─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
‘for someone who loved words
as much as i did,
it was amazing how they often failed me
when i looked at you.’
—m.l rio.
When this mansion was constructed, it had been merely wooden beams hanging aloft with punctures holed in them oozing with sap. The walls which joined them together had been new and smelled strongly of paint, gapped with a large wooden door banded with iron, which would open easily with your mere touch, as if welcoming you inside. The turrets pointed upwards towards the sky, welcoming a million different possibilities with its direction. There were pillars which cropped the walls cleanly, wooden beams also. Wooden planks fit in nicely together, forming a little puzzle-like floor which echoed your taps when you walked. Once the first residents had moved in, they decorated the house entirely; in the dining area was a large wooden bench with chairs still, and it seemed that the table would creak greedily, as if wanting a feast. The benches would scrape the floor harshly, and it is for that reason that you would be able to see large discoloration stamps scraped on the floor next to the very benches. Little wall lamps were tacked on the walls, shining kindly, and offering a vast amount of light which brightened up the place, brightening the plush settees which had little multi-coloured pillows splayed on them, coffee tables anchoring each end of the arms. Hearths were fringed at every fireplace you would see crackling, and the windows were often thrown open, allowing the sun to pour in and paint the place in its golden beams.
This all was when it had first been constructed in 1778. Now, the very same wooden beams moaned and creaked under your weight when your feet would press the floor, and in the case of James and Sirius, would creak even harder when their feet slapped the floor mid-run. It was a voluminous house, so their boisterous laughter would echo loudly, hitting every wall in the room they were present in and making them laugh even harder. Mr. and Mrs. Potter first moved in here with their little baby James Potter during the summer of 1843. He had a shock of black hair which pointed upwards in all different directions, and, wild as he was, would often crack the marble bowls in the kitchen during soirées which Mrs. Potter confessed to having a massive aversion towards the invited guests. With their arrival, hanging banners were put up, along with paintings of relatives James never got to meet, and doesn’t really know of at all, but would continuously make fun of for their solemn, as he would say, ‘constipated looks’, making Mr. and Mrs. Potter cackle along with him.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter were people who had lovely smiles which would crinkle the twin crow’s feet etched into the corner of their eyes and reveal past smile lines. They were a respectable, long-lined family originating from India, and had made their fortune off of Mr. Potter’s widely-known hair product, working wonders for both sexes, and had been assisted by his wife, which he had stamped on the label. They never did care much about class, and in their eyes it was the person who truly mattered, not where they came from. They often told their son James that people cannot choose where they come from, but they can choose where they go from there, and being a comfortable family as we are should enable us to assist them as much as possible.
The Potters had kindly taken in a ward by the name of Remus Lupin. His parents had been murdered cruelly by a man called Fenrir Greyback when he was twelve. Remus was a tall boy with honeyed hair and equally honeyed eyes, his face an entire blur of freckles and dimples. He often looked as if he was constantly flushed, painting his nose and cheeks in pink hues. He adored reading and was extremely polite, which usually leant on to being extremely taciturn and hence, misanthropic.
Directly in front of the Potters’ mansion was an even bigger mansion. All the curtains were always shut harshly, a hissing scrape emitting from when the servants would drag them closed, so there never was any sunlight, only the dim lighting of the pointed chandeliers which hung low, scattered all over the house, and if you were tall enough you’d be able to hit your head amidst the hanging jewels, clattering them together delicately. Small ottomans were placed in front of every settee bled in sour green undertones and velvet at the touch. Almost every piece of furniture was either black or gaudy green, selected by the hands of Mrs. Black. Each painting framed the faces of members of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Mr. and Mrs. Black had condemned their children to memorize the faces and names of each one; the aforementioned children were Sirius and Regulus Black. They had strict governesses who convicted harsh punishments for the smallest of things, a holdback towards the heir, Sirius, but a point which didn’t affect the younger much, Regulus.
