Upper hand
Cold air bites silently on Remus’ numb finger tips. A few fags ago he had still registered the swelling sting, had blown a few times into his cupped hands and inhaled the poison laced air afterwards in the hope of beating the freezing weather just enough to buy the blonde boy more time. But yet again he is left alone in the dark - stood up with shaking limbs and boiling anger that soon enough took over the pain in his extremities.
Two hours have passed since curfew had been announced. An empty cigarette-package is laying on the windowsill next to the balcony, sheltered from the blazing wind that hits Remus’ exposed body straight to the bones - but he can only focus on the turbulence of his thoughts and the stubborn urge to finally get a word of explanation out of the Slytherin; who‘s poem he - inexplicably - still carries safely packed away in the pocket of his jacket.
He finds himself addicted to the anger somehow though - too curious of the possibility that lies in the last chance he proclaimed in his note. This flicker of rage - this spark that somehow just lit up right there and then - he wants - no needs to explore that. And maybe the other boy doesn‘t care. He certainly didn't pick up the note fast enough, nor did he read it straightaway, when he received it - for all Remus knows he could have just thrown it away, could have burned it without opening it first - without reading it. On the train, he certainly didn't make a move towards Remus, didn't say a single word hinting at recognition - But he had stared. He had looked Remus straight in the eye with those milky blue mountain lakes of his. He had bloody stared, Remus didn’t imagine this. Instead he knows for a fact, that Evan still remembers him - however brief their interaction had been over the summer. He remembers. Remus saw it in his eyes. He saw it during breakfast too, payed close attention to the facial acrobatics that cascaded over the other boy‘s face - he made sure to be precise about this - every misstep could cause irreversible damage, especially with a Slytherin boy involved. So, he had to make sure, that he didn’t misinterpreted the subtle hints in the other boy‘s body language, the silent cues hiding in his eyes. And eventually - after thorough evaluation, profound assessment and just the tiniest bit of of overflowing rage resulting in impulsivity, he had written that note.
In retrospect it had been a bit harsh - A bit too threatening to sound like the invitation that it represents - But Remus waited the entire summer and frankly enough he is done doing that now. If Evan - No, Rosier - doesn't deem it necessary to show up today, he is finally done with the boy. Remus decided on that over two months ago and today will be the day that final straw snaps. He is done with unreliable people - however exciting they might turn out to be. He - He is waiting again. Patience is a virtue but how much patience can someone muster until it becomes the cause of one‘s own ridicule?
Remus huffs into the busy silence of the night and lights another one of his fags. He is burning through them too fast and if he continues like this, he might manoeuvre himself into the unpleasantry of having to ask Sirius for more. He doesn't want to though - ask the other boy for anything ever again, that is. He couldn't stand the dark haired boy‘s apologies when they turned into their dorms yesterday - couldn't meet James‘ pained expressions with anything but stoic silence - He sat with Lily instead, answered her nagging questions with noncommittal replies and half hearted shrugs while he kept a close eye on a certain Slytherin‘s absence at the breakfast table. A certain Slytherin who can’t be bothered to show up to collect his own poem, apparently. Ridiculous. Remus is ridiculous.
It’s not, that he didn't expect to stay alone the entire evening. In fact, Rosier had become quite predictable since he had stopped showing up over the summer - Remus knows. He knows it so thoroughly, that he doesn't even wonder anymore. He doesn't question the younger boy‘s absence, doesn't pull out the map out of stubbornness at this point. Because he is stubborn in his knowledge and wants to spare himself the embarrassment of confirmation. When he had left the dorm, he had been certain already. When he wandered down the hallway and had to hide from Mrs Norris he had already known. When he climbed the steps to the astronomy tower, with aching limbs and freezing fingers, he had known with the crystal clear vibrancy only rivalled by Evan Rosier‘s infuriatingly light eyes.
In short, Remus bloody knows; that the blond isn't going to move his immaculately dressed arse from the safety of the Slytherin dungeons to meet him in the icy chill of a surprisingly cold September night.
Still he smokes one fag after the other, unmoving, stoically shivering against the blazing wind and darkness of the night. He doesn't turn. He doesn't reach for the map to check the other boy‘s whereabouts. He stalls and he bloody damn well knows that too. But he can’t move - Can’t point the finger on why as well. He just stands leaned against the balcony bannister and faces the first symptoms of hypothermia creeping up on him. He is angry. He is fuming. He feels - He feels for the first time in a long while again. If he is honest, that is probably the reason why he is deliberately freezing his fingers off at the moment.
