natural disaster
Remus
When he was young and he couldn’t get to sleep, his mother once told him to try and list five good things that had come about in the previous day. Right now, approximately fifteen years later, and at the ripe old age of twenty-three, Remus Lupin can’t get to sleep and is attempting to list five good things that had come about in his previous day. Lying comfortably in his sleeping bag, the only noise in his ears being the rhythmic, measured breathing of those actually asleep around him—God, he’s jealous—he certainly doesn’t struggle to think of a few.
For example, number one, he’s managed to meet a proper celebrity for the first time ever.
It just so happens that that celebrity is really fucking hot and a bunch of other great stuff as well, obviously, but the hotness is the thing that really took Remus by surprise and then proceeded to refuse to leave his head all damn day afterwards, so—you know what, that’s going on the list too. Sirius’ hotness deserves to go on his fucking list.
Number two, the previously mentioned celebrity is really, really hot.
Remus is quite sure Sirius knows it too. He must do—how can he not? How can he not see it, himself, whenever he looks in the mirror or just walks past the reflective glass that Remus is confident he’s surrounded by back in the city? He must know it, and he does. You can see it in every brazen flick of his hair, every flirtatious bat of his pretty eyelashes; literally every single thing Sirius does, it is never without the air of confidence you can only get from knowing you look good, and feeling it. Remus respects it immensely – admires it, really. Admires him, really. Though is he going to actually act on it? No, absolutely not. Here is exactly what he’s going to do instead. He’s going to fall asleep after he’s finished listing his five good things, then he’s going to wake up nice and early and well-rested, make breakfast for everyone, and send James and Sirius on their merry goddamn way. Simple. Foolproof, even. Suddenly a pool of guilt sloshes about in his stomach uneasily; after thinking about him, he remembers James is somewhat of a celebrity too. A footballer, and a rather famous one too if Marlene’s reaction earlier was anything to go by, meaning Remus has actually met two celebrities today. That’s got to be some sort of world record, in his opinion. His number three on his list is sorted, then.
Number three, correcting number one, he’s genuinely met two real life celebrities in one day which is extremely impressive, considering he lives in this stupid little town in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Who in their right mind would choose, out of their own free will, to spend their extravagant weekend getaway here, of all places? Sirius Black and James Potter, that’s who. Remus simply doesn’t understand it – why here? Why now? Why is it his shop that Sirius and James just happened to stumble into? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Remus isn’t even sure he believes in such things at all, let alone enough to think that it’s actually happened to him, out of everyone for the universe to choose from.
Shrouded under the cover of darkness, he releases from his lips a quiet, deep breath and from his brain a complicated mess of thoughts with it, no longer wanting to nit-pick at the hopeless tangle of mysteries that the world holds cupped in its hands, never to be seen, never to be solved. Especially not by him. Some problems just don’t come with solutions; an important lesson to learn and accept, in Remus’ opinion. Has he learnt it himself? No, because he wasn’t ever listening when his father would constantly attempt to teach it to him. He spent hours explaining and analysing this specific quote and others alike to it to a spectacularly bored younger Remus, but it never really seemed to matter to his father whether he was paying attention or not; he just needed someone to talk to (God, doesn’t everyone?), he needed someone to pretend they were listening so he could feel heard.
No, he can’t think about this. He thinks about his father too hard for too long and he starts spiralling at a dangerously rapid speed towards a point that he knows he won’t be able to come back from. And at what must be past midnight by now stuck in a coffee shop, surrounded by only his best friend, his coworkers and two random hot celebrities, nobody wants that. He shuffles slightly to lay on his side in the hopes that it will somehow quieten down his mind so he can maybe get to sleep—but, ah, that won’t work because he hasn’t finished listing his five good things about his day. Though literally what else is there to add? He’s already done the highlights, and now he coincidentally can’t think of anything else good that has happened to him in his entire life ever. He can think of the bad things. Of course he can think of the bad things. Bad things that have happened today, though? None at all, unless you count his shop being totally trashed and momentarily set on fire earlier this evening. Jesus, he’s had a long day. And at this point he’s going to be in for an even longer night, unfortunately. Although if he’s going to be staying awake he might as well do something more useful with his time than just staring blankly up at the ceiling, deafened in screaming silence.
Rustling his duvet, he sits up and quickly scans the room; from what he can tell everyone is fast asleep, or at least heading in that direction— why does it always have to be his brain that can never seem to function normally? Wincing at the noise of his sleeping bag, he gets to his feet and surveys the ultimate challenge he’s in for of not waking anyone up or stepping on their faces that he can only just make out in the severe lack of light he’s now finding to be very inconvenient. Holding his breath, he slowly but surely creeps his way across to the door on his tip-toes, feeling rather ridiculous, and pauses when he reaches the last obstacle blocking his path. Dorcas’ body stretches like a make-shift finishing line directly in front of the doorframe, almost like she’s guarding it in some way. Remus huffs as quietly as he can whilst still sufficiently expressing his annoyance, staring perplexed down at her irritatingly relaxed face. He only has but one option. Fluttering his own eyes shut and taking a deep breath, he reaches one leg over her, silently praying to every single goddamn supernatural force he can think of that she doesn’t suddenly arise from her deep slumber now, of all moments. And then the other leg. And then it was over; he did it—somehow. On the other side of the door, he releases a small sigh of relief and tilts his head up to where the sky would be if he were outside and mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to whoever, or whatever helped him out back there.
