1975"
23:43 7TH APRIL (02)
In Sirius’ room, nothing is where it should be. The walls are a patchwork of band posters, each one a testament to a specific point in his life. An electric guitar, its surface adorned with an assortment of stickers, is laid against a tattered bookshelf - decorated with records.
Today’s outfit sat in a pile on the floor; a black tank top, oversized jeans and a surprisingly comfortable leather jacket with “ABOUT YOU : 1975” sprayed carelessly onto the back. He’d changed into a hoodie, and thrown on red plaid trousers, gifted by James, who Sirius prays was joking when telling him they were matching.
He turned around, his eyes darting straight to the lightning echoing around the mansion he had the misfortune of calling home. Dominating the room is a grand window, casting shadows that dance across the floor and walls.
On the dresser, amidst the clutter of CDs and vinyls, sits an array of hair products and half-folded band tees. Sirius turned to stare down at his desk, spotting and using a paintbrush to quickly put his hair up and then starts fiddle with the cold, silver rings decorating his pale hands.
The scent of aerosol mixes with the faint aroma of incense, and despite the apparent chaos, there's an underlying sense of order to the room—but his horrible, yet admirable organisation skills don’t save him from jumping out of his skin when there’s a tap on the drenched window.
A grinning boy stares through the glass, shielding his already soaked head from the storm with a previously unruined, cigarette-stained, corduroy jacket. As he lets himself in, footsteps hammer up the stairs, slowly walking towards Sirius’ bedroom.
His visitor senses the other boy’s panic when turning, and immediately drops to the floor. Despite the confusing actions from him, Sirius turns and runs to make sure the door doesn’t get slammed open to reveal a rather… rule-breaking situation.
“Sirius?” A cold voice calls from the other side, “Are you awake?”
Turning around to see no visible form of life, Sirius spins again and opens the door as wide as need-be. Regulus is looking up at him, staring and still, with a slight frown.
The longer he stares, the more he realises how Regulus has grown up. And just how much they look alike. They both stood there, with black hair and damned near perfect posture; unmoving grey eyes, with their heights and furrowed brows matching.
“Stop smiling,” the younger boy snarled, clearly uncomfortable. “Orion’s left. His flight got moved earlier.”
Sirius let his smile drop, “Finally.”
Regulus leaned onto his left, trying to see over into Sirius’ room, with a suspicious expression. Catching on, Sirius moved with him and gave a quick grin, while patting him on the shoulder.
“Oh, Reg!” He snorted. “Now I know you’re forgetful, but unfortunately, this room is not yours.”
And as quickly as he could, Regulus turned on his feet and went to his own.
He pushes the door until he hears the click, “Where the fuck did you go?”
Remus and Sirius met four years ago, as complete opposites. Everything was different, Remus had a buzzcut and a variety of piercings in each ear, and while wearing black converse that disintegrates a little each time they meet the sun, he stood at 6 '2. If it was up to Orion, Sirius would be dressed exactly the same as then every day, in a smart white shirt and formal black pants. However, being as rebellious as he possibly could at the time, he also wore platformed docs with rough purple twine for laces.
Lace code isn’t dead, right?
When they met, the first thing they did was stare each other down, freaking the shit out of both groups. Minutes passed by, arms were crossed and doorways were leaned against, and still no words were exchanged. Finally, once Peter, Lily and Evan - acquaintances cursed with this memory, too - had clicked that they were friends from Chess Club, everyone seemed to unite, forcing the two to talk.
“Friends with Regulus, hm?” The younger boy questioned, straightening to his full height, trying to overtake Remus.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, toff?”
“The fuck did you just call me?” Sirius snarled, getting closer, and instead of a spiteful remark, Remus just winked.
Winked.
Remus paused to push his sleeves back up to his elbows, staring him down. Coincidentally and fortunately for Sirius, it was something Remus did quite often now. In fact, it’s exactly what he did after rolling out from under Sirius’ bed and whacking his head into it.
“How graceful.”
“Aren’t I just? Not all of us got etiquette lessons, dick.”
“Wanker.”
A comfortable silence fell over them, with matching grins, as if time had stopped, but to their dismay, it continued. Sirius grabbed the hem of Remus’ shirt and began to pull him along to sit on his unmade bed. Silently and swiftly, Remus shoved a CD in the player and laid back, ‘listening’ to (or at least acknowledging) Sirius, as he went on to tell him about how the last prank went up in flames. Literally.
“Who knew it was THAT hard to find a snot-flavoured lollipop?”
“Probably the person who also discovered how hard it was to find a vomit-flavoured one.”
He retorted, turning his head to stare back at a smiling Sirius, slowly nodding his head along to the music.
“Hey, I tried!” He yelped, jumping up to look down at the other boy. “Not my fault the earwax-flavoured ones turned out to not exist.”
“One day they’ll make them with people like you in mind.”
“Expert pranksters?”
“No,” Remus paused.
He sat up, finally taller than Sirius again, and locked eyes with him. “For idiots who think they ‘may taste better than they sound’.”
“That was one time!” he yelled out, just loud enough for Remus to shove his hands over the other boy’s mouth, silent and terrified of Regulus finding them.
After a while, and a few pushes, they finally fell back down onto the bed behind them and breathed out, uncaught.
The rest of the night they sat next to each other, their sides completely touching while leaning with their backs to the bed frame. Sirius felt calm. Usually, that wasn’t the case, but there was just something about his closest friend that could tame him, something that let the fizzling anxiety and insanity get buried deep down.
Sirius pulled his hood up, shuffling as close as he could physically manage, and slung his arm around Remus’ shoulders. Remus leaned his head back, accepting the gesture and pulling a pack of viceroy reds out his jacket to offer to him. Sirius gladly accepted, pulling one out and reaching for a clipper - both, still silent, leaned into the flame.