Mr. and Mrs. Black came from generations of old money, and had inherited pinched faces, and high cheekbones prodding at the taut skin of their porcelain white faces. They had stern eyes which framed no laughter whatsoever, and spoke poorly against those of lower class. Their black hair was always kept up nicely, Mrs. Black’s in a posh bun and Mr. Black’s smothered with hair gel, slicked nicely at the back. Sirius, however, never did agree with their views. He, too, had black hair which he decided to keep long, reaching his shoulders like black water. It was often unkept, with wisps of black tendrils curling down his cheeks and framing his inherited grey eyes nicely. Regulus Black, however slightly wild he would become whenever time was spent alone with his older brother, did find his parents’ snooty views to be correct. His hair was kept shorter than Sirius’s, only deciding to curl around his ears when he wouldn’t attack it with gel, and had a solemn face.
Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew were portly adults, Mr. Pettigrew with blue eyes and Mrs. Pettigrew green. They lived a comfortable life, comfortable enough to allow Mr. and Mrs. Black permission to grant their eldest son the pleasure of visiting them. They, too, had a son, with dazzling blue eyes and blond hair nestled on the top of his head. He was well-mannered around adults, but when he was met with his two friends, James and Sirius, he would become as wild as them.
It was during these wild evenings, that they had spotted a young boy with brown, honeyed hair, curling delicately at his ears.
“Who is that?” Peter asked, gazing beyond the trimmed hedges of the fence. They were in the Potters’ backyard, vests discarded and tossed upon the brown earth. In the center of the backyard was a large fountain, neighbored with green hedges dotted with flowers and stood on top of a piled stone path. The three boys had decided to climb into the fountain and splash each other merrily, wetting their clothes and hair profusely.
“Oh, that is Remus Lupin. He is our ward. He is a nice boy, very intelligent too, although he does not talk much, despite my incessant attempts.” James answered, and hopped off from the edge of the fountain. Sirius got off along with him, and shook his hair like a dog. He looked up to gaze at the boy they were talking about. The boy was sitting against a big tree, reading a book which Sirius couldn’t decipher the title of, with brows furrowed in concentration. Freckles fanned prettily all across his slightly sunburned nose and cheeks, and there was a large scar spanning the boundary of the corner of his right eye all the way to the left corner of his mouth. It shimmered with the sun pooling in just directly above him, the leaves deciding to make way to have the sunbeams slot in to shine down upon him. His hair and eyes looked golden, coloured exactly like honey, Sirius thinks, and his eyelashes fringed to them were picked out with gold glints by the sun. He stared.
“Shall we have him come over?” Sirius asked, peering at James and Peter. They both nodded their heads up and down like flowers do in the wind.
Sirius walked over to the edge of the fence, sweeping grass across his way, and latched his hands to the strips of wood in the fence.
“Hello,” he said.
This must have startled the boy, for he jumped slightly and looked at Sirius with wide eyes, but relaxed them after a second, as if having adjusted to Sirius’s light.
”I am Sirius Black. Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled.
“Are you here to make fun of me?” The boy asked with worried brows.
Sirius shook his head adamantly, “No, not at all. Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
The boy shrugged, “You’re a Black. I just assumed, sorry.”
“It is alright, but I can assure you I am nothing like the rest of my family.”
“You’re posh.” Remus smiled cheekily.
Sirius pretended to scowl at this, but the scowl soon turned into uncontrollable laughter, bubbling to the surface. “No one can choose where they come from, but they can choose where they go from there,” he said, wisely.
Remus nodded in agreement, and looked at Sirius with a curious, solemn look. It did resonate with him deeply. From the abject horror he experienced that day when Fenrir Greyback decided to slaughter his parents, and from Mr. and Mrs. Potter kindly taking him in, he’d decided on that day, after the nights of weeping in his bed silently and the constant nightmares screaming and echoing in his mind like the screams his parents emitted that day, that he would try his best to live for his parents, to live the life they weren’t able to. He never would have been able to choose where he came from, but if he did try, he would be able to choose where he would go from that night.
“Do you want to come with us?” he pointed backwards towards James and Peter. Remus looked over Sirius’s shoulder and stared at them for a few moments. James waved and smiled, and Peter did the same, albeit awkwardly. Remus shrugged.
“Why not? They are a bit dim-witted, yes, but they really do no such harm.”
Remus pondered this for a few moments, and glanced down at his book. He then got up and walked over to the fence, standing in front of Sirius on the other side. He was a head or so taller than him.