Padding down the hallway he tries his best to mentally prepare himself for the state of the room he’s about to walk into. Turns out there was absolutely zero point in doing that because he genuinely doesn’t think anything could have prevented the sharp gasp that escapes from his mouth and the storm of emotions that come raging in his chest as he swipes the stupid fake vines that line the doorway leading into the main shop aside, revealing the chaos he had walked away from ever so reluctantly—he checks his watch—just over an hour ago. Somehow it’s worse than he remembers. Exhaling slowly through his nose, he eyes the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor glinting silver in the moonlight that’s flooding in through the large display windows at the front of the shop – Remus thinks to himself now that it’s a miracle they weren’t broken in the mayhem earlier. Out of his peripheral he conveniently notices Lily’s trainers that she was wearing today laying askew a couple feet to the left of him. Watching ever so carefully where he steps, he manages to grab them both successfully, allowing himself a swift moment of victory before he properly looks at them and realises that they are, of course, more than several sizes too small. Well, the universe hates him, it’s official. Not really having much other choice, he decides to try the shoes anyway, quietly placing them on the ground before he attempts to tug them onto his poor, poor feet. Needless to say they certainly did not fit him, though his feet don’t actually need to be fully in the shoes for him to walk safely across the danger-zone with them, right? If he could be bothered he’d give himself a pat on the back for that stroke-of-genius thought. Putting his idea into action, he finds himself tip-toeing again, except this time wearing shoes that aren’t on properly—is this what wearing high-heels is like?—and a face of extreme concentration because the absolute last thing he needs right now is to trip and fall head first into a big pile of glass.
Long story short, he survives the treacherous journey that honestly took a lot longer than it should have thanks to his ongoing, slightly pathetic, fear of blood causing him to be considerably more cautious than he would be normally, but he makes it, nonetheless. Grabbing the chair closest to him, he sits down in a nice, glass-free area and takes off Lily’s too-tight shoes, kicking them lightly to the side as a punishment for being so fucking precarious. Resting his hands neatly in his lap, he swivels his head around the room, trying to roughly determine the amount of damage in each area and what will need replacing and what can merely be fixed with a bit of superglue.
He’s not angry at Marlene and Mary, not really. He’s just—to be honest he doesn’t know what he is. He’s crashing ocean waves slowly growing steady after a storm; still riding off the high of rage whilst everything else around them calms; unsure. He’s a towering mountain of snow that’s seconds away from avalanching; it took one too many hits over the years and finally snapped; unstable. He’s an age-old dormant volcano that tourists admire and walk all over; they forget the destruction it’s caused in the past, that it will cause again in the future because it’s angry, angry, angry and is going to erupt; unspoken. He’s a natural disaster.
He sighs, running his hands over his face warily. Staring blankly at the disarray around him doesn’t really seem much better than staring blankly at the ceiling in the other room. What is he even doing here? Why can’t he just go to sleep normally like the others? Just as he’s contemplating the pros and cons of going back through the glass in Lily’s shoes—a safety hazard—something he certainly wasn’t expecting happens, or someone, rather.
A mess of long black hair and fluffy disney princess pyjamas very suddenly appears in the doorframe across the room, and Remus nearly has a bloody heart attack. A small noise of surprise flies out of his mouth, humiliatingly before he can catch it, and Sirius just laughs at him quietly. Remus is so confused—it’s too late for this shit. Blinking rapidly, he wonders briefly if he’s hallucinating before realising that he’s being an idiot and needs to actually say something because Sirius is, in fact, real and staring straight at him . He clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” He asks, feeling a twinge of guilt. Though Sirius shakes his head, so why is the twinge of guilt still there? Maybe it has always been there. Before he can think too deeply into this—God, he needs sleep—Sirius speaks and his thoughts politely quieten so he can hear him.
“Nah, I was already awake,” He grins and Remus frowns. Poetic, in a way.
“Does that mean you were watching me whilst I was leaving the other room?” His mind flashes back to when he had to literally hop over Dorcas to get through the door—hop. Sirius’ grin widens and his eyes sparkle with amusement. Remus guesses that’s a yes, then.
“If I say yes, will you have to kill me?” Sirius asks humorously and Remus tilts his head to the side, pausing for a couple of seconds as if he’s considering it.
“I might,” He answers eventually.
“Then no, I wasn’t,” Sirius raises his eyebrows and they both descend into light laughter; light as for the benefit of those actually trying to rest just down the hall. The moment lasts for only a few seconds and yet Remus could spend a good few lifetimes reliving it over and over on repeat and not wish for anything different. Sirius’ eyebrows furrow and his tone turns quizzical. “So, why are you awake then?” Remus grimaces. So, why can’t you just be normal, then?
“Couldn’t sleep. What about you, if I didn’t wake you?” His tone sharpens slightly out of his defensive second nature. He knows well enough that Sirius didn’t actually say anything insulting or have that intent at all, but he also knows that sitting out here alone in the dark staring at walls makes him kind of weird by default. That’s okay, though – he’s accepted the fact that Sirius has to have him labelled as quite a strange person by now that he will completely forget about once he returns to London where he’ll probably go and fuck Harry Styles or something. That was a bit harsh. He just needs sleep.
Sirius either doesn’t notice the stabbing edge to his words or is completely unbothered by it as he merely shrugs and shoots him a dashing smile that Remus, at this point, is fully convinced must be practised.
“Same,” Remus blinks. If Sirius Black, a world famous popstar sensation, shares some of his abnormal tendencies, does that make them—normal? Does that make him normal? Oh, this absolutely deserves to go on his good things of today list.
Number four, he found out that Sirius Black is weird like him, meaning that he’s actually normal because Sirius is a normal person; honestly, it makes perfect sense, you simply can’t tell him otherwise.
Is there a slim possibility that he might be delusional? Maybe. Does he care? No, he’s too far gone for that right now.
There’s a small banging sound that rings out from across the room and Remus looks up from his entwined fingers just in time to watch Sirius hiss like a cat in the rain and rub at his elbow angrily, oblivious to Remus’ trained gaze. He has to fold his lips inwards to prevent himself from laughing.
“You okay there?” He inquires with slight concern, raising his eyebrows as Sirius’ head snaps up like he had entirely forgotten Remus was present. Understandable – he hasn’t spoken in a while, his mind too clouded with interlaced thoughts to tell one from another; a question from an answer, his fantasy from his reality.
