Comfortably Numb music!fic
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Hello, is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me; is there anyone home?
Come on now, I hear you’re feeling down;
I can ease your pain get on your feet again.
Relax, I need some information first;
Just the basic facts, can you show me where is hurts?
There is no pain, you are receding;
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves,
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.
When I was a child I had a fever, my hands felt just like two balloons;
Now I’ve got that feeling once again,
I can’t explain, you would not understand; this is not how I am.
I have become Comfortably Numb,
I have become Comfortably Numb
Okay, just a little pin-prick;
There’ll be no more pain, but you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up, I do believe it’s working, good;
That’ll keep you going for the show, come on it’s time to go.
There is no pain you are receding;
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves,
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of my eye,
I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now,
The child is grown, the dream is gone;
I have become Comfortably Numb,
I have become Comfortably Numb
Remus sipped at the too hot cup of tea, the steam curling into his eyes, the scalding liquid a cherished burn down his throat, discomfort more than pain; how could a simple burn hold pain anymore after what he had been through? It wasn’t even just the lycanthropy he was thinking of either. At least this was real, this he could hold onto, the searing heat through his palms, the bittersweet aftertaste of too long stewing and not enough money for sugar.
The man sitting opposite him, however; he was too real to be real. Remus knew that shouldn’t make any sense, his brain was shouting…well, not shouting, nothing about him was ever loud, but arguing patiently and reasonably that this train of thought was ridiculous, but his senses, his instincts told him otherwise.
“I’ve always doubted just how much you enjoy drinking this stuff; you can never seem to make it right.” His voice was rough, low, barely above a whisper and Remus knew that the words should hold some comfort, could hear that they contained some residual humour of the friend he used to have, but couldn’t form any sort of answer, not even a smile or a nod. His muscles seemed to be detached from his nervous system, only the automatic function of drinking his tea continuing to operate.
Sirius wrapped long fingers around his mug, shifting slightly as if to set it down on the table then resting back into the armchair, cradling the drink to his thin chest as if to capture even this small trace of warmth for his own.
His eyes roamed nervously around the room, jumping from the faded, dusty curtains to haphazardly stacked piles of books in every corner, outrageous, cheap prints on the walls attempting and failing to liven up the tiny space. Sirius could feel Remus watching him carefully, warily, but could not bring himself to meet that gaze; he knew what he would see and didn’t want to ruin the last shreds of hope that he realised his old friend was still clinging to.
“Sirius…” Remus watched the muscles along his back and shoulders tense abruptly, the hot tea swirl with the movement and threaten to spill over the edge of the mug. His head turned partway towards him, but still the other man wouldn’t look directly at him, his jaw tight and long, lank hair hanging across his eyes.
“Sirius, please, just look at me.” The words caught in his throat, mouth dry and eyes stinging, the sharp edge of the chipped mug digging into his palm.
Sirius eyes flickered involuntarily up to meet Remus’, reflex and instinct overpowering his always dubious self-control, returning a gaze that was filled with fear and sadness and some underlying, wavering emotion that Sirius knew he had seen before but couldn’t for the life of him place. For some inexplicable reason, he had the sudden idea that Remus was seeing those exact same emotions in his eyes and he had an urge to run and hide in his room, slam the door and bury himself in his duvet like he hadn’t done since he was twelve…
…but Remus’ gaze held him there, rooted in the sagging armchair, a rusted spring creaking underneath him, hot china making his palms sweat, the ancient air conditioning humming too loudly in the silence.
“This isn’t going to be easy; we can’t just…just go back to how we were-“
He was interrupted by Sirius loud barking laugh, half relieved, half surprised and it was ridiculous how easy it was for Remus to read that much into the way his friend acted when they had been apart for so long. He knew he was right, though, when the tension drained out of Sirius’ body; his shoulders dropped, knees relaxed, the colour seeped back into his knuckles as he loosened his grip on his mug of tea.
