[for Sirius]

[the_beta]

The new hut isn't new at all: smaller than the last and dusty from the sudden abandonment of its owner.  Yesterday Remus moved most of his life here in his hamper, only to cart it back to the compound with the sheets for a wash.  Today, he's been back to the old place with his commandeered wheelbarrow for his books, and a note he feels somewhat

Comments

[not_the_grim]

Several books from the top of one of the stacks is the telltale red spine of Fight Club. When Sirius slinks up the steps, he slips it free, the cover well worn and the pages dog-eared. The past year, there's nothing he's read more, and he's never been particularly careful with his material possessions.

Leaning in the open doorway, skinny hips canted forward, he thumbs through the pages. "This one's mine," he says to announce his presence, and glances up to where Remus diligently cleaning the room inside.

[the_beta]

For a moment his insides freeze up and squeeze, all kinds of startled and surprised, and, yes, elated. But there's no leaping up and going over, just another swipe of the coarse brush over the floor as he exhales, and then there's dropping it, sitting back up on his bare heels to look over at Sirius.

"So take it. Or leave it, it'll still be here when you want it again," he says with deliberate mildness. It almost sounds like he's actually just talking about the book.

[not_the_grim]

"Where else would I keep it?"

The novel is afforded a last perfunctory once over before he tosses it aside to land with a slap beside the rest. He hooks a casual thumb into a belt loop on the front of his already perilously low-riding blue jeans, but remains otherwise unmoving in the doorway.

[the_beta]

"Wherever you're staying, I guess--" but that's not really what he wants to say. Or it is, but it isn't what he needs to say. If he can't stand to be petty about it on the beach the other night, he can't stand to be petty now, with Sirius halfway into the hut. "Look, about what I said, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't track you down to say so."

Wiping his hands dry on his thighs, he stands to pick at the folds in his shirt and stop having this talk from a corner. "People keep asking me how I get on with you, and I never know how to tell them I'm pretty shit at it." Like now, all this talking, like he does when he's feeling cagey. It never gets him anywhere, but there he is, filling the space with words.

[fuu3]

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