That feeling: It’s shapeless, formless, more a flicker than the idea of something solid between the smoke - but it is undeniably a feeling - painful for sure - Inexplicably so, but nevertheless a hint of feeling. A real one after all these months he spent living as a ghost.
A mere outline of a body sifting through the halls of this way too old building - Sirius had done that - James and Peter had done that. Remus had done that, with letting them in on his secret in the first place - and it was nice while it lasted, right? The feeling of belonging, the warmth of being a real part of something bigger than oneself. But with the rise there is always a fall - a catch somewhere. And Remus had been blind to that fact coming to tear him down again. With the high comes the low - and what a low he is experiencing right now - It’s less than nothing.
On his first day of school in first year, he had had a pretty realistic idea of what his future would look like - he had kept to himself in foresight. He had refrained from the delusional desire to find and secure a place for himself within this strange new world - because he knew that it never held a space for him. His time had been borrowed from the very first day after he had got bitten. Even his parents left him. He was alone, still is - but this time round, equipped with the painfully beautiful knowledge on how it feels to actually have someone in his life who gave a toss on how he was doing - who he is as a person. And being left alone - being lonely in a world that holds no space for him and never will - that hurt. It hurt so much, that his brain shut off at some point after the betrayal - clocked out without the perspective to return - as a result, leaving him entirely numb and helpless, hopeless, lonely - with awareness and a memory so sharp that it cut deeper than the werewolf‘s claws ever could. Leaving him bleeding and breathless.
That flicker of feeling - whatever kind it was - that feeling was a silver lining on the grand nothingness of the dark sky above - That drowning black mass that threatened to swallow him whole in his misery every single day that he made it out of bed in the morning. A silver lining in the form of impossibly bright eyes, just a few metres to his right, on a moving train headed to another year of pointless education. The promise of a that exact same pointlessness split in half in the blink of an eye. Just a few moments of eye contact. Really just a fleeting, meaningless amount of seconds - and the thing in his chest came alive again. Just like magic - Evan Rosier‘s spring scented magic.
Remus pulls out another cigarette, annoyed with his own thoughts. Cupping his hand around the tip that he futilely tries to set aflame, he pulls out another match and curses the stormy night silently. He might have to leave soon, with the considerable progression of the cold that is now beginning to numb his legs, making it hard for him to hold himself upright without falling over. In a burst of frustration he throws the cigarette over the bannister and pockets his matches in surrender. Perhaps that silver lining was just another escape of an astray star fleeing the responsibility of nurturing an unknown solar system. Perhaps it has been another example of his frequent misinterpretations. Perhaps - Whatever.
Remus turns up the collar of his jacket in jerked motions with his freezing fingers making it hard for him to execute the most basic of his intended movements. In defeat he throws a last look at the low hanging night sky, scrunching up his brows with an angry twist of his lips. Whatever. What the bloody fucking ever. His body aches, his head is a mess and that spark in his chest burns stubbornly on - soon enough it will die down again. And when it does, Remus will make sure that it never catches fire another time.
Dragging his feet over the dusty floor of the unlit astronomy tower, Remus hunches up his shoulders to stop the shiver from throwing him off balance and extends a hand towards the door handle with emptiness ebbing into his features. In an afterthought he postpones the task of burning the folded piece of paper in his possession - it sure doesn't present a priority to him right now. There will be other opportunities - better weather - a light breeze that won’t snuff out the fire of his matches, when he tries to light them, for example - Yeah. Just that. A better opportunity.
He is halfway down the winding staircase, when a sound makes him freeze cold in his shivering steps. He didn't check the map - a realisation with unpleasant consequences. In his stubbornness he refused to check the map again - and why? Just so he can get caught out after curfew by Filch now? Great. Just great.
Remus presses himself against the icy stone wall and suppresses a hiss of pain, as his spine connects with the pointy tip of a hard rock. Unmoving he listens, on high alert and fighting the urge to bash his had against the opposite wall for his stupidity. The footsteps approaching his position on the stairs are strangely light - disqualifying Filch from the list of possible intruders effectively. For a foolish moment Remus almost hopes - for what exactly, he isn’t sure. But just as a smaller frame rounds the staircase, the strange surge of feeling rises up in his chest again.
