Chapter 5
Peter is the only member of the band who is not a lyricist. He did try, really, but it is just not for him. He doesn’t have this talent with words that they seem to all have. But something his friends didn’t suspect from him is his talent for composition. Peter hears everything in his head and can give instructions to both James and Marlene on how they should play certain things, he writes down their scores with only his mind. He’s not a lyricist, but he’s certainly the main composer of the band. And what is a band without the music behind the words? Peter is the music.
The idea of their first song (that they still perform to this day, only for the pleasure of memory), was created in one night and completed the following morning. Around eleven at night, Sirius climbed in Peter’s bed and shook him up.
“I need you.” He said.
“What for?” Peter had grumble.
“I have this song in my head.”
And to this day, Peter is not sure why Sirius came to him that night, but they darkened pages of score and Sirius wrote again and again dozens of pages of lyrics. And around six in the morning, they were over. The song clear like water in their head, printed under their eyelids and echoing in their ears although they didn’t play it once with instruments. So they woke James, Marlene and Lily up and they gave each of them partitions. The song didn’t stay the exact same, of course, everyone made propositions and a few things changed, but the memory of this night is still vivid in Peter’s mind, because it is what really made him want to do this, it is what brought his passion to life. They could do it.
Lily left and they had to rearrange all the songs from when she was there so it could work with a single guitar, and it did. And the more time passed, the more Peter believed they could succeed. Get higher. Get over the world.
He was never the ambitious kind, but that night, Sirius gave it to him. Because ever since, Peter has songs in his head and he composes more than he is willing to admit.
Still, the future was unsure, so Peter had to chose a path. And here he is, studying economics. He does appreciate the classes, but Peter dreams of more, and Peter started to dream late.
There is a difference between dreaming as a child, and dreaming as an almost grown up. When you’re a child, everything seems so far away, so out of reach. When you’re almost an adult, everything seems right there, you just have to reach out. But Peter doesn’t reach out. Because he cannot do this on his own. So he studies economics, because his parents didn’t think musical studies where a future, and he also has to admit, he was ashamed to talk about it to his friends. Not that they would have judged, not that they wouldn’t have support him, but Peter feels like they are not as invested as he is in all of this, and he’s scared. He’s scared that he’ll never get to live his dreams.
He wakes up in a messy bed, his cat rolled at his feet. Peter never wanted a cat, the cat wanted him. His spiritual animal is a bloody rat, why would he want something that eats it? But the cat was dying in the street and Peter felt pity for it, so he brought it home. The cat is named Rat, Peter found it funny. He then got a rat, and he named it Cat. Because that’s Peter’s level of humour.
He pets Rat and walks to the kitchen to drink a bit of water. On the way he bumps in his personal drum and groans.
Peter’s parents enrolled him in drumming lessons when he was twelve for him to spend his energy in something. Peter has got asthma so sports were not even an idea, and since he used to play drum on furniture without thinking about it, his parents thought it’d be a great idea. Peter cannot thank them enough.
He makes himself a cup of black coffee and looks outside the window to see the damages the storm did last night. There is so much water on the street that no car can drive. The tree in the middle of the road is not helping neither.
Peter checks his phone and sees three texts from Linda, a girl he had an affair with a few weeks ago. He told her he wasn’t there for commitment or anything like that, but she keeps insisting. Some girls always think they can ‘cure’ him, make him less of an aromantic when Peter always specifies that he doesn’t fall in love. It really starts to piss him off. Why can’t people understand that he likes sex but not love? Is that so weird? He was never romantically attracted by anyone and he is not going to be.
Of course, there is people who understand, people who don’t want to commit even if it is in an other way for them than for him. Linda is not one of these people. He stopped seeing her when he saw that she wanted more. She proposed him to go to the cinema or the restaurant, asked him if he wanted to meet her family. Peter wouldn’t have mind, if it was in a friend way.
He decides to not answer but when he is about to lock his phone, she calls. Peter sighs and pick up, ready to tell her one more time what he already told her multiple times.
“Hi.” He answers bored.
“Hello Pete.” She says.
“Listen, Linda.” Peter starts turning away from the window. “I already told you that I don’t want anything more than sex. I’m aromantic. I don’t fall in love with people. It’s not personal.”
“But we had a special connexion , didn’t we?” She asks despair in her voice.
“I’m sorry but we didn’t. Not a romantic one. We could have been friends, but not lovers.”
“So let’s be friends!” She bursts.
“I’m not sure it is going to work.” Peter says, tired of this already. He doesn’t want to be mean but bloody hell! Peter has never been one to have much tact, it is getting hard for him.
