Old Styles
Remus Lupin is as intertwined with Sirius as graffiti is, an undeniable although troubling part of his life. They had gone to college together but while Sirius partied Remus got into the police academy and made something of himself. They hadn’t known each other well but seeing him is like a punch in the face of “you could never have been good like this”. He was almost sure every time he thought such a thing his mother’s ears got warm, because it was always her voice behind those thoughts. The pair seemed to follow each other, unable to rid themselves of running into each other (or for Sirius, the law). Nothing about Lupin ever sat right with Sirius, maybe it’s the way his eyes glint when he says something particularly clever or the way he presents himself so neatly and poised. Maybe it’s the way he just responds with the most diplomatic, inconsequential words. Or maybe it’s the fact that the tawdry blue or the uniform suits him so well. Sirius could speculate his hatred forever, but here they were yet again.
Lupin’s eyebrows pinched his forehead as he stared across the desk. Not at Sirius per say, more like a spot behind him, as if contemplating what to say. Sirius doubted that such a do-gooder, sure-of-himself, law-abiding, cop could ever contemplate over something as simple as words. Remus was an enigma however, so Sirius really never knew. Maybe that’s why he hated him so much. He couldn’t read him like the average person. He was just so Remus.
“Why must you keep causing trouble Sirius?” He huffed in exasperation.
“Why must you let those less fortunate rot on the sidewalk, Remus? The look that earns him is worth every syllable wasted on the man across from him. Lupin begins to lay out the paperwork for his release, as it’s a minor offense and the first with this particular station. Won’t be the last though. Sirius is sure of that much.
“Now how am I supposed to sign your piece of measly paper without my hands?” Sirius chastised as he held his iron bound wrists across the desk.
Lupin scoffed and undid the binds before shoving a pen into his hand. “Sign.”
Sirius was released back into the wild without a second thought. Stupid cops. His head pounded, swarming with the need for a drink and a joint. He declined the need for someone to escort him back to his flat. The walk let him think, or more likely plot. The street stank of homelessness and misery.
Cardboard signs lined the sidewalk, boney fingers holding them and pleading. Children wailed and car alarms screamed.
Ah the sweet sounds of home.
Next thing he knew it was at least a day later.
“Must’ve blacked out, shit”, he mumbled. His head pounded furiously, drums pounding behind his eyes and white noise in his ears. Crap. Crap. Crap. What the hell had he done to fuck him up this bad? He could smell the weed and alcohol on his breath but that wouldn’t fuck him up this bad. Where did he go after he got back to his flat? What did he do? Most importantly, what the hell did he take?
Last night was a compilation of horrid mistakes. Seeing that fucker Lupin again threw him for a loop. Finally thought he got away from that spy. So, naturally, he went off the rails to an extreme. From what Sirius had pieced together he had come home, wrecked at least one wall with angry kicks and punches, and went out to- well who knows. From the burn in his nose he must have fucked with some cocaine during his fury, or any other number of substances. His pockets gave him no clue to what else he could’ve possibly taken. Not that it mattered all that much to him. He’d thrown it all up after coming to anyway. That and whatever he had ate the night previous.
Drug use wasn’t new to Sirius. Neither were the black outs. Usually came about when his family was mentioned. But Lupin, as the fucker he is, decided to lump in with their lot and now gets him worked up to an extreme. His brain hammered against his skull as he tried to reconcile the night's mistakes. He was supposed to get away from it all. At least he woke up in his own flat this time, little victories.
The days ahead consisted of a terrifying detox, alone as usual. Sirius didn’t have friends, and if he did he never kept them long enough to find out about his past. He spent his days clutching the bowl or trapping himself in his bed. He didn’t eat, and barely drank. Mostly Sirius just slept and wished for death to take him. Nothing that merciful happened though. Today he went back into his small job at a hardware store just north of his shit ass neighborhood. If you could even call it that. His headache had subsided and he was able to be pleasant with his coworkers as he managed the store's finances and all the boring mathematical crap. He was always keen on numbers, loved how they fit together so perfectly. It was a simple job and paid well enough to stay off the streets and fund his side projects. Sirius had only one complaint, the place was crawling with girls just lining up for a chance. He declined every one of them at least a dozen times over. He had no interest in such trivial women. They never seemed to understand this though and constantly kissed his ass for the possibility of a shag. Although none of them were particularly unattractive, Sirius just had other interests. More important ones at that. Like figuring out how to get rid of a hellish police officer that seemed to be quite acquainted with his equally hellish family.