It isn’t Evan though - quite the opposite: Two people come face to face with Remus on the narrow staircase. In the dark a patch of yellow and black - Hufflepuffs - A boy and a girl - Younger than Remus and obviously sneaking off to spend some time alone. And what exactly would someone do in the darkest hour of the day at the top of the stairs of Hogwarts‘ most common make-out spot? Remus fights the urge to bash his head against the closest wall again.
To avoid any kind of uncomfortable conversation, he instead, abruptly turns and brushes past them, hurrying away with thundering steps that are probably too loud for the time of day - but he can’t bring himself to give a toss at the moment, only wanting to escape the awkward situation and burning conflict in his chest - why the astronomy tower? There are at least a couple of hundred other rooms with locks on their doors - The shiver that runs down his spine is for once not a result of the icy chill dominating the Scottish night air.
Remus curses himself as he makes his way down the stairs - curses the cold, curses the stupid hope spiking in his chest, curses the pain in his aching back. He nearly curses out loud, agitated and frustrated beyond civility, rounding the corner leading to the hallway ahead with too much momentum and crashes chest-first into a shorter frame of hard muscle.
He is thrown back from the impact by several steps, as two hands reach out in an attempt to steady him in his inelegant stumbling. The first thing Remus notices, adrenaline still spiking in his bloodstream, is the familiar mob of blonde hair and an entirely too beautiful set of widened light eyes: They’re pools of pure ice cold water reflecting reluctant sunlight - the hue covering fields of crocuses in spring, when the morning is so fresh that there is only a narrow line of light crawling over the branches of the wide stretched horizon - early daylight on every surface that is too ordinary to be noticed by the amateur eyes of normal people.
But Remus is not normal. And he notices - He notices so undeniably brutal - distractingly, that he doesn’t flinch away from the warm touch of the steadying hands gripping his shoulders. The kind of noticing, that is born out of pure unexpectedness - of an impossible cascade of events aligning to their superlative transcendence of any imaginable scenario - because Remus had been certain, he had known - he had k n o w n.
Harsh lines surround the light pits of reflected moonlight now - stronger brows, than what they have been only a few months ago, a pronounced jaw so sharp that it could cut glass, high sitting cheek bones adding unnecessary elegance in their angularity - pristine pale skin broken up with a soft hue of freckles lining an aristocratic nose - Lips pressed together in a tight line appearing in the colour of dying rose petals - lips that are moving now, uttering words underlining the alerted expression etched into the royally pronounced features on display.
Remus doesn‘t hear them, doesn't comprehend their contents - he is doomed to stare, to observe - to notice as the younger, transformed boy leads him backwards into the safety of the astronomy tower‘s staircase in the periphery of his cognition, with his hands resting unmovingly on Remus‘ shoulders. The grip is tight but warm, demanding but far from overstepping - the boy has to reach up to secure his hold on Remus, as he applies gentle pressure to manoeuvre them into the shadows, while he swivels his head around to check their surroundings in high alert. It’s rushed and anxious, Evan‘s checks are covered in a rosy flush that highlights his soft freckles and brings out the deep coloured pigments in his impossibly wide eyes. The panicked expression in them is what pulls Remus back finally, effectively, abruptly:
With a blink his confusion is gone, his instincts take over again and he steps out of the steadying warm touch of the shorter boy to face him with calculated distance. Air is lodged deeply in his throat and their positioning is too vulnerable for discovery and Evan - Evan stands too close by for him to think properly.
There is another whisper, this time audible and slightly deeper than he remembers, throwing him off balance once again with its strangeness, taking away the option to sort his thoughts again, „We should go upstairs, are you alright? I think I accidentally rammed you with my shoulder - I’m so sorry by the way, I was in a hurry-“ The boy cuts himself off, swivelling his head around again to check the visible part of the corridor behind him. The flush deepens and wide eyes find Remus‘, apologetic, questioning, concerned. The eye contact hits him like a moving train, causing unintelligible strings of words to fall from his mouth, following the unspoken suggestion to answer in a stupid, not well thought through tumble of answers, „You came - I - we can‘t go upstairs - you changed - there are people, Hufflepuffs - snogging session, barely escaped them- you -“ Evan only nods in understanding, stripping Remus of the opportunity to formulate a clarification - a different answer - a more profound feedback - dignity - staring up at him with uncertainty lining his eyes, Evan surveys the older boy again before he grabs Remus by the arm all of a sudden and pulls him up the stairs regardless.