“But Peter…” Linda pleas.
“Come on Linda! What do you find in me honestly?” He asks, a random question at first but he ends up wanting to know the answer. What does she like about him? He’s not interesting and even less interested. He’s a drummer, that might be it. He cannot remember if Linda came at the bar.
There’s a silence at the other end of the line and Peter waits. For her to answer. For her to say anything. “Forget it.” She says and Peter guesses her face is crimson, he already saw it turn that shade under similar circumstances. “Goodbye Peter.”
“Goodbye Linda.” He sighs but she hangs up mid-sentence.
He puts the phone on the counter, avoiding further annoyances.
Peter first realised he wasn’t someone to fall in love at fourteen. His friends were starting to have crushes on people or even to date since last year and, a few months ago, Marlene had came out as lesbian. Peter was starting to ask himself questions, he really never had a crush on anyone and maybe something was wrong with him. Why was he the only one not liking anyone?
One night, he stayed up late with Marlene and Lily, listening to them talk. At some point the conversation turned on him and he let everything out, it went out like water on a stream because it needed to go out.
“There is nothing wrong with you Peter.” Lily said, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“I think it’s called being aromantic.” Marlene added.
At that time, sex wasn’t something they were talking about, none of them were really attracted to that back then. It came a year later, and Peter started to realise that he was sexually attracted to people, he wanted to have sex. He had told his other friends about being aromantic in between and they were of course supportive.
“I think I want to have sex.” He said one night when they were talking about it.
“But aren’t you…” James tried.
“Can’t I be only attracted sexually to people?” He asked.
They figured out he could, he can. But it is still difficult for some people to get it, to understand that he likes to have sex, but that he doesn’t fall in love. With time, he started not to care anymore. At first he still found himself abnormal for liking sex over people, but he grew out of it and he is now confident about his sexuality, whatever people say. Because Peter grew up with people who didn’t listen to other people’s opinions, or pretended not to, so he decided to do the exact same. And he has never been happier.
***
Sirius awakens screaming. He stares at the dark room around him and at his bed, empty except for himself. Outside, it stopped raining and Sirius breathes. He just breathes. After a time of just breathing, he pushes the covers away and walks to his kitchen. He takes out a glass and serves himself water before giving it away to his plant and filling the drink with gin. He stares at the living room, expecting shadows to come out at any moment.
They don’t.
He takes a few tranquillisers and sits on his sofa, not ready to go back to bed now. He doesn’t look at the time, he never does. He’s glad the storm is over. He’s glad it didn’t swallow him whole.
Sirius finishes his drink and puts the empty glass on the table before leading back to his bedroom. He opens the curtain and stares at the sleeping and wet city. He starts to imagine stories to each windows with a light on, and to those without. He grabs a paper and a pen and writes. He writes lyrics and none of these lyrics have to do with him, they have to do with those windows, and the people that might live behind.
Sirius writes until the sun begins to rise, and only then, he goes back to sleep.
He wakes up again around noon and remembers they play tonight. Do they play tonight? Last night’s storm was pretty bad. Maybe too bad for them to do so. He calls James who confirms him that there was a power cut last night but that someone came to fix it, so they get to perform tonight.
Sirius goes to the window and watches the city below, lighting a joint. He goes back to his room and reads what he wrote during the night, but not too many times because he’ll end up hating it. He always has to propose his lyrics to the band without reading it multiple times so he can get used to it with the melodies that belong mostly to them and not to him. Sometimes he writes and composes alone on his piano, but most of these partitions and pages are hidden in a box, although he does sing some of them.
He’s taken by a sudden need to see Moony and takes a few stimulants before texting him to propose to meet at a café.
Since they met at the bar, Sirius and Moony are friends. That’s the best Sirius has got for the moment, and maybe ‘friends’ is a bit too advanced, but they meet each other more than they should, and Sirius doesn’t always buy him weed. The thing is, Sirius doesn’t want to be friends, he wants more, he has never wanted more that much. And when he is with Moony, he doesn’t think anymore, but he’s not absent, he’s fully there. Well, he’s always under some drug.
Moony ends up accepting to meet him at two, and Sirius speeds up so he is not late, but Sirius is always late.
“Hello Moony.” Sirius grins approaching Moony.
Moony rolls his eyes, “Hello.”
Sirius narrows his eyes, sitting at the table, “Wait. You don’t know my name.” How is he only realising now? It’s been a month.
“I don’t.” Moony confirms.
Sirius gasps, “So how have you been calling me with your friends?”