“What? Oh! Yes, sorry, just banged it on this,” Sirius pats the door frame beside him and chuckles awkwardly, eyes darting all over the place. Remus resists the urge to laugh for a second time at Sirius’ obvious discomfort at doing something so stupid and mundane that really tarnishes his whole media-favourite-hot-rockstar-bad-boy routine he seems to keep up around literally everyone except for James and occasionally Remus in the small, delicate moments like these. But then again he’s only known the man for eight hours so it’s very likely he’s got Sirius completely wrong and should stop trying to be some sort of mind-reader or psychologist and stick to his day job of serving coffees.
Feeling like he should do something to put Sirius at ease again, he swivels his head around a bit before he finds exactly what he was looking for, reaching out to grab it. Straining as he lifts a nearby chair whilst still sitting on his own, he places it down next to him with a small thump and a triumphant smile. Sirius watches him intently the entire time, still absent-mindedly rubbing at his elbow, and opens his mouth to speak when Remus eventually turns his gaze back on him. He promptly shuts it again as Remus very purposefully flicks his eyes to the chair standing beside him and then back to Sirius, arching one perfect eyebrow in a suggestive manner.
Sirius stays very still for one, absolutely terrifying moment until his face splits into its usual shit-eating grin again and he begins to stride over towards him happily. Ruining the relief from not being rejected as he was slightly afraid he would be, a jolt of sudden panic surges through his body as Sirius steps closer and closer to the broken glass littered across the floor in front of him – a disaster waiting to happen. Remus freezes for about one second before he inevitably yelps and nearly jumps out of his seat in his haste to stop Sirius, before fortunately catching himself just in time so he doesn’t end up being stabbed in his own feet as well. Sirius halts immediately at the noise, standing just behind the moat of silver shards glittering in the moonshine, and staring up at Remus with his face creased with alarm. Fuck, that was close. Remus sighs and suddenly very much wants to cry. Emotions are strange. He swallows.
“You were about to step on the glass,” He says, voice slightly constricted, gesturing loosely down to the floor by Sirius’ feet. Sirius’ eyes widen and follow to where he’s pointing before he looks back up to him with a frown.
“No I wasn’t,” Well, now it’s Remus’ turn to frown.
“Yes, you were,” He insists, confused, and jabs his hand out once again towards the glass that is very obviously right there.
“No, I wasn’t,” Sirius repeats plainly, and speaks again before he can undoubtedly argue back, “Watch,” Remus snaps his mouth shut and watches, though he’ll have you know that he’s doing it against his will, and certainly not without a great deal of annoyance. Sirius studies his face for a second, which makes him feel very uncomfortable and a lot like squirming—he doesn’t actually, of course, he has far too much pride for that—and then begins to move again.
Sirius leaps over and in between the littered shards masterfully, and as he’s watching – still reluctantly – Remus’ heart is in his throat, skipping a beat and then another with every new inch that Sirius’ body moves until it suddenly appears directly in front of him. Sirius rearranges his face into an infuriatingly good ‘I told you so’ look and collapses onto the chair that Remus had previously set out for him, sighing contently to himself.
The room is left quiet. Quiet and yet not silent because Remus can hear a question lighting the air on fire as it burns to be asked; he’s starting to choke on the smoke now as it goes longer and longer left unsaid. Just as flames start to lick up at his heels, Sirius ever-so-kindly releases him from his prison of pain and puts him out. “Are you okay?” There it is. Remus is a firm believer in that if there’s something to be said, simply say it instead of dancing around the problem on some sort of unstable mutual agreement. Or maybe he just lacks a considerable amount of patience that, in all honesty, he genuinely thought he had up until more recently. Up until Sirius arrived. Sirius is making him reconsider a lot of things he thought he knew about himself, really. Who even is this man?
Remus feels his eyebrows tug together slightly and he twists the rings snaked around his fingers repetitively – a silly habit he’s acquired over the years of wearing them. He opens his mouth to answer, notices Sirius’ gaze trained on him in the corner of his eye, and shuts it again. No, he’s not going to open his heart up to this random celebrity he barely knows at his place of work in the middle of the goddamn night just because he’s a little bit attractive and apparently has magical persuasive powers that he’s used on Remus without his permission already, rather rudely.
“I’m fine,” He replies, about a minute late, thinking that Sirius will simply say ‘OK’ and move on with the conversation, like any rational human being would. But Sirius keeps on staring. Again, who even is this man? Starting to grow restless of watching Sirius watch him in his peripheral vision, Remus decides to actually meet Sirius’ gaze for the first time in the five long minutes that they’ve been sat here together and see what he’s trying to do by leaving Remus on ‘heard’, if he’s not just being impolite, that is. Sirius’ apparent determination to have a staring contest with Remus’ side profile doesn’t deter one bit when Remus begins to stare back, in fact it seems to encourage him further. Remus sees and feels Sirius’ eyes scanning him up and down relentlessly and suddenly feels very much like running away after about the fifth time round. What is even going on anymore? He thinks the considerable lack of sleep must be getting to Sirius' head now, as well as his own.
It takes a full two more minutes filled with the same piercing silence and uncomfortable one-sided staring contests until Remus finally gets it. Sirius is expecting him to say more on the matter, and is giving him the time and opportunity to do so by intimidating him into talking through the power of his incessant accusatorial gaze. Oh, how dare he? He has absolutely no right to try and force Remus, a practical stranger, to have a conversation all about his silly, very private emotions when he clearly doesn’t want to. Sirius continues staring, despite the fact that Remus’ face must now be expressing rather well what he’s currently thinking about him. You know, this must be some form of manipulation. Well, guess what Sirius, you nosy little bastard, you are certainly not finding out anything worthwhile about Remus now. Though, thinking about it, why didn’t he just believe Remus when he said he was fine in the first place? Saying you’re fine when you’re clearly not is basic code for ‘I don’t want to talk about it, let’s move on please’ – literally everybody knows that. Everybody except Sirius, evidently as he’s still staring. For God’s sake, Remus has had enough of this. If Sirius wants him to say more, fine, he will, and it will be his fault when he doesn’t want to talk to Remus anymore after he finds out what a complete and utter fucking mess his brain can be — at these hours especially.
Remus takes his turn to scan Sirius’ face now; up and down and side to side, just like he’s been doing to him this entire time, and notices Sirius’ lips twitch when he seems to realise exactly what’s happening. Decidedly ignoring the immense pain that his competitive side is suffering as he imagines how smug Sirius must be feeling after winning their little game — and having his stupid manipulation tactic work — he gears himself up to speak again.
“Before I start talking, I just want you to know that I’m doing this out of my own free will and that you’re a fucking weirdo for staring at me for, like, seven minutes straight, and that I hate you a little bit now,” Remus finishes resolutely, looking Sirius dead in the eye to make sure he knows that he is genuinely not joking about this at all. Sirius’ eyebrows jump up, a small smile creeping across his mouth and he looks like he desperately wants to say something back but stops himself in the respect of letting Remus speak, just like he’s been wanting him to for the past—eight minutes, now. Remus does consider getting up and walking away purely out of spite because Sirius seems so eager to listen, which does actually put him off a bit because why would he be? He doesn’t even know Remus, not properly, anyway. But then Remus remembers the broken glass and how his dramatic exit would be trying not to fall over wearing floral-printed trainers that are about five sizes too small for him, and decides that this option is the one that will lose him less dignity. And who knows, maybe talking about his feelings will actually be good for him? No, now he’s just being an idiot. Isn’t that a symptom of sleep deprivation? Oh, he’s saving that rabbit hole to go down later. Right, let’s get this over with, then.
“I’ve had a fear of blood ever since I was little,” He starts, eyeing Sirius apprehensively as he blinks, taking in this information that he normally keeps so closely guarded to his chest. “It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help it — trust me, if I could, I would,” He huffs an awkward laugh that Sirius doesn’t join in on, his face remaining neutral as he gives Remus a small nod that’s probably meant to be encouraging. Whatever side of Sirius this is, Jesus Christ it’s strange compared to his usual boisterous, ever so slightly obnoxious personality that Remus has gotten used to. He’s not so sure if he likes it. He clears his throat and glances down, to the side and back up again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “So, when I thought you were going to step on the glass I kind of freaked out a bit,” He finishes reluctantly, resting his eyes on the wall in front of him, refusing to lift them out of sheer humiliation as he realises that he really just shared that with a stranger, who will now walk around with this knowledge about him forever, and that he can’t even take it back. Unfair, is the only word his one A.M brain can think of to describe it. Un-fair .
It may not seem like a big deal; a secret that it doesn’t make sense to keep, or to be a secret at all, and yet it’s one of Remus’ most personal, most important ones. Not the most important one – Sirius will have to do a lot more staring to get that out of him, but an important one nonetheless. He’s gone to therapy, he knows well why he has this phobia and why so extremely. He knows well what it all links to and why it even is so personal and important to him. The answers to all of those questions — well, he can answer that with another one of his own. Why bring the mood down further than it already is by thinking about dark shit that he’d much rather forget about? The answer is; he simply won’t.
Starting to find the silence that has fallen since he broke it unbearable, Remus registers the absence in Sirius’ reaction to his words, in any form. He hasn’t made a single sound since Remus did, hence the silence, and, well, Remus has been very pointedly avoiding eye contact with him so he’s not sure about facial expressions but if he had to put money on it he’d bet that Sirius’ has remained the strangely reassuring but also slightly unnerving neutral one he’s had on since Remus first began speaking; again, Remus isn’t so sure if he likes this new version of Sirius. He just shared some of his most sensitive information about himself with him, even if Sirius might not know it, and he’s basically been ignored. He barely knows Sirius, but it still hurts nonetheless.
His patience wearing thin, maybe he really doesn’t have as much of it as he previously thought, Remus turns his head to see Sirius looking back at him with a thoughtful expression on his face. If he starts that staring thing again Remus thinks to himself that he might actually have to kill Sirius after all. A few seconds pass and Sirius tilts his head.
“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” He asks, his tone sounding more curious than anything else as he watches Remus heave a deep sigh in response. Is it possible that Sirius is some kind of wizard? Remus has never really believed in such things but now he’s starting to doubt himself as on more and more occasions Sirius seems to know him so well without ever knowing him at all. It’s fucking creepy, is what it is. Remus shoots him a wary look.
“Yes,” He mutters, making himself only barely audible in the steady tranquillity of the countryside night, “there is,”
Sirius hums and turns his eyes away from Remus for the first time in what must be coming close to fifteen minutes now. Remus wants to be able to say it’s a relief, and he really thought it would be — in fact, it should be — and yet if he was to say that, he would be lying. It’s embarrassing, the craving for attention at his grown age, and so Remus is just going to choose not to feel it; he’s already decided. Boom, problem solved. #RepressedEmotions.
What is happening to him? He doesn’t think he’s ever been this sleep-deprived before — and he had an energy drink phase in his teens, so that is truly saying something. See, he only had nearly two hours sleep the night before this, his insomnia acting at its finest, and somehow running around with a bloody fire extinguisher all evening tired him out a bit, not to mention Sirius walking in on him with just his boxers on earlier. That was quite mentally draining. It’s probably not a great idea for him to think about that when the man is sitting right next to him, and so he tries his best to block the memory out of his head, hopefully permanently, too. He’s already done plenty of cringing and overthinking about it anyway, there’s simply no need to do more. Well. Just as an internal debate starts up inside of his mind, the sound of Sirius speaking rather abruptly interrupts it.