His grip his strong, his pull even more so, as the shorter boy drags the older one up the steps behind him, leaving no room for discussion or Remus to tug his arm away, before he pulls out his wand to open an unsuspecting door a few flights below the astronomy tower‘s entrance. It’s a dark door, invisible to passersbys, invisible by its lack of use - invisible to Remus until now. He never noticed the door before, never questioned the nature of the room behind it but there he is now, pulled into, what seems to be a spacious storage room with cloth covered objects and high ceilings, resembling the astronomy classroom to an almost freakish extend. A secret - an obvious, easily unraveled one - if he would have pain attention. It‘d have taken him nothing short to two minutes to figure it out, if he had -
Evan lets go of Remus‘ arm the moment he closes the door behind them, effectively dragging the older boy‘s attention from the room and a secret lost to himself and moves further into the closed off space, where he casts a warming charm around himself in calculated motions, before taking off his long coat - and eventually faces the other boy again. Remus only notices his own statuesque state when the blonde angles his head to the side in an inviting manner - a suggestion that he can join him in the middle of the room- in the middle of the exposed secret - that he can move if he wants to - that there is room now, for them to finally make the exchange, to talk. It all lays in the younger boy‘s posture, his patient demeanour, the clam that seems to radiate from him now that they’re out of danger to be discovered - out of danger.
Time stands still, flows somewhere far away - unreachable as a measurement now that Evan‘s undivided attention rest solely on him - its not only in his piercing gaze, but also the way he is completely turned towards Remus - shoulders and shoes, with his hands resting at his sides and his torso lifting and sinking to the rhythm of his breathing. His appearance is far from the dangly kid standing in one of London‘s darker alleyways now, though. He is leaner, broader in the shoulders, far more gaunt in the face - he‘s changed, matured over the span of a few months - entirely unrecognisable. And change doesn’t usually happen over night, now does it? Something must have happened, something that also caused the boy to stay absent from their meet ups - something monumental.
Evan disrupts his line of thoughts, once again, with a cough this time, pressing his hands tightly together in front of his chest as if to manually stop his lungs from disrupting the moment.
„I‘m sorry, I catch colds easily-“ The hands he throws up in a supporting manner to his statement, are what pulls Remus completely out of his inner turmoil - Finally. Evan Rosier and his smart-ass commentary hasn’t changed after all - snaps Remus right out of his fit of overthinking habits with the unfiltered accuracy of his piling up rage.
“Then you should probably take this,“ Remus fishes inside his jacket and pulls out the folded piece of paper, schooling his expression and tone finally back to his usual neutrality and slight biting demeanour - laying the wonder and confusion and everything else to a final rest - stored away - safely hidden - only for him to unravel later - to examine later - later. „And make your way back to the snakes.“ he finishes with a suggestive rise of his eye brow, extending his hand with the crumpled up sheet of paper for the other boy to collect if he dares to cross the distance between them. He is taunting him, playing with the fire that kindles in deep light eyes - the kind of flame he has yet to grow tired of enlighting.
The blonde only shrugs though, unbitingly - burying his hands deeply in his pockets and cracks a small, daring smile at Remus in return, „ Now, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? How about you tell me first what you meant earlier - I came? Did you think I wouldn’t?“ The taunt is fired back so easily - the tease set in motion. What will come off it, if he dares to bite? What happens to fish that get caught on a hook - Remus is ready to find out - steeling his defences - a friendly sailor, or a calculated fisher-man waiting at the end of this precarious line?
„It sure looked like it, when my hands froze over while I was busy waiting for you-“ He shrugs with an unbothered air that he laces with just enough amount of accusation - laying out his nets for the other boy to tumble into in return.