“I don’t talk about you to my friends.” Moony says and, yeah? Is it a tiny blush on his cheeks?
“Come on Moony, you can’t possibly not talk about the gorgeous long-black-haired-eyeliner guy to your friends!”
“Sorry to break your heart, mate.” Moony says.
“You must call me something in you head at least. Gorgeous-long-black-haired-eyeliner-guy is a bit long, isn’t it?” Sirius grins. Moony shakes his head but there is the shadow of a smirk on his lips. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone. And I’ll give you something better to call me if it sucks.”
Moony mumbles something but Sirius cannot hear so he asks him to repeat.
Moony shakes his head and takes a big breath, “Lady Stardust.” He lets out, his cheeks turning as red as cheeks can get, and Sirius smiles in earnest.
“Lady Stardust?” He repeats. “Like in David Bowie’s Lady Stardust?”
Moony nods and looks away, “Make me think of him a bit I think. Shorter than gorgeous-black-haired-eyeliner-guy but with the same idea in the end.”
Sirius smiles and feels the hotness in his own cheeks, oh that man, “Well I’m alright with Lady Stardust. And I’m a singer too, I’ve got a band.”
“No.” Moony shakes his head. “I’m not calling you that anymore.”
“Why?” Sirius teases. “Are you embarrassed, Moony?”
“No.” He lies.
“Okay.” Sirius concedes. “Like I said, I’m in a band. I have a stage name. We play every Thursday, Friday and Saturday at the Blue Chair Bar, but the chair is actually purple. Come. Tonight. I can text you the address.”
“I really don’t know.” Moony says.
Sirius leans on the table and he can see a slight blush coming back on Moony’s cheeks, “Think about it. Please.”
Moony nods and turns his head away. Sirius stares at the moon tattoo on his neck. Moony. Mooner. What a strange boy.
They haven’t been out together much this last month. They drank a few drinks but never at night, and Moony never drank alcohol again, but they mostly chatted by phone, Sirius sending tones of messages a day, Moony occasionally answering. He is distant, of course, he explained why, but Sirius is determined to break through his armour, and he likes that, too, the wall Moony is trying to build between them, rather ineffectively.
Sirius does not care about being unhealthy, he has never been, not once in his life. He probably has healthy relationships, almost certainly, but he is not healthy in himself anyway.
“What genre do you play? With your band.” Moony asks, facing Sirius again.
“Oh it’s kind of a mixture of things. Probably inspired by many artists. We like all the classics, really, David Bowie, Queen, Depeche Mode, The Cure, Muse. So many others! But you’ll see if you come.” Sirius grins.
“I’ll think about it.” Moony confirms again.
“We play tonight.” Sirius whispers like a demon on someone’s shoulder and Moony smiles.
And so they talk. But it is never personal, never about each other. It is about movies or books. It is about places they like to hang out at. It is about their funerals (Sirius doesn’t know how they got there). It is about flowers and campaign. It is about loosing themselves in an empty place, far away from the world and its people, far away from London.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love London!” Sirius starts.
“But sometimes it gets overwhelming.” Moony completes.
Sirius nods, “I don’t know why I never left. I mean, there is… everything I hate in London.” He breathes in. “But there is also everything I love. And I always find myself coming back here. Always.”
Moony nods but stays silent and they end up meditating on that. They stay silent, for a long time, so long that with everyone else you know as little, it’d get awkward. But it doesn’t. It is not awkward and Sirius doesn’t feel uncomfortable in the silence. And he is not trying to fill it, Sirius always fills the silences. He looks at Moony who is looking in the blank and wonders how someone can be that effortlessly beautiful. Because it is not just Moony’s face that is attractive, it is everything in his eyes and his demeanours. It is more than beauty: it is charisma, and little are the people who possess both.
After another moment, Sirius takes out his phone and sighs when he sees the hour.
“I’ve got to go.” He says, standing up. “I’ve got a concert tonight.” He winks. “Hope to see you there.”
“Yeah.” Moony says, looking back at him. “Walk safe.”
Sirius fights a snort and nods. He waves at Moony and lingers a moment more before turning heels.
He walks towards Marlene’s apartment, hoping she won’t already be with Dorcas.
But she’s here, making pastas.
“Do you know what time it is?” Sirius asks.
“Want some?”
“If you insist.” He sits down. They eat in silence but Marlene is not eating much, mostly playing with her food. “Alright.” Sirius says, letting go of his fork. “What’s going on?”
“What?” Marlene frowns.
“Shut it. Tell me already.”
Marlene sighs and throws her head back, “I think I messed up.”
“What exactly?”