“Do you want to know a secret?” Remus’ head snaps round towards him pathetically fast, but Sirius remains unfazed. He’s wearing a soft smile on his lips and a small twinkle in his eyes from where they’re catching the moonlight and wow Remus suddenly feels very light-headed. Look, he’s gotten used to Sirius’ frankly shocking beauty after being forced to spend the past nine hours in the same room as him but this. This is different. His brain takes a second to catch up as he registers what Sirius even said in the first place. Remus blinks. Sirius apparently takes that as a yes. “I did ballet when I was younger,” Sirius’ smile creeps into a grin as he watches Remus’ eyes widen and his jaw drop. “I didn’t mind it actually, was quite good at it too, just the teacher I didn’t like, I think,” His eyes cloud over with nostalgia as he begins to reminisce memories Remus can tell he hasn’t thought about in a long time, “We used to have lessons every.. Sunday, Tuesday and.. Friday, I think. I remember one time–,” He cuts himself off to laugh, probably too loudly considering people are trying to sleep only a few rooms down the hallway but Remus doesn’t say anything. “I remember one time I was really pissed off because the teacher was just, I don’t know, being a fucking idiot, and I decided I wanted to get back at her, somehow. So I did that thing where you get a bucket of water and put it on top of a door so when you open it it falls down onto you, except it was winter and I used a bucket of snow instead. It worked, I can still picture her face now,” Sirius shakes his head, swiping tears of mirth out from under his eyes, “We had to get a new teacher,” He finishes, shoulders shaking with laughter and Remus, of course, finds himself chuckling at the story too. How can he not? Hardcore rockstar Sirius Black doing ballet was certainly not what he was expecting Sirius to say, at all. Remus realises with a start that that must be how he got through the glass so expertly earlier. Who’d have thought, honestly? Remus wonders idly who else knows. James, probably. Sirius kept saying ‘we’ when he was talking, it could have just been an honest mistake, but that many times – Remus isn’t so sure. He remembers how Sirius’ expression soured and then softened when he was talking to Marlene about his family hours ago, and suddenly Remus doesn’t quite know how to go about asking this. He’s being hypocritical. What happened to ‘if you have something to say just say it’? Well, you can call Remus many things but he’ll be damned if you ever call him a fucking hypocrite. Risk it for a biscuit, as his Mum would say. OK, seriously, is his brain broken? Maybe all the energy drinks are finally catching up to him. Oh, well.
“We?” He asks gently now that they’ve calmed down a bit, watching Sirius carefully. Sirius blinks and for a second he looks taken aback, his eyebrows creasing into a frown and Remus’ heart fills with dread at the prospect of having accidentally pushed Sirius away, when all he wants is for him to come closer. One whole second drags on like it’s an eternity before Sirius’ expression clears and so do Remus’ worries out of the pit of his stomach.
“Me and my brother,” Sirius answers finally, “Sorry, I didn’t realise I was saying ‘we’ before,” Remus takes this in and quickly contemplates whether he should inquire further or just let it go entirely. Risk it for a goddamn biscuit.
“Oh, are you,” Remus pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about his next choice of words, “close with him?” Is what he lands on, feeling like it’s the easiest way to say it. The corners of Sirius’ lips upturn so it must have been the right choice, thank God. Remus really didn’t want to mess that up. He’s not trying to be nosy, Sirius’ family stuff is frankly none of his business, and he knows that, of course, it’s just he has a feeling that Sirius needs this; someone to listen to him to make himself feel heard, just like with Remus’ father. Except Remus isn’t pretending to listen this time. And Sirius is nothing like Remus’ father.
“Yeah, I’d say we are,” Sirius replies with a clear look of affection spread across his face and that’s all the information Remus needs to declare that Sirius’ brother is the one decent family member that he earlier suspected Sirius has. “We… had a bit of a rough patch in the past ten years or so but now we are trying to make more of an effort to,” Sirius hesitates, visibly trying to find the right words, “be brothers, I guess,” Sirius’ smile still lingers, but Remus can see how it’s being weighed down by other, heavier emotions. Remus doesn’t quite know what to say, he doesn’t have any siblings so it’s not like he can relate to Sirius really at all in that aspect, and though he undeniably does have experience with going through ‘rough patches’ with family members, he’s assuming that his and Sirius’ stories are rather different, for a number of reasons. Sirius seems to take Remus’ silence with gracious understanding, although he does turn his head away, making Remus feel somewhat guilty for his response, or lack thereof.
A low, hushed sound makes Remus blink and search with his gaze around the room for its cause, before he eventually works out that it’s coming from right beside him.
He listens with his ears strained for the words that Sirius is muttering rapidly under his breath, the sounds all blurring together. It’s like he’s speaking a different language, until Remus realises that he actually is. But which one? Remus thinks back to when Sirius listed the large, slightly unbelievable amount of languages that he knows, and Remus had his jaw dropped with shock and Sirius was laughing at him, and then they were laughing together and Remus got butterflies in his stomach for the first time in about five years. Anyway. He needs to stop distracting himself.
Remus squints as he tries to remember exactly what languages Sirius mentioned; English, French, Italian, Polish.. or Portuguese? What he’s saying doesn’t sound like Portuguese, or Polish, from what he can tell. A jolt of a memory breaks through the misty fog that seems to pollute Remus’ brain most of the time, and suddenly Remus knows the answer. Earlier, Sirius also shared how he grew up in France, leading Remus to presume that his first language is French, meaning that that would probably be the one he reverts back to when he’s feeling upset, just like Remus sometimes does with Welsh. Wow, look at Remus go with all his processes of elimination and shit. Time to unlock some more old school memories that he would much rather forget about and put his GCSE French skills to the test.
“Sans notre famille, rien de tout cela ne serait arrivé,” If it wasn’t for my family, all of this never would have happened. Roughly, anyway – Remus’ French is significantly more rusty than he thought, and Sirius is talking far too quickly and quietly for him to keep up.
“Tu aurais pu être à moi tout ce temps,” All of this time, you could have been mine. “Et pour cela, je ne leur pardonnerai jamais,” And for that, I will never forgive them. These words are clearly not meant for Remus’ ears – he had forgotten that there was a reason they were whispered. He’s going to try and stop listening now, as much as he can help it. Though he's quite proud of himself, apparently he paid more attention in French class than he remembers.