If it was surreal to be sat here with Sirius before, then there were no words left to describe how it felt to see his school-day companion reappear as the laughter and joy crept back into his features, a genuine smile crinkling his eyes and stripping away years of isolation.
“What did I say?” Remus sat forward, the rough wool of his jumper crackling over his worn jeans, the mug setting down onto the polished surface of the table with a hesitant clinking as his hands trembled ever so slightly; he tugged the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, balling the frayed hems into his fists.
Golden motes of dust sparkled briefly in the slants of sunlight streaming through the window as Sirius shook his head, mimicking Remus’ posture, elbows on knees, hands clasped, head tilted to the side as they viewed each other, one speculative, one appraising.
“I…this sounds stupid even in my head, but well…I thought you would expect things to be normal. The war is finally over, we survived, we’re free and…and there’s nothing between us now…”
“Sirius, I don’t expect us to suddenly forget everything that’s happened, especially not you…I know this will be hard, I don’t pretend to think there won’t be mistakes, from both of us, but…I’m not walking away, not now, hopefully not ever though if my tea-making is as atrocious as you say then I have no expectations for your staying…”
This time the laughter was softer, warmer, companionable and Remus smiled as well, reaching once again for his tea and grimacing as the sip he took was not more than tepid and overly bitter dregs. As he stood Sirius quickly drained the last of his own drink, unconcerned of the foul taste and followed him into the kitchenette, setting the mug into the sink and resting back against the worktop, arms loosely folded across his waist.
“So what now?” Remus tried to make the question casual, spontaneous, but Sirius could tell that this was one thing that had been plaguing his friends thoughts for longer than he would ever admit.
“Now? Well that depends really…” Sirius watched as Remus busied himself with rinsing out their mugs, hot water splashing over his hands, the jay-cloth squeaking on the damp china; his stance was slightly less than relaxed, not quite predatory but cautious enough to tell Sirius that his instincts were on over-drive and preparing him for…something…
“Depends?” Sirius had heard Remus’ voice like this in far too long; low, breathy, anticipatory, all indicative of the inevitable argument ensuing in his mind; his logic telling him to be sensible about things, but his hindbrain ignoring this completely and demanding control.
Even moving as quietly as he could, Sirius knew there was no way he could ever creep up on Remus, senses always running on auto-pilot just below the surface; he could seem to be fast asleep, curled up on the sofa in front of dying embers in the middle of the night, but try pouncing on him unsuspecting and he could have you in a headlock on the floor before you realised he had moved. So Sirius had never bothered with trying to be subtle, not that it was one of his strong points anyway.
Remus’ gaze was still fixed on the sink even though washing up two mugs took barely thirty seconds. His hands gripped the edge of the steel, eyes following the path of a water droplet as it meandered slowly from the lime-scale mark around the tap down the muted grey metal.
Reaching out one hand, Sirius stroked his fingertips down Remus’ cheek, the edge of his thumb just grazing the corner of his mouth and suddenly they were kissing, fiercely, desperately, like they had never done before, not even at the height of the war when they were convinced each day could be their last together, their last at all.
Remus cupped long, strong fingers around Sirius’ neck, thumbs pressing almost too sharply into the hollows behind his ears. Their teeth clashed and the three-day stubble on both their cheeks scraping and burning; Sirius’ lower back was digging painfully into the corner of the work-surface and Remus’ knees were rested uncomfortably against the cabinet doors as blunt nails dug into the sparse flesh at his waist.
They drew back for air too soon, chests heaving and legs trembling but as Remus straightened, steadying his feet, he dropped his arms and lifted Sirius up and onto the worktop; immediately wrapping his legs around Remus’ hips, Sirius pulled them closer, draping his arms over his lover’s shoulders and dropping his head forward. This time the kiss was slow, unhurried, a relearning of each other; seeking out those particular spots that made Sirius gasp ohmerlinYES, that would have the both of them shuddering and panting, that would numb the rest of the world so there was only the comfort of each other.