“Merlin, how long did you wait? I’m sorry, I didnt mean to - But honestly, Remus, when did you think I would be able to slip off? I had to wait for my dorm-mates to fall asleep first, They would have asked too many questions for the both of us to come up with answers to-“
It’s not specific enough - no snapped trap - an excuse as much as his own - an accusation to be pushed into safe waters - until it’s secure enough to execute, “You could have sent a note then-“
Rudely, Remus is cut off again - Evan transforming into a sassy force to be reckoned with, “I figured you‘d be able to think far enough ahead - I‘ll consider it for the next time though - I never pegged you for the kind of guy to show up way too early for a clearly-“ High ground -. The conversation, its arguments - they’re drifting rapidly away from the open ocean - away from Remus‘ power, underlying the glint in Evan‘s eyes, as he eyes the older boy mockingly with his armes crossed.
“The note said ‚after curfew‘ - I-“ Remus tries - Futility - barely escaping Evan‘s cutting glance - his subtle elegance in navigating himself far away from the shore -. From the shallows - far from the nets.
“I‘ll take your inconsiderate nature into account then-“ The younger boy taunts - dancing around the snares with precision - lighting a fire of frustration - of feeling inside Remus‘ chest far from his knowledge, his notice.
“Inconsiderate?!“ He blares out in frustration - unaware of the wildfire blazing in his ribcage. Fury is all he sees, all he notices - not the knowing glint in Evan‘s eyes, the soft turn of the corners of his mouth.
“thats, what I said-“ The other boy begins, uncrossing his muscled arms slowly with the caution of a practiced hunter rounding one of his successful snares.
“Maybe it was inconsiderate of you to-“ Remus only thrashes in futile resistance - feeling - feeling incredulous and cornered.
“I apologised, didnt I? And it won’t happen again - next time I‘ll send you minutious notes on the progression of my dorm-mates sleeping habits, perhaps then-“ There it is: next time - a promise of repetition - of a meeting ahead - a foolish assumption - a promise in the dark of their secretive location. A promise lined with the poison of a foolish hope - a hope that grows - a hope far from the shore - far from the shallow. A trail - a secret carelessly exposed - a way to turn the conversation in Remus‘ favour - a battle lost but a war yet possible to win-
“Do you want your poem or not, Rosier?“ Remus nearly growls impatiently, feeding into the illusion of the other boy‘s victory.
“Rosier? I take you aren’t pleased with my absence over the summer - missed me, Remus - Or shall I call you Lupin - keep it nice and formal-“ The younger boy tries - almost convincing in his playfully teasing tone. But Remus can distinguish between his words and expression - the worry underlying his statement, his question asked in mockery and the fear sifting beneath.
“You got a tongue on you, for someone who couldn't show up for a single - It doesn't matter, okay - Take your poem and get lost, Rosier.“ Remus finishes, carefully arranging his words - crafting his sentences with precision. The shore is near - the land far gone over their turns, their squabbles - blatant distractions invisible for Evan‘s eyes to see.
„You kept it, then? Even though I couldn't make it to a single meeting?“ The taunt is bold. The accusation obvious - venom so green its almost comical - yet Remus finds himself frozen with his snares in hand, eying the boy from across the room - the open honesty in his eyes, the sincere hurt in his tone - the hope. It’s familiar - distantly so, but nevertheless familiar in its origin. Remus gambled with a ruthless predator, but finds himself opposed a defenceless fisherman, afraid of the crushing endless sea, instead. A trap, his mind sings - sincerity his heart shouts. It’s unsettling - setting the plan awry - blowing his assumptions to pieces - volunteering honesty despite the gameplan in his mind.
“I gave you a promise, didn't I? And frankly I am the kind of person who keeps their promises.“ His statement is final, ringing in the space between them. It ricochets from Evan‘s dropped arms - dropped defences.
“I am sorry, that I wasn’t able to come around the pub, Remus. Truly I am. I wish I could have made it - I wanted to.“ The other boy confesses into the silence - into the safety of the hidden room - into the unassuming nothingness between them, that could transform into so much more if they just dared-
“Why didn't you then?“ Remus‘ tone is raw, the snare dropped in his search for honesty - the game lies abandoned behind them - A foolish excuse of uncertainty buried beneath the honesty ringing in the chilled air shared between their bodies, positioned so far from each other - too far for the whispers to land.
“Family business, a new kind of surveillance system that my father established since I became his heir - Its difficult for me to disappear now - More difficult than before at least - I truly am sorry, Remus - I didnt mean to make you wait.“ Evan‘s words are a broken spell, compelling Remus to snap up his defences at once - a futile effort, just like everything else he attempted with the Slytherin - nevertheless he tries.