Sirius carries on with his muttering, until he doesn’t. The room falls into reserved silence again, barring the muffled noise of an owl’s hooting and the brief rustling of crunchy autumn leaves from outside. Remus decides to follow his own advice for the second time tonight, and not dance around the problem on a stupid mutual agreement – except this isn’t really a problem. More of an elephant in the room type of situation, in his opinion.
“Was that French?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but figuring it’s a good starting point for this conversation. Sirius turns and looks at him, a faint expression of surprise on his face. Remus doesn’t understand why, unless he’s completely wrong and it’s not French that Sirius was speaking, and he’s just suddenly discovered that he’s fluent in some ancient language that only Sirius and himself knows. A fairly unlikely possibility, but still a possibility nonetheless.
“Yes,” Sirius answers slowly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “You must have really good hearing,” Well, not an ancient language, then. Sirius’ surprise does now make sense though. This is certainly not the first time Remus heard the whole ‘Woah, you have such good hearing’ thing.
Growing up, he gradually discovered that people can merely move their lips and make the ghost of sounds and he will hear exactly what they’re saying. In theory, yes, that is just lip-reading, except Lily and him put that to the test when they were about thirteen, and he learnt that he can’t actually lip-read at all. Lily recorded a video of herself saying something on his Father’s old camcorder – wow that word brings back memories – Remus watched it back with the sound muted and couldn’t understand a thing. He’s occasionally recreated that experiment with her when they have been exceptionally bored over the passing years just to check, but the results have always stayed the same. Remus used to think it was pretty cool when he was younger, like a superpower, but now he just forgets about it most of the time, until moments like this. His mother once took him to a doctor for it, and it turns out all sound is amplified for him in general by an amount that’s large enough to be unusual, but not quite large enough to be potentially harmful for him. It’s a thin line, apparently. He grins.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before,” Sirius raises his eyebrows slightly and his eyes spark with curiosity.
“How come?” Remus expected that question. It makes perfect sense to ask, but it always pisses him off a little bit. ‘You have good hearing.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t fucking know.’ ‘Oh’. And, scene. No matter how annoyed he may be feeling, Remus doesn’t want this conversation with Sirius to go like the one he just recited in his head, and so he comes up with a slightly more imaginative response.
“It’s the werewolf in me,” He replies plainly, keeping a straight face and pretending to examine his nails casually, watching Sirius’ face descend into pure confusion in the corner of his eye and trying as best as he can not to burst into laughter. He stays perfectly still for a couple more seconds before he very suddenly jumps forward with his arms raised like claws and his teeth bared, roaring as quietly as he can – after all it is one A.M – whilst still being loud enough to scare Sirius. To say the least, Sirius was most definitely scared. He flinches backwards, a deafening yelp escaping his mouth and a look of terror etched across his face that Remus would very much like framed in gold and hung up above his mantlepiece. Remus bursts out laughing, cackling the most he has all day as Sirius breathes heavily, steadying himself against the chair arms he clutched in a panic, his mouth still parted and his eyes bulging with shock.
“What the fuck,” Sirius cries out incredulously after he’s recovered, and then proceeds to call Remus just about every single name under the goddamn sun, in multiple languages, which only encourages him to laugh even harder to the point where he’s clutching his stomach in that good-pain you get from it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He repeats continuously whilst gasping for breath, desperately attempting to control himself as Sirius carries on rambling at him furiously in what sounds like German.
“You better be fucking sorry,” Sirius counters sharply, a smile tugging at his mouth as he begins to break character.
This is when he grabs Remus harshly by the shirt and tugs him forwards before shoving him backwards even harder against the chair back, snapping Remus right out of his hysterics. Oh, he just can’t have that. He studies Sirius’ smug little face for exactly half a second before he gives the pay-back this bastard deserves. He reaches over and grips Sirius’ forearms tightly, then uses them to push him against the back of his chair, holding him there as he struggles to escape from his control, knowing damn well how much the sharp edges of the seat will cut into his skin. Dorcas used this trick on him, once. It was thoroughly unpleasant. Remus and Sirius are both laughing though, hitting each other back and forth good-naturedly as if they are rowdy teenagers once again. Sirius unfortunately decides to use his nails— why does this man have acrylics?—to scratch down Remus’ arm, causing a thin trail of blood to bubble to the surface of his skin and make him hiss in pain; he tries not to let his phobia ruin the moment, despite feeling nauseous as he examines the cut before he turns to Sirius with a sly grin and dangerous glint in his eye that wipes the arrogant smile straight off of the man’s face.
“Idiot,” He can’t help himself from saying affectionately through a laugh as he forces Sirius backwards again, his ways to fight limited whilst sat in a chair and with ordinary length fingernails. Sirius smiles and tugs at his wrists, pulling him closer in a way that is meant to be painful but he seems to give up halfway, leaving his fingers creeping closer and closer to Remus’ own, and their faces frozen inches away from each other.
This is when something changes. Remus doesn’t know why, or what it is, but the air between them grows electric, and suddenly sparks are running like a current through his veins and Sirius’ touch turns static on him. Remus’ heartbeat quickens as he meets Sirius’ twinkling eyes, getting helplessly lost in them. He never wants to be found. He allows his gaze to roam around Sirius’ face freely like he’s been wanting it to for hours and savours the way his lips— God, his lips —are ever so slightly parted, the way his eyelashes curve upwards, the way Remus can feel him doing the exact same back to him now. Sirius’ fingers slide into the crevices between his own and suddenly they’re holding hands. Remus looks down at them hanging interlocked by his knees and can’t help thinking how much he’s going to crave the touch once he lets go. It feels so good. It feels so right.
Sirius moves even closer to him, and it doesn’t look like it was on purpose. His breathing deepens and so does Sirius’, and he knows this because he can feel the soft breeze of it against his mouth. He’s never felt so meant to be in a moment before. Like, destiny; maybe he really was chosen by the universe out of everyone after all. Remus spends exactly one more second appreciating the utter perfection that is Sirius Black before he decides he absolutely must fulfil his very strong desire to kiss him.
