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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We weren't meant to be, Sirius likes to say. Remus doesn't like it. It always sounds unhappily like a postscript, like Sirius is looking back at something Remus is still caught up in the middle of.
He tries to change the subject and mostly Sirius will let him, but sometimes Sirius is feeling philosophical, and he'll list all the reasons they should never have found their way to this thing between them. He's particularly fascinated by the subject today.
Think about it, Sirius says. I'm a Black, eldest son. And you're... you. He gestures airily in Remus's direction, to encompass exactly what Remus is. Sirius is lying on his back on his bed, one knee bent and one arm tangled in his dark hair, propping up his head, just inches from Remus's foot. He's so thoughtlessly sure of himself that Remus can find himself thinking that all the reasons he has to love Sirius are easily reasons to hate him ( ... )
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OH HAI, YOU MADE ME TEAR UP AT WORK. AT WORK. *LOVES ON THIS FOREVER, OMG*
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We're more meant to be than destiny.
And yes, that.
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I'm so happy about this! I think I'll write something...
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YOU ARE NOT RUSTY. COME BACK AND WRITE FOR US ANYTIME OMG.
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soft-eyed looks that come out of nowhere and tie them together across the whole stretch of the Great Hall
How do you do that?
And yes, that last line. *sighs happily*
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