“I didn't. Stopped showing up after the second Monday, actually - Reconned I could hand you back your poem once we are at school again.“ His words are harsh - too rough at their edges to fool any dedicated observer.
There is a pause, heavy and loaded. Something in Evan‘s posture that translates the other boy‘s disbelief - a form of suspicion, laced into the arch of his pronounced brow, the knowing glint in his bright eyes - the game lost before it rolled into the fullest form of its motion.
„You kept the poem though.“ The younger boy‘s tone is a match to Remus‘. It’s harshness lined with winning honesty - the kind that leaves its opponent affected and hit - hit to the core of their matter.
“I did. And what off it?“ Remus shoots into the silence of a war won - A battle settled - too stubborn to surrender, too afraid to keep up the relentless shooting.
“You kept it.“ Evan insist in righteousness - in victory too reluctant to draw its rightful attention.
“Yeah. I did.“ Remus fires back - conscious. Too conscious.
„You did.“ There is no coldness to be found, just plain insistence. A battle won - kindly explained to deaf ears - an endeavour too exhausting to keep up. The younger boy unclamps his hands though - tirelessly insisting - tirelessly patient - talking at splintering graphite with the wicked tongue of a practised politician - kind but relentless.
„An astute observation from your part, poncy boy - want to collect it now? It would make for great leverage actually, now that I think of it-“ Remus is grasping for straws now - he is aware - too aware - too exposed for his own comfort, but didn't that feeling set sail long ago? -Drowned out by the colour of shattered glass reflecting the moonlight -
“Don’t flatter yourself a snake, Remus. We both know that you wouldn’t expose me like this. You kept the poem to return it, because you’re a good person and now you’re confused and angry with me because I didn’t show up over the summer - Which I get and am sorry for-“ The other boy is a masterpiece depicting dropped defences - helplessly loud in his need to be heard - a tragedy unraveling in front of Remus‘ eyes - patience crumbled like crushed bones - grains of salt melting to silver that flashes in Evan‘s pleading gaze.
“How would you know, that I am a good person, hm? Because I offered to trade a look at your crappy poetry? Real good evidence, Rosier-“ Remus snarls into the silence of their shared safe ground - trampling it with his thrashing feet - utterly exposed and seen. Unnervingly so - entirely too vulnerable for civility - An animal cornered by nothing but honestly - laid bare in front of him - easily turned - easily manipulated - a slip that carries a careless body too close to the bloodthirsty shore.
“Please, Remus. I didn’t mean any offence - I wanted to come - and I am sorry that I didn't.“ Honesty carries the younger boy‘s words - the plea in his voice so shattering that the exposure in them is palpable.
“I don’t care that you didn't show up-“ Remus shoots - relentlessly scared - relentlessly vulnerable - stepping in his own snare - falling into the crushing waves of his own ocean.
“You kept the poem, Remus. You kept it safe and you showed up every Monday - which I know - because Maria told me, when I came by the pub yesterday, because it was the first time that I was able to leave the house.“ Evan faces him now, devoid of any sarcastic twist on his lips - any trapping quality in his words - and only the open expression of someone desperate to be heard, desperate to be seen in his honesty, „I am sorry, that I didn’t show up. I am so sorry that you felt the way you felt because of me and I am sorry that I disappointed you - I can’t promise that it won’t happen again, I can only say that I don‘t wish for it to occur another time.“
The younger boy crosses the distance between them with a petrifying finality - a protest against being ignored - a rebellious act of visibility - facing Remus with determination lining his light eyes.
There is a multitude of unexpressed emotions - overlaying each other, intertwining with the bold sincerity crystallising in the deep blue outline of his iris. The harsh, beautiful lines of Evan‘s bare expression add to his elegance - his upper hand - the card he didn‘t get dealt, but claimed in the progression of their conversation.
Months ago - once, in the past - it had been possible to ignore the crushing presence of the other boy - the subtlety of his unspoken truths - the curve of his pronounced cupids-bow lips - the forgettable blonde colouring of his hair - the overlookable precision in his clothes‘ tailoring - Once, but not now - not with the insistence pushed straight into Remus‘ face - the unraveled truths between them - the pile of understanding that seems to grow with every second of their interaction.