He closes the small gap of space that was left between them and presses his lips against Sirius’, trying his best to channel all of his stupid emotions he’s felt about him today into it; longing, confusion, awe. It works. His heart swells out of his chest, reaching out to intertwine itself with Sirius’ until it becomes one; until they become one. They are becoming one as their limbs entangle, none of them belonging to either, but both of them. Guitar string scars, heavy, clinking rings, eyes drooping with passion; they are all the things that they own.
Sirius melts against him, pushing him backwards with sheer force except this time it’s the opposite of fighting. Cold hands slip underneath his shirt, running up and down his chest desperately and for a second it feels amazing before Remus realises what’s about to happen next. He hums into Sirius’ mouth and breaks the kiss, placing his hands over Sirius’ to hold them in place. He flutters his eyes open and wow whatever just happened does not feel real. His thoughts seem to stop for a second as he relives the moment in his head but he’s snapped back to reality when he watches Sirius’ eyes open and eyebrows furrow in confusion and he thinks to himself how much he hates seeing him frown.
“No, we are not having sex in my workplace,” He says, slightly breathless and a sloppy smile plastered across his face. Sirius’ eyes widen instantly and the tint of pink to his cheeks grows a deep crimson. And all of a sudden sitting before Remus is Sirius Black, flustered. Remus thought he’d never live to see the day, let alone be the cause of it.
“I wasn’t–” Sirius begins to say, his voice gone up an octave or two, which Remus will be laughing about later, before he looks down to Remus’ shirt where his hands are still resting underneath comfortably and his jaw drops like he hadn’t even realised they were there. He takes them away and clasps them together in his lap respectably, the expression on his face balancing somewhere between sheepish and apologetic. Sirius wets his lips in preparation to speak and Remus just simply doesn’t care about anything anymore. Unable to help himself, he reaches out to tilt Sirius’ chin closer, angling him in a way that makes it easier for Remus to do what he wants to do. Sirius watches intensely, his gaze concentrated on following each and every movement that he makes. Remus brings his face an inch away from Sirius’ and stays there for a second, just breathing, savouring the moment.
“It’s okay,” He whispers, his eyes hooded, a beautiful mirroring image of Sirius’, and lets him be the one to give in this time. And give in, Sirius does.
He sighs deeply into Remus’ mouth and their lips collide, a mess of overwhelming feelings and thoughts tangling together until they’re indecipherable and none of them or anything else matters for the time being. It’s just this, just them. And Remus thinks to himself that it will always be just this, just them, forever. And after thinking this, he really has to know, he has to make sure. Softly, this time, he pulls back, scanning Sirius’ gorgeous, gorgeous face, and his hands that have somehow crawled up to cup it, and knowing it will ruin the moment, braces himself to ask his question anyway. “You won’t forget about me, will you?” He was right. It did ruin the moment, and Remus will never forgive himself for the look on Sirius’ face as it immediately falls.
“What?” He replies, his tone sounding confused more than anything else and although he needs to focus Remus can’t stop staring at Sirius’ lips, how they’re scarlet and sore, how he made them scarlet and sore. He forces himself to concentrate, nonetheless.
“When you go back to London, you won’t forget about me?” He repeats, his heart no longer racing but aching at the idea, and his brain rejecting it completely. Sirius looks affronted at first, before his face begins to reflect just how Remus feels. A pool of pain and guilt pours into his stomach as he watches a lightning strike of hurt flash in the grey storm that is Sirius’ eyes.
“Do you really think I could?” Is Sirius’ counter question. And, truthfully, Remus doesn’t know the answer. He’s probably quite a forgettable person compared to all the celebrities Sirius must hang out with when he’s back home. And maybe Sirius knows him a little too well because his frown deepens and the desperation for Remus to understand painted all over his face worsens. “After that?” He adds, his voice toned with such clear honesty and distress that Remus can’t help but believe him, and feel deeply ashamed for even asking. But he knew he had to. And he hopes that Sirius knows that too, or at least will do one day.
Remus breathes out slowly and shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he looks at Sirius, hoping to God that it’s true because if it isn’t he knows that this is going to really, really hurt him. And even though that scares him a bit, honestly, it kind of encourages him to find out more. Maybe that says something about the kind of person that he is but truthfully, he couldn’t care less. Because he’s here, right now, with Sirius, whose expression has now cleared, and even if they might not quite be something yet, they’re certainly not nothing. And that possibility, it’s exciting.
Sirius yawns, putting a hand to his mouth lazily and that gesture makes Remus realise how tired he really is. And goddamn is it a lot. He yawns himself, and longs for his sleeping bag in the next room as he feels his eyes begin to droop.
“I think I’m going to go to sleep now,” He says, still feeling dazed from all the kissing and just—Sirius in general. Sirius nods.
“Me too,” He agrees and turns to survey the broken glass scattered across the floor in front of them. Remus sighs warily and picks up Lily’s trainers, dreading having to do his little tip-toeing routine in front of Sirius, the master of ballet and glass-walking. Sirius looks from Remus, to the trainers, and back to Remus again, a smirk carving its way across his face.
“I can carry you, if you want,” He suggests flippantly, pretending to examine his nails. Remus’ eyebrows raise and Sirius shoots him a wink. “Bridal style,” Remus snorts and starts forcing the trainers onto his feet, deciding to ignore the ridiculous looks Sirius is sending him.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to get married?” He jokes with a smile, despite the immense pain from the edges of the shoes cutting into his ankles.
“Well, I’ve already met your mother,” Sirius reasons as he stands up, studying the floor carefully for any shards he may have missed when planning his route to the door. Remus buries his head in his hands. He had been trying to forget about that. He rises to his feet as well, but not without a lot of wobbling and having to use Sirius’ shoulder as support.