“Dorcas.”
Sirius looks at her for a moment. It is not the first time Marlene thinks that, and Sirius is used of her being a dramatic shit, so he doesn’t really take it seriously at first, “How so?”
“We kind of…shagged.” Marlene says quietly.
“Excuse me, what?” Sirius blurts standing up. He laughs, “Fuck, Marls, how in hell could you have messed up? Did you became bad at it since the last time? Because I remember Nancy praising you, and your mouth.”
Marlene cringes, “Let’s not talk about Nancy.” She sighs, “But Dorcas is…it’s complicated. She’s not even…she’s still claiming to be straight.”
“Did she claim to be straight after you shagged her?” Sirius asks.
“No, she did not. We just didn’t really talk.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last night the storm was so bad that we couldn’t leave the bar. And then the lights cut out. So we lighted up a few candles and then I told her that she was beautiful, and she touched my cheek, and I told her no, and she kissed me, and I kissed her, and it when downhill.” Marlene says in a breath.
“Bloody hell.” Sirius says.
“Yeah. Bloody hell.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know? What should I do?”
“You didn’t talk afterwards?”
“I apologised and she told me that we’ll keep that for later.” Marlene grumbles.
“Not very responsible.”
“You’re not to talk about responsibilities, Sirius Orion Black.”
Sirius closes his mouth, offended. Marlene probably didn’t mean any harm, really, it doesn’t make it any less harmful. “I’ve got to pee.” He says standing up.
In the bathroom, he swallows a few tranquillisers, staring at himself in the mirror. He breathes in the exact same position for a long moment, waiting for the pills to act, hands flat on the sink, preventing them to shake in any way, and Marlene ends up knocking at the door.
“We have to get ready or we’ll be late.” She says, and Sirius exits the bathroom to join her.
***
“You’re going.” Sybill says.
“Of course he is.” Rita answers, lighting a Vogue, because of course Rita is the kind of woman who smokes Vogues.
Sybill Trelawney follows the same classes as Remus and he would never have think that Rita and her could be friends, or even get along, but they bonded about his supposedly crush (crush that does not exist at all).
“I can’t believe you told him about Lady Stardust.” Rita says.
“He didn’t leave me the choice.” Remus retorts.
“Oh come on.” Rita scoffs.
“Please tell me you’re going to the Blue Chair Bar tonight.” Sybill begs.
“I don’t think I’m–”
“Just shut up already.” Rita cuts. “You’re going. You’re going and you get your bloke.”
“How many times do I have to tell you nothing is going to happen?” Remus whines.
“No one believes you Remus.” Rita shakes his head.
“The Blue Chair Bar is actually pretty cool.” Sybill nods. “I went once a year ago.”
“Do you mean you’ve met Lady Stardust?” Rita asks.
“I think I would have remembered him. Especially if he is the singer.”
Rita nods to it. While they talk about what he should do, Remus stops listening and actually thinks about it. He won’t say he is friend with Lady Stardust, not really, but he cannot say that he is only his dealer neither. However, won’t be going to see him play some sort of signal saying that it is okay? Is he going to interpret it that way, or is he going to understand? Remus really wants to hear him sing.
“Did he give you an hour?” Sybill asks, bringing him back to reality.
“Nine.” Remus says.
“It’s in an hour.” Rita says, looking at her phone.
“It is.” Remus confirms.
“You have to go now!” Sybill exclaims.
“He has to change.” Rita corrects. “I could make an entire article about how horrendous this outfit is. You got me used to better.”
Remus sighs but in the end, they all go to his wardrobe (they were at his flat) to find him an outfit. What is the point of pretending to not want to go anyway?
He arrives in front of the Blue Chair Bar at ten after nine and for the first time since a long time, he regrets the time in which he used to smoke, because he’d really like a fag right now. He waits ten minutes more before entering the bar and notices that the band hasn’t started yet.
“We got a power cut last night.” A gorgeous girl with a dark glowy skin and long black braids is explaining to some blond hair guy from behind the counter. “They must start soon.”
Remus asks for a soda and the girl looks weirdly at his tattoo while she gives it to him. He sits at a place where he can see the scene but cannot be seen much. A few minutes later, three people appear on stage and the room fills with cheers. They are soon followed by him, Lady Stardust, looking more handsome than ever. He walks to the front of the stage with a wondrous smiles and waves around. Remus breathes out, certain that he cannot see him, but when Lady Stardust grabs his mike, their eyes lock and he recognises him. His smiles widens even more (if that’s possible) and he lets go of the mike, turning to the other members of his band. They seem to gently argue but in the end, Lady Stardust faces the room again with a smile.
