The Stars
Boxes piled in the corners of an all too large apartment, labels haphazardly placed on the cardboard, some opened and some taped closed. Remus didn’t know where to put Sirius’ things so they sat in the shadows of their flat. Their flat. How odd a thing to think about. Remus hasn’t asked him for any details of the all too violent meeting with Madame Black. He assumed it was a touchy subject so he steered clear of talking to him much about it, or about anything for that matter. He did his job, followed the heir around when he went on errands, disposed of his “art” materials, and packed up his shabby at best living space. The cop did his best to accommodate Sirius’ space, but unfortunately he was trouble when left alone. Remus had already stopped two escape attempts by the third day.
“I don’t have a choice, this is my job now.”, Remus said, to a particularly mopey Sirius.
“And mine is to annoy you and make that job harder, if you didn’t already know.”
Sirius had stomped away after that and Remus let him, opting to unpack instead. He got halfway through the dishes before something clattered to the ground across the hall. The blonde sighed and made his way to the other boy’s room.
“Sirius, everything alright in there?”, it was less of an ask than a demand to know. The door cracked open revealing a mess of black curls. Sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks stared up at him, Sirius looking unusually childish and soft. The bruise from just days previous still held strong on his left cheek, accompanying a small scabbed over cut.
“Are you okay? Do you need anything?”, Remus asked, not of his own volition of course just out of habit. He hated the man after all. His posh upbringing does nothing for his attitude or his unwillingness to see the good in the world. He was raised with money and turned it down for what? Poverty and vandalism. Remus would never understand how one in a position of such power would flee from it. He supposes it could be because of his vicious family, but Remus would rather stay through pain and come out on top than run cowardly to the slums. He surely wouldn’t mope at a second chance to inherit the family wealth. Nevertheless here he stood watching the heir sigh and shake his dark curls.
“Might as well keep me company, not like I can leave.”, always with the melodrama.
“You can leave, you’re not a prisoner.”
“Bullshit, I can’t leave you so I can’t leave.”
Sirius sighed and pulled back from the door, “I don’t need company anymore.” Remus heard the door slam before he registered his mistake. Well, with Black you never really know it’s a mistake til you make it. Never was the one to actually talk. So Remus made his way back to unpacking the kitchen supplies, trying to keep this place at least functional if not tidy.
Hours passed and boxes now lay empty in the apartment’s corners. Sirius had only emerged once more for dinner and then skulked off to his room. Remus had no intent to bother him, not until morning at least, so he sat watch on the couch. Everything seemed calm, the windows did not shake even in the heavy wind and the couch sucked Remus deeper into a sleeping state.
Boom.
Crash.
Screaming.
Crying.
Fear.
Sirius didn’t sleep, not anymore. He sat on an all too comfortable bed in an all too cozy room that was all too much. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his home. It simply wasn’t his. Remus paced about half the night, he could hear the footsteps echoing off of marble counters and hardwood floors. The wind whistled in unfamiliar ways and the walls were too close. Sirius itched for home, not the one that held his childhood, but the one he had made for himself. He couldn’t sleep so he sat and watched how the wall bent in his tired vision. He couldn’t sleep so he began to pace the room and spiral in his head. Before Sirius knew what he was doing he had curled himself up on the rough carpet and reached for the box cutters. The blade cooled his hand and the wall swam in circles as he recounted every detail of his mother. His cheek still stung from where she had hit him, though no bruise was left on the skin it was left in his mind. Sirius’ felt numb and the last thing he wanted to feel was numb. He wanted anger, sadness, pain, anything but the empty feeling of just being. So the cool feeling in his hand became a pain against his wrist. Crimson seeping out of wounds he didn’t consciously consider. Vision clouded as the warm and metallic substance dripped down his fingers onto the floor. There was the pain, then came the anger. He stormed, blade held high, fist first into the wall. It deserved such an act, it had mocked him in his agony. He ripped through paint and plaster until the scars on the wall matched those on his soul. The anger was here, now for the sadness. Sirius felt out of his body with emotion and screamed. It wasn’t out of pain or fury, rather of the brokenness of his own existence. It was the scream of a thousand deaths and a hundred heartbreaks. A scream that caused running to occur mere seconds later as he pounded on the window, desperate to know where the rain staining his face came from. Stains marked the carpet and strong arms held him back as he tried to break free of this hellhole.
“Sirius, Sirius, shhh I’m here. It’s okay, just breathe, breathe for me okay?”
What was that? Who was that? The voice was strangely familiar, and then it hit him, strangled sounds escaping his mouth as he whispered, “Remus?”
And at that moment he looked out the window and wondered, where had all the stars gone?