of being alone really does change a person immeasurably. “But, well, all you do is drink, isn’t it, and when you’re not drinking you’re sleeping or wishing you were somewhere else.”
Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but then shuts it again. Then, “Fuck, Remus - you’re not the one who had to live through - twelve years - do you know what it’s like? Do you?”
Remus looks angrier than Sirius has ever seen him before and Sirius feels a flash of vindictive pride. “This whole thing isn’t about you, Sirius. It’s about the war.”
“THE WAR IS ABOUT THE PEOPLE,” Sirius shouts, losing his sweaty grip on control completely. “What the fuck are we doing here, if we’re not thinking about the people?”
“The people doesn’t equal Sirius Black,” Remus hisses. “God, you haven’t changed at all, you’re still the same fucking Sirius Black you always were, with your- and your -” Remus turns on his heel but before he can leave properly, as he does in the mornings, Sirius kisses him with the force he reserves for hexes and swearing.
Remus pulls back and pushes him away, his face painted with horror and disgust. “Don’t you even think about it,” he breathes, “no, I won’t, don’t even think about it.”
“THIS IS ALL ABOUT YOU AND ME,” Sirius bellows after him. “THIS IS ALL ABOUT US.”
Remus will think of these moments a few months later and feel sick with regret.
**
Sirius is right: it is all about them. Of course it is about them - who else could it be about? Ever since there was a them, they’ve been fighting and kissing and everything that couples do when one of them is crazy and one of them isn’t really anything.
Dumbledore comes to visit occasionally and Remus knows from the expression on his face that he is aware of the situation between them. And Remus knows, from the way he never mentions it, that he doesn’t particularly care because, in the grand scheme of things, two ex-maybe-still-lovers being holed up together isn’t really a big deal. Remus knows that but it doesn’t stop the ache.
**
“I’m not that different, Remus, you could still have me, I could still have you-”
Remus pulls back his scarred arm roughly and viciously and spits, “You’ve always fucking had me.” There is nothing but hollow hatred and resentment, fists drawn up inside his pockets.
And then, “God… Sirius, I’m sorry-”
“Can we just - be friends?” Sirius would laugh at the utter ridiculousness of that question if he wasn’t trying not to cry.
After that, there is an improvement of sorts, and when things are so bad, it’s okay if there’s only an improvement of sorts. Remus’ hands linger a little longer on the back of Sirius’ chair and in bed there are a few conversations, even a few beautiful shards of laughter. Hope and tentative happiness. It’s a cliché, but light shines through the bedroom window and illuminates the dust, and them.
**
Sirius dies and there is only dust and sun. And the sun doesn’t seem strong enough to illuminate anything, let alone Remus’ dust-covered heart.
You
Always
Fucking
Had
Me