“We’re not starting with one of our song tonight, but don’t worry it will follow.” He grins. He poses his gaze on Remus and a chill goes down his spin, “This first song is for a friend.”
And Remus doesn’t have the time to think that the first notes of Lady Stardust start. A laughs of surprise exists his mouth and he covers it with his hand. Oh, that boy.
But then he starts to sing, and it is like the world disappears. Because there is something about this voice, something about the boy it belongs to. It is not a challenging song, far from it, but the boy singing is making it sound so Devine that, for a moment, Remus is sure he is listening to an angel or a god.
He remembers thinking the first time they went out that Lady Stardust was some kind of siren, fooling the sailors, but that it was with his entire being and not his voice. Except, he does that with his voice too. Remus would gladly drown to the sound of that boy’s voice. He would gladly sink and never resurface again.
Lady Stardust stares at him the whole song and Remus tries his best to keep an emotionless face, but he is mesmerised. A thought crosses his mind and maybe, maybe, it is the boy and not the voice that does all this (this, this what? Remus doesn’t know for sure) to him, but he pushes the idea away.
“Thank you.” LS says when the song is over and the round of applauses that followed stops. “I’m Padfoot, at my right, our gorgeous guitarist with glasses is Prongs, on the over side there is the dazzling Seastar and behind me, hidden behind his drum you can see a piece of Wormtail’s sexy face. We’re Spiritual Animals!”
There is another round of applause as the band starts to play again and Remus tries not to laugh at ‘Spiritual Animals’ or the names. He really did not expected them to have such a name, neither to have such names. Padfoot then. Lady Stardust is Padfoot.
Strangely, the first thing that comes to Remus’ mind is football, and specifically the footballer he used to date, years ago now, even before he started to sell drugs for the first time. His first ever boyfriend. It was a secret relationship, of course, neither of them were out, they were both hiding it to the world, sometimes to themselves. Remus remembers the beginning (and even the middle) when right after they made out, they both claimed that they were still straight. Oh, deep down Remus always knew, of course, but it doesn’t mean he accepted it at the time. And then when it hit him, he had to hide it, or at least chose to. He doesn’t know how it would have turn out, him coming out. Probably really bad giving the mentality of the people he went to school with.
He shakes his head and focuses back on the music, chasing the memories of his childhood and especially teenage years, not that he ever got fully out of the later.
He stays focused on the music for the rest of the night, so mesmerised that he cannot even think about something else, and he tried.
It is about the music but also the lyrics, the voice but also the way Padfoot moves his body, the other band members but specifically the chemistry they all share.
Remus sighs inside: it is mostly about Padfoot.
At the end of the show, as he backs off, Padfoot indicates with his head the backstage to Remus, and although he would have swear hours ago that if proposed he won’t go, Remus finds himself walking in this direction, unable to do otherwise and not wanting to do anything else.
“Hi.” The black-haired boy says with a somewhat awkward grin.
“Padfoot then.” Remus says.
“Yeah, that is.” Padfoot grins.
“That doesn’t sound like a name.”
“Neither does Mooner.” Padfoot notes with a side smile. “Pads is shorter.”
“Like the thing for periods?” Remus raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah!” Pads says, opening his eyes wider. “Never thought about that!”
“How not?”
Pads shrugs. “You’re the first to ever bring that up. Really. And I know girls.”
“I bet you do.”
They fall silent for a moment and Padfoot seems a little embarrassed. Remus gets why when he finally opens his mouth, “What’d you think then?” He asks.
It hits Remus then that the boy is genuinely valuing his opinion, that if the critique was negative, it would truly hurt him. But Remus doesn’t have to lie to make him feel better, “You’re truly great. The whole bunch of you. Spiritual Animals, that is? That’s a shitty name for a band.” Remus says. “No offence.” He adds.
“Right?” Pads grins, going back to his usual self . “So is ‘the Rolling Stones’ if you think about it, we chose a shitty name on purpose.”
“Mick Jagger is a better name than Padfoot.” Remus notes. He likes to tease him, he never seems to takes offence, but that’s probably because of the pot.
“My full name is way cooler than Mick Jagger.” Pads frowns but there is still the idea of a smile on his lips.
“I’d like to hear it some day.” Remus let’s out despite himself. No he doesn’t. What’s the matter with him? “Well it’s late, I’ve got to go.”
“See you soon Moony. I’ll text you!” Padfoot waves at him.
“I’m sure you will.” Remus fights a smile as he comes out of Padfoot’s sight.