It is impossible to ignore the golden strands in Evan‘s hair now, the specks of dusted starlight glowing in his eyes - the pleading nature of his anything-but-plain expression - His anything-but-plainness in general. What exactly made Remus believe in the rumours in the first place, he can‘t fathom right now - now that he find himself mere centimetres from the transfixation of the other boy‘s piercing gaze - the unsettling clarity of moonlight captured in his impossibly wide eyes - the stark contrast to his angular features.
The image of the slender boy in London’s least memorable alleyway is gone - a mere memory compared to the brilliance of his counterpart facing Remus in the quiet darkness of the hidden room now.
His breath comes in uncalculated heaves, unpredictable breaks between his utter notice - and noticing he does: Taking note of ever little detail - from the broad curve of the other boy‘s shoulder to his open palms and impossibly light eyes - a secret unraveled right in front of his eyes - something he didn’t look for but found nonetheless - unforgettable in the entirety that is Evan Rosier.
„I read your poem.“ He surrenders into the short distance between them - an ocean tamed into a puddle of obviousness - traps flushed to the shore - open and bare and necessary to ignore.
„And what did you think of it?“ Evan asks - brushing the snares aside with the forgiveness of a saint, a calculated but honest upturn of his lips appearing in the corner of Remus‘ periphery.
„I wrote a response.“ He offers. It’s a branch - too fragile to strain with the entire truth unobscured and bare between them - an opening nonetheless. An opening, Evan is attentive enough to pick upon.
„Can I read it?“ his tone is gentle, a whisper in the shared air between them. He hovers too close for Remus to answer - a cornered animal despite the established promise of going unhurt.
The younger boy clasps his hands together, closing his mouth - creating room, where Remus lacks it to breathe. And slowly but surely he overcomes the embarrassment, the implied battle lost - overcomes his desire to stay under the covers of pretended security and indifference.
He extends the hand still holding the poem tight. He reaches into the silence settled between them, hoping that the action carries enough of his words unspoken.
Evan‘s motions come slower than his - radiating calm and patience in his gentle hand extended to take the folded piece of paper from Remus‘ outstretched hand. He doesn't have to reach far, the distance between them so short, that he doesn't have to stretch his arm to its full length - gently untangling the paper from Remus‘ tight grip.
And there is that opening again, the sincerity in the other boy‘ s eyes calling to Remus in their intimate exchange - the silence that rings so loud, it almost rips his eardrums.
Evan‘s hand stays extended in knowing as Remus draws his shaking hand back and pulls out the other half clasped tightly in his notebook. He doesn‘t meet the younger boys eyes when he extends it, focuses on the dusty floor instead, praying silently that Evan won‘t read it in his presence.
An offering, an extension - a reach, a plea. Everything and nothing at all - Remus reminds himself as he catches the other boy‘s eyes again - transfixed in their luminescence.
There is wonder, carefully hidden ecstasy - a joy so obvious that it melts a hard layer of ice on Remus‘ heart. A confession received in its unspoken nature - recognised and cherished, wordlessly existing between their uneven breaths.
„I - Thank you. I‘ll read it as soon as I get back to my dorm, I promise.“ Evan holds the paper in his hands like a precious gem - a fragment of undiscovered value - pockets it with the care of a clockmaker on high altert - a craftsman with awareness of the potential entrusted in his hands. Remus feels sick with the vulnerability of it all - sick of the knowledge existing between them, but too addicted to its potential to turn and run.
But run he wants. Wants so profoundly, that it scares him.
Evan remains unaware, too focussed on the treasure in his hands to notice the conflict reentering Remus‘ eyes. He pockets the folded papers with precise movements and a shiver that pulls the older boy‘s attention back to his ultimately changed appearance.
„You changed.“ The statement rings between them like a bell - a sound so unsettling that it shakes Evan out of his focussed state and back to facing Remus with calculation flickering in his light eyes.
„In appearance, yes. In soul - I am not sure yet.“ he eventually answers the unspoken question, resting a distracted hand on his shirt-pocket, as if to ground himself.
Remus doesn't know what to make of the other boy‘s confession - focussed solely on his widened eyes, staring straight into his own with the unsettling force of a million suns.
„Let me know what you think.“ He rasps out eventually - aware of their closeness, the heavy lining of air around them in the wideness of the secret room.