”How shall I get inside?” He asked.
“You climb over, of course.” Sirius grinned wickedly.
And so he did.
This was during the summer of 1857, and the boys remained friends ever since. They grew into their bodies nicely, surely, and cutting their jawlines so. The backyard belonging to the Potters had become their haven ever since, and the green inhabiting it had carved the memories of their days, birds chirping whenever they decided to come by, as if welcoming their arrival merrily. Where they ran around for no utter reason whatsoever other than to enjoy their time together, and paint reminiscences of their boyish days together for when they would grow into adults and condemn themselves into grown-up matters.
Their days consisted of boisterous laughter and banter, footsteps running around and sunburnt skin grazed lightly, scraped pink knees and harmless headlocks which would end with them on the ground rather than on two feet. Sirius never really thought his life would be much fun, had it not been for these three, but when Walburga would screech at him for specks of dirt on his newly crafted vest, he would be welcomed in with opening arms by the three boys. Or when Regulus would look at him with such disappointment marked on his face and then proceed to sigh, Sirius would feel condescended. As if this would be his life forever; he would grow in this dull home with no love from either parent or his only sibling, making his conscious as dull as the house, echoing the words of his governesses and parents and sighs from his brother, until he simply was a spectral ghost looming around the place, back stiff and face stern until he would inevitably marry a woman he most likely would not love. But somehow, there always remained that spark from Sirius. Maybe it was his namesake reaching out to him, or perhaps Sirius himself was simply magic. Maybe that’s what Remus thinks. But when he met those boys, that little spark would blast open like beams of sun, pouring out of his laughter until he was shaped to be the fun boy that was hiding inside him all along. Yes, Sirius always had rebelled, and yes he never did agree with his family’s views, but until this connection, this unbreakable, beautiful bond that had been formed between the four was made, he was simply another product of Walburga and Orion Black, the future heir. This backyard, Remus, James, and Peter, and the Potters’ sanctuary was really all he had left.
And Remus finally did see the wonders of the Potters’ mansion. They forced him out of his mourning little stupor and had helped him up in ways that were truly just wonderful. He would be so thankful, later on in the years, that he had left his little book and went to join the three boys in that backyard, for he never would have seen the secrets of the mansion had it not been for them. He shon luminously, like a moon, and maybe that too, is where his namesake reached out to him, igniting that little fire in him which would set every little atom in his body aflame whenever he was fused with them. Because they would laugh and play and yell and run and nothing else would matter except the screams of their rapture and their bruised knees from how often they would jump around.
They would do this until the inevitable time came for Peter to be sent back to his parents, and Sirius dragged away back to the pit of his house that was supposed to make him feel safe. But it didn’t. But he did always have them, and he would keep reminding himself of this, for when tomorrow would come and the sun would shower them in their light, tomorrow would have them, and he’d be back in their little sanctuary that was the Potters’ backyard.
Sirius would then realize that Remus had grown much taller, and for some odd reason, he found that that would stir the flesh of his stomach weirdly. His face also matured, now bereft of the slightly roundish boyness that had once been. As the years went on, Sirius would notice that maybe he had been looking at Remus differently from the others ever since they had met, and maybe that he always had a slight difference of attitude towards the boy, different from James and Peter. But foolishly, he had never noticed.
He never noticed this: that when Remus would clumsily fall, he’d automatically go and assist the boy back to a standing stance, rather than throwing himself onto a heap on top of him. He never noticed this: that whenever granted the chance to lightly touch the boy in any way, spanning from comforting light arm touches to arms swung around each other’s necks, he would take it, gentler so. He never noticed this: that he never, not once, did ever decide to amicably tussle with him, as he did James and Peter a myriad of times. And he surely never did notice this: that on that day, during the autumn of 1860, when they decided to relax under the very same tree they met Remus on and when the taller boy decided to lay his head languidly onto Sirius’s lap, eyes closed and freckles shining abeam like dots of pinpricked sunshine glowing and reflecting the inside, reflecting his beautiful, golden soul just like his honeyed eyes do, that perhaps this was when Sirius’s stomach took a real spur this time, and that wondrous gaze he stared at Remus with wasn’t so platonic either, with his lips parted slightly, and eyes poring over Remus’s beautiful face, grey eyes looking at him with so much wonder, so much love, that it would be incredibly foolish to mark off as an act of friendship, especially when he suddenly had this yearning urge to press his lips to Remus’s plush pink ones.
