Fic: Something Like Prayer (Remus/Sirius)
Something Like Prayer | HP | Remus/Sirius | G | 505 words
Something Like Prayer
To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
~Admonitions to a Special Person, Anne Sexton
*
They are walking back to the cottage after a furtive late night visit into town for groceries (Remus leaves money on the cash register along with the list of what they've taken, while Sirius eyes the paper notes skeptically) when Sirius lies down in the middle of the road.
Remus, years out of practice, stops and stares for just a split second, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "What are you doing?" He clamps his mouth shut, because he has learned over the years the value of silence, of measuring words out in miniscule increments, while absorbing the life stories of everyone else he's met, remembering everything and everyone while being remembered by almost none.
Sirius just gives him a half-grin and remains flat on his back in the road, long enough for Remus to sigh and lie down next to him, trying not to think of the dirt staining his already ragged robes.
"Stop it," Sirius says, still able to read him better than anyone else ever has.
"I hate when you do that."
"I know." Which is exactly why he does it. Some things even Azkaban can't change. Even while lying in the dirt on Rough Common Road at two am, Remus is glad of that.
He looks up, but there isn't anything he can tell Sirius about the stars he doesn't already know.
"I could see the stars sometimes," Sirius says. "From the window. And the moon. But mostly it was grey, above and below, inside and out. Like we were hanging off the edge of the world."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Remus sees him give a little shiver. He reaches out his hand but stops short of actually touching Sirius's wrist. They haven't touched much in the days since Sirius appeared on his doorstep, worn and desperate and full of bad news. Remus isn't sure if it's because he's afraid one touch will break them or because if they start they'll never stop.
He thinks he may be ready to find out.
He has to fight a sudden tightness in his chest, and his voice is hoarse when he asks, "And now?"
Sirius turns his head, meets Remus's gaze, eyes wide and bright in the darkness, inscrutable for a moment before his lips curve into a full smile, the first Remus has seen from him in days. Years. He touches the tips of his fingers to Remus's, and Remus wraps his hand around Sirius's wrist, thin but strong, pulse beating warm and steady against the pads of his fingers.
"Now, I know I won't fall off."
They lie in the road for a few moments more, until they feel a low level vibration in the asphalt humming through them like music for the deaf. Sirius spots headlights in the distance. They rise slowly, groaning quietly, joints popping. Sirius laughs, chasing away the specter of old age, and as they begin walking again, he reaches out for Remus's hand, and takes it.
End
*
Er, inspired by sathinks's icon of a guy lying in the road, which appeared on my flist as I was preparing to go to bed. Sigh...
*
Feedback would be adored.
Something Like Prayer
To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
~Admonitions to a Special Person, Anne Sexton
*
They are walking back to the cottage after a furtive late night visit into town for groceries (Remus leaves money on the cash register along with the list of what they've taken, while Sirius eyes the paper notes skeptically) when Sirius lies down in the middle of the road.
Remus, years out of practice, stops and stares for just a split second, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "What are you doing?" He clamps his mouth shut, because he has learned over the years the value of silence, of measuring words out in miniscule increments, while absorbing the life stories of everyone else he's met, remembering everything and everyone while being remembered by almost none.
Sirius just gives him a half-grin and remains flat on his back in the road, long enough for Remus to sigh and lie down next to him, trying not to think of the dirt staining his already ragged robes.
"Stop it," Sirius says, still able to read him better than anyone else ever has.
"I hate when you do that."
"I know." Which is exactly why he does it. Some things even Azkaban can't change. Even while lying in the dirt on Rough Common Road at two am, Remus is glad of that.
He looks up, but there isn't anything he can tell Sirius about the stars he doesn't already know.
"I could see the stars sometimes," Sirius says. "From the window. And the moon. But mostly it was grey, above and below, inside and out. Like we were hanging off the edge of the world."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Remus sees him give a little shiver. He reaches out his hand but stops short of actually touching Sirius's wrist. They haven't touched much in the days since Sirius appeared on his doorstep, worn and desperate and full of bad news. Remus isn't sure if it's because he's afraid one touch will break them or because if they start they'll never stop.
He thinks he may be ready to find out.
He has to fight a sudden tightness in his chest, and his voice is hoarse when he asks, "And now?"
Sirius turns his head, meets Remus's gaze, eyes wide and bright in the darkness, inscrutable for a moment before his lips curve into a full smile, the first Remus has seen from him in days. Years. He touches the tips of his fingers to Remus's, and Remus wraps his hand around Sirius's wrist, thin but strong, pulse beating warm and steady against the pads of his fingers.
"Now, I know I won't fall off."
They lie in the road for a few moments more, until they feel a low level vibration in the asphalt humming through them like music for the deaf. Sirius spots headlights in the distance. They rise slowly, groaning quietly, joints popping. Sirius laughs, chasing away the specter of old age, and as they begin walking again, he reaches out for Remus's hand, and takes it.
End
*
Er, inspired by sathinks's icon of a guy lying in the road, which appeared on my flist as I was preparing to go to bed. Sigh...
*
Feedback would be adored.