Evan only nods, holding his gaze unwaveringly.
Another moment of silence passes between them that neither of them dares to break. A silent vow - unspoken but present.
And when Remus extends his hand he does it out of recognition, out of respect for the agreement settled within their shared silence. It’s a promise of next time - whenever that would be. Whenever Evan should feel the need to reach out after reading the poem.
The younger boy‘s hand is small, but strong in Remus‘, a cold touch that kindles the fire blazing in his chest with persistent continuity. Evan‘s eyes are wide - pools of moonlight grazing fields of grass in the cold winter snow - holding the promise with the same insistence he embodied before. The same patience, the same willingness to hold room - the same open awe he had written over his entire face the first time they had exchanged a real thought between them in the dirty alleyway of London’s most forgettable area.
There is nothing to be said anymore - nothing unspoken necessary to be voiced between them. There is only willingness to be tested - a future that remains to unravel - distances to be crossed.
Remus pulls his hand away first, overwhelmed with the significance of the contact, the boiling emotion indecipherably cascading through his mind.
Evan shows nothing in his reaction, as he retreats to the place where he dropped his coat, simply slips into the wrinkled fabric that spans incredibly tight on his broadened shoulders. He nods, before holding Remus‘ gaze in passing and slips out of the door to their shared secret without uttering another word, leaving the older boy behind in the slicing darkness.
The silence that envelopes Remus in the other boy‘s retreat is of the stifling kind. The kind that makes him flee the room of unsettling resemblance to the astronomy tower with a haunted urgency - he is not quite sure what to think - not quite sure that to expect when he rushes down the empty hallways - not quite sure what will happen next when he slips through the portrait hole and up the stairs to his dorm room.
He is not quite sure, when he sees the illuminated shimmer behind Sirius‘ drawn curtains - not quite sure when he settles down in his own bed without changing into his pyjama first.
He is anxious when he rests his head on the soft pillow though. Anxious of what will happen next - how he intends to navigate himself in between the confusing tendency this strange encounter entailed - the mystery and impossibility that was Evan Rosier with his brilliant eyes and entirely too sharp mind and impossible-to-ignore presence - that Remus once again became too aware of.
Forwards
Forwards, forwards through the crowds – breaking through the thickest masses with ease – making me lose sight of you again. Eyes wandering over the ancient stones of this archetype of closed off education – where did all the curiosity go? Where did we leave it behind? You didn’t. You’re hungry, unstoppable – Breaking through the unbelieving assembly like its the birthright they took away from you.
I’m left behind in the busyly bristling body of wandering ones – waiting, eternally waiting for you to return to lead the way. I can’t get out of here on my own, smothered by the sheer mass of their human matter – I can hear their dreams sometimes – do they know that they sound like you, but quieter? Do they know that they sound like me? Or are the mingled voices all a part of me, screaming for salvation? I will never know, and neither do you and we’ll walk on different sides of the entirety of their bodies through these ancient halls – you breaking through them with ease – and me left behind, waiting for you to take me with you finally.
#61 E.R.
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Corrections and ideas of improvement
Rosie, Evan, Rosier! Evan Rosier, the promised response. Evan,
Where are all the halls leading
- where do we go -
streams carry
- like the current does -
dragging out travellers into the deepest parts of the sea.
And there is no ocean - but we wander the same halls, the same floors the same rooms - I sat where you sit now - there is only one year. Dividing us both with the power of a century.
And you get lost between bodies - different time zones. We don’t reside in the same sphere. Walls are built to be taken down - fences made with the intention to tear them apart - oceans made to be crossed.
You sit where I sat. Just a year before - lost at sea. Salt water tastes like heaven when you’re broken and bruised - there is a well though - a sprinkle of earth mixed within - and what are we made for if not to swim across the greatest oceans - Us, the creatures of land and man-made poetry - designed to feel, born from the hardened forest grounds - we drown in the water at some point - we are destined to run, to make it to the shore - to make it back to land, solid ground, stones and spoil beneath our feet.
You will sit where I sat, you will accept the current and refrain from the salt - and you will swim. You have somewhere to return to.
R. J. Lupin
(Its just an idea, I really don't know about the unrhyming part - it has something freeing about it - liberating - as you would say, you poncy snob. Let me know what you think, if you want to, that is)