And so were their days back then.
***
He scuffed his feet on the black and white flagstones moodily as he entered the kitchen. James had been stewing broth, its aroma diffusing into every part of the room and entering Sirius’s nose pleasantly. James had his face screwed up in concentration as he sliced the vegetables meticulously, evening them into small pieces and sliding them inside the pot. Sirius stalked over to the small table perched in the corner, and as James looked up at him, his face smoothed out into a smile. Sirius did not reciprocate.
“What is the matter, Sirius?” James asked concernedly.
“My mother, that is the matter. That woman is the very bane of my existence,” he answered morosely.
“What has she done this time?” James began stirring the stew and spoke without looking up.
“She wants me to marry. And all the women she has brought me to meet are severely incompetent and utterly mad like her.”
“She wants you to marry now? I am not surprised, she is mad,” he left the broth to stew and pulled a wooden chair from the table to sit on. “I am very sorry, Sirius. She should understand that you do not feel the need to engage in marital activities at the moment, or perhaps ever.”
“Well, she does not. I do not understand, James, what is wrong with her? She only needs an adequate heir and me not fulfilling her needs has made her despise me.”
“Yes, Sirius, and I am very sorry about that. But remember that nothing is the matter with you. It is her duty as a mother to love and nourish you, and she has not been able to fulfill any of these, but know that you are not the problem.” James looked at him seriously.
Sirius thanked him. “These women…” he shook his head, “they are not all bad. But I do not understand why I do not want to be wed to them. I do not think I want to be wed at all, or perhaps none of them are adequate enough.”
“Who were they?”
“The most probable lady was Marlene McKinnon. Although I do not want to marry her either,” he laughed, “and if I am honest, I do not think she would want to either.”
“The McKinnons are a respectable family, so it would make sense for her to attempt to arrange you. However, Marlene is a decent lady, and I am fairly sure her desire in marrying is indeed limited,” a few moments of silence elapsed, “in a man, at least. I heard she has been engaging intimately with Dorcas Meadowes, and her mum is trying to wed her to a man as quickly as possible.”
Sirius frowned. “That is awful. I am glad I turned her down.” James nodded wisely, glasses perched low on his nose.
“Come live with us.” James offered, suddenly.
Sirius looked at him with wide eyes, deep yearn to accept his offer stirring in his eyes. “No, James, you know I cannot do such a thing. I have already imposed on your family and house enough, for years, in fact.”
James shrugged, “Mother and Father do not mind, they already consider you their own kin. And besides, you practically already do. You are here constantly, and I doubt it will make much of a difference. Our house is grandly large, and you obviously are very unhappy there. I should have offered this years ago.”
Sirius smiled. He appreciated James so much. “I accept your kind offer. Thank you, James, I am unable to comprehend how I can repay such an act.”
James shook his head, “Do not.”
“How is Remus doing? Have you heard from him?” Sirius asked. James shook his head.
“He hasn’t been getting out of his room for a while except to bathe, use the restroom, and eat, and even that is scarce. I have tried knocking on his room yet have never received an answer. No peeps or anything emit from it, and I do not want to just barge in, that would be rude.” James supplied.
Sirius nodded in agreement, “What if he’s upset? I do hope that is not the matter… but what could it be? I do not think anything would be this discouraging for him not to seek us for this long. Do you think he misses his parents again? That must be it, but what could we do to help? I have no experience in grieving other than my Uncle Alphard, and we were not so close then. Perhaps he is in need of cheering up, but how could we provide that?”
“Or perhaps he is not in want of coming out of his room. It occurs, sometimes, this heavy state of lethargy. Maybe that is what is with him.” James offered sagely.
Sirius shook his head adamantly, “No, that is not it, either. I believe something is bothering him, and it must be something very disagreeable for him not to come seek us.”
James smiled, “You have always cared deeply for him, do you not agree?”
