Station 81

The house is still. Too still. I sit on the edge of the couch, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the worn fabric as I stare at the television. It’s on, muted, but the flickering images do nothing to capture my attention. I can hear the faint buzz of the fridge in the corner, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. Everything is in its place. It’s a routine I know well. A routine I don’t want to be a part of, but there’s no escaping it. Not today. Not when Sirius is working.

I check my phone again. No messages. I wasn’t expecting any, but I check anyway. The loneliness doesn’t get easier, even after all these months. I’m starting to hate the silence.

I glance at the clock. It’s past noon. The shift should be over soon, but who knows with the calls they get? It’s not like I can do anything about it. I shift my attention back to the screen, but my eyes are unfocused. I’m trying not to think about it.

I know better than to look at the news, but I do it anyway. There’s something morbidly comforting about keeping track of things like this. The world can be shitty and cruel, and sometimes it's easier to pretend I'm untouchable by not engaging with it. But today, something catches my eye.

“Cliffside Crash Claims One Life, Firefighters on Scene”

I freeze. My pulse picks up, and I glance quickly at the screen. There’s a picture of the wreckage from this morning’s crash, the twisted metal and shattered glass against the backdrop of a steep drop. The words blur in front of my eyes as I read them again. My stomach turns.

“First responders managed to free two individuals, though one remains in critical condition. Firefighters from Station 81 were on the scene, along with emergency medical teams. A source confirmed that no further updates were available at the time of reporting.”

The words don’t make sense. I don’t know how to process them, or why it feels like I’m suffocating. A part of me wants to turn the TV off, to shut out everything, but I can’t. I’m rooted in place, unable to look away.

One life. One life—and it could have been anyone. It could’ve been Sirius. It could’ve been Remus.

I don’t let myself think it through. I can’t.

My breath is shallow, my hands suddenly shaking, and the room feels too small, too close. The walls seem to close in, pushing the memories to the surface. Stop, I tell myself, but it’s not that easy. The past never stays buried for long.

The old house

I’m thirteen. There’s a storm outside. The kind that rattles the windows and makes the house feel like it’s about to fall apart.

There’s someone in the kitchen, but it’s not him—it's her. She’s always there, always waiting for someone to walk through the door so she can yell at them for something they didn't do. It’s too much to handle sometimes. I know I should be used to it, but I’m not. I haven’t been used to it for years.

The storm rages outside, but inside, the tension is heavier. I try to ignore the sound of raised voices as I sit on the stairs, my knees pulled to my chest. I can’t hear what’s being said. I don’t need to. I know it’s bad. It always is.

Sirius is away. I don’t know where he is, but I know he’s not here to protect me, not here to make it stop.

I wish he would come back. I wish he would come back and take me away from this place. From her. From all of it.

But he doesn’t. He’s gone. And so am I, in a way. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sound of her voice, trying to block out everything, even the pain.

I blink, shaking my head as if to clear it. The memories are blurry, like old photos on the edge of a shelf—faded, not quite real, but still there, lingering.

I stand up quickly, needing to do something. Anything. I grab my jacket and head toward the door. The house feels too small, too suffocating. I can’t breathe.

I pace the hallway, dragging my fingers along the wall. The sound of my footsteps is loud in the quiet house. Too loud.

I should call Sirius. He’ll be home soon. He’ll be fine. He always is.

But something inside me stops me from picking up the phone. I don’t want to bother him while he’s on shift. He’s too busy, too caught up in everything else.

Instead, I stare at the phone for a few seconds, weighing the possibility. Then, almost against my better judgment, I press Remus’s name.

I don’t even know why I’m calling him. I’ve never really talked to him like this before, just the two of us. But he’s the only one I can think of right now, the only one who might understand this strange, hollow feeling eating at me. Maybe it’s because I know he’ll listen. Maybe it's because, in some weird way, I trust him more than I trust anyone else.

The phone rings twice before he picks up. His voice is groggy, like I’ve woken him up.

“Regulus?” His voice is soft, surprised. “Is everything okay?”

I swallow hard, trying to push the tightness in my throat away. “Yeah,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just—wanted to talk, I guess.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Remus probably doesn’t know what to make of this either. I don’t blame him. I don’t really know what I’m doing, either.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, his voice steady, calm.

I hesitate. I’m not sure what to say. I could talk about the crash, about how terrified I felt reading those words on the screen, but I can’t. Not yet. Not like this.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Just... stuff. It’s been a weird day.”

“Yeah,” Remus says softly. “I get it. It’s been a long one.”

I feel something warm settle in my chest. It’s just a small thing—a flicker of comfort—but it’s enough. Enough to keep me from spiraling too far.

“I didn’t think I’d call you,” I admit quietly. “But... thanks for listening.”

Remus doesn’t say anything for a moment. I can almost hear the faint sound of a sigh on his end. “Anytime, Regulus,” he says, and his voice is sincere. “You’re not alone in this, okay?”

It’s not much. It’s not some grand declaration or a promise that everything will be fine. But for some reason, it’s exactly what I need to hear right now.

“Okay,” I reply, my voice a little steadier. “Thanks, Remus.”

“Anytime,” he says again, and then the line goes quiet.

I sit back on the couch, feeling lighter than I did before. The silence isn’t as suffocating now. I know Sirius will be home soon. He’ll be okay. We’ll both be okay.

Maybe that’s all I need to believe for now