“And you’ve seen me basically naked,” Remus adds, not really thinking about what he’s saying as he pours all of his concentration into not falling over. Sirius pauses, considerably further up ahead than him, and Remus looks up to see a blush furiously spreading across the man’s cheeks, or maybe it just never left.
“Jesus, I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Sirius says, his tone genuinely apologetic and Remus just laughs.
“I’m not,” Sleep deprivation makes him considerably more confident, apparently. In his peripheral vision, he sees how Sirius’ eyes widen and how he ducks his head in a poor attempt to hide the wide grin curving on his lips. Distracted by their conversation, Remus doesn’t even realise he’s made it to the door until Sirius appears next to him. He tugs the shoes off of his feet and tosses them forcefully across the room, sending a mental apology to Lily after. Sirius raises his eyebrows.
“Really hate those things, don’t you?” He says with a disbelieving chuckle.
“Yes,” Remus mutters absently, taking one last look at the chaos his shop has descended into before he begins to walk back down the hallway, that is until something stops him.
“Wait,” Remus pauses. He turns around to see Sirius visibly hesitate for a second and then come to a conclusion, his face displaying a determined expression of decisiveness. “Are you okay after—” He cuts himself off and gestures around the room from the broken glass all the way to Remus’ plant that is merely a pile of ashes now. “—all of that? I know that it couldn’t have been easy,” Remus takes a deep, steady breath.
“I’m going to have to buy new plants again,” He says plainly, turning to face Sirius fully, “You know, this is the second time they’ve been set on fire by someone,” Sirius’ eyebrows draw together in concern, and they both laugh quietly. “Ridiculous, I know. But yeah, thank you, I’ll be okay,” Sirius nods and smiles softly, continuing to make his way down the hallway. It’s then that Remus realises with a panic that he still has one more question to ask him. “Wait,” Sirius stops in his tracks. He jogs a bit to catch up with him and takes his hand, not realising that he’s done it until he feels Sirius hold his back. For a second he forgets what he was saying, finding himself left staring at Sirius’ face with a stupid grin on his own. Sirius arches an eyebrow and he tells himself internally to ‘get a grip’.
“Um, I wanted to ask if you are okay? With the whole paparazzi thing and the pictures being leaked, it was a scary situation to be in and I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit, by the way, everyone involved can go and fuck themselves, especially your manager, he sounded like such a bitch, honestly,” Anger has leaked into his tone by the end of his sentence. It just makes him so upset, the whole goddamn thing. It’s absurdly unfair, the fact Sirius and James got literally harassed and nobody seems to care because the paparazzi is so fucking normalised. Then to be photographed in that moment, at their most vulnerable, and all the pictures being sent to all sorts of news websites and gossip magazines, without their permission, mind you, just to be speculated on by the rest of the goddamn world. If he had a legal team, you best know that he’d sue the absolute shit out of everyone.
Sirius blinks and laughs weakly, but Remus can tell that it’s clearly not genuine. Sirius glances down and when he looks back up his eyes are shining with tears threatening to fall. Oh, Remus is going to kill someone. His chest aches as he moves forwards to wrap Sirius in a tight hug, closing his eyes as the weight of Sirius’ head drops down onto his shoulder. They stay like that for a few minutes, Remus politely ignoring Sirius’ desperate attempts to compose himself and it not working, and Sirius burying his face in the soft material of Remus’ t-shirt. Eventually, Sirius moves back, breaking their contact except for where their fingers are still entwined down by their waists. His eyes are red from where he was rubbing at them and his cheeks wet. He clears his throat.
“Thank you,” He says, his voice hoarse, and Remus gives him a soft smile in return. He steps closer to Sirius and frames his face with his hands, using his thumbs to swipe across the underneath of his eyes, ridding them of any remaining tears. Sirius' eyelids flutter shut and he breathes in, and out, and in, and out. When he opens them, the inkling of a smile is hinting at his lips and Remus thinks that if someone was to walk in, they would never be able to guess that Sirius had just been crying moments ago. When you’re a celebrity under as much pressure from the media as Sirius is, Remus guesses that you get good at that.
Which is slightly sickening, to be honest.
Sirius tilts himself forward so that their foreheads are pressed against each other. Remus’ heartbeat quickens again and at this rate he thinks that Sirius might actually give him a heart attack if this keeps happening. They’re standing relatively close to the room where everyone else lies inside and Remus thinks they both know that they can’t speak – or kiss, for that matter – once they’re in there, and so Remus decides to get that all out the way now.
“Goodnight,” He whispers and Sirius smiles softly.
“Goodnight,” He whispers back, but neither of them move. Instead their lips somehow find each other again, and just in case it’s the last time they do, they really make this one count.
Afterwards, it takes Remus a second to catch his breath, and untangle his fingers from Sirius’ hair. A gentle nod from both of them and then they’re reentering the make-shift bedroom, carefully stepping over the numerous bodies that are blocking their paths and trying not to laugh when the other person nearly trips or steps on someone's face. They wait until the very last second possible to let go of each other’s hands, sharing one last longing look as they do, a look filled with so many emotions that now only they can understand the meaning of. Reluctantly, they part ways, going back to their respectful sleeping bags on opposite sides of the room and despite his tiredness, Remus thinks to himself that he would gladly stay up the rest of the night with Sirius if he just asked. But he knows that Sirius urgently needs this rest as much as he does, and so he settles down against his pillow with a faint smile and a brain working overtime to process everything that has taken place over the course of the past few hours. When he woke up today, not in his wildest dreams did he imagine any of this happening. But he’s goddamn glad it did.
As he shuts his eyes, about to allow his mind to finally drift off to sleep, he remembers his list. His five good things about his day. Before, he was finding trouble thinking of a number five but now he doesn’t have any at all. It’s obvious, really.
Number five, Remus just kissed Sirius Black.
His Mum would be so proud.
Remus falls asleep with his fingers pressed to the soft smile on his lips, right where Sirius’ laid not long ago.