Sirius looked at him as if he had just presented him a convoluting question, “Of course. For the antithesis to be suggested would be utterly preposterous. He is my best friend, how could I not?”
James hummed in agreement, “Yes, but maybe in the way in which…” he stopped for a moment, looking for a way to voice his opinion, “in which I may care for Miss Evans.” He looked at him imploringly.
“I do not understand what you are suggesting, James.”
“I know you are being honest, however I think your feelings lay much deeper than ones which are simply platonic.” James looked at him kindly.
Oh.
***
This had been going on for two weeks. Remus refused to come out of his room, and had been seen leaving at scarce intervals, only to use the bathroom and collect food from the kitchen. Sirius had missed him. A lot. He wished he knew how to make him feel better, or how to convince him to get out. There always just seemed to be something missing when the boys went out, like a missing puzzle piece which slotted perfectly with the group had been wrenched out. What even was the reason for this?
He rapped at Remus’s door.
No answer.
He knocked again, incessantly while informing him that it was him. An annoyed What? came out from the other side. A few footsteps padded across, and the door was open, slightly askew, and there was Remus’s face, glowing yet dimmed with sadness, his usual light faint. His brows were sad, and his eyes spoke the most, being bereft of their usual moonlight which Sirius had so dearly loved about him. He didn’t even make eye contact with him.
“Hello, Remus. What is the matter?” Sirius asked, worriedly.
Remus shook his head, “It is foolish, it is nothing, believe me. Apologies for the lack of visits I have been granting recently.”
“Well, surely it must be something if it had made you this melancholic. Do please share it with me?” he looked at him imploringly.
Remus looked back.
He stepped aside to let Sirius in.
His voice was distant, and he stared at the floor the entire time he spoke. He spoke with an emotionally withdrawn voice the entire time, refusing to show a hint of emotion, but the words he spoke and the expression on his face tells Sirius all the misery he refuses to show. He had been missing his parents, achingly, and had been feeling rather self-conscious about his scar. It’s most likely an episode, Remus thinks, but Sirius didn’t dare treat it as such.
“Do you know what I have always thought about your scar, Remus?” Remus replied that he had not. “I think it shows how strong you are. Because you surviving that night is something utterly magnificent. And not only did you survive, you lived. Because, you see, there is a difference between living and surviving - to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just survive, that’s all. You decided to live how your parents would have wanted you to do so, for them, and that takes a lot of courage. I think it makes you the bravest boy in the world.” He wrapped his hand around Remus’s wrist, feeling the light flutter of Remus’s pulse under his smooth, ivory, freckled skin, a green ribbon sewn throughout his wrist and beating beautifully, Sirius being so glad it does.
He smiled at him gently, regarding him with such a soft expression that it would be completely incomprehensible to tell that that was Sirius Black expressing it, but not so much when you would be informed that it was towards Remus Lupin. He held his wrist surely, grounding him to the earth with his feathery yet firm touch, but with the delicacy of jewelry.
He wanted to kiss him so bad, but he didn’t realize.
Every cell in Remus’s body had been kissed by Sirius’s lovely soul, pressed by the sweet words and touches of Sirius, and every part of his heart was hugged by him, sprinkling his love in every part of his soul and body. Suddenly, Remus didn’t feel as sad now.
***
“Remus?” Sirius whispered, clutching a candle set on a candle plate dripped with tallow and wax. It glowed with a bright, golden light, illuminating Sirius’s face with every detail, spanning from the mole that tattooed itself onto his face and brightening his silver, steely eyes. He had been meandering around meaninglessly, exploring the house, until he stalked over to Remus’s room. The door was left slightly open, the back of Remus’s head visible through the gap and the stars glittering the sky in front of him along with the lunate moon. There was a large window framed with curtains billowing from the wind at the desk he was sitting at, projecting the glow of the moon, swirling the dust particles floating lightly on top of the bed, looking like little stars and making the entire room look like magic. Through the glass was a meadow dotted with flowers, scattered around prettily, and behind Remus, a steely grey eye peering at him inquisitively, stars reflected in his eyes. Remus was writing using a quill, dipping it into the black ink, and swirling curlicues around with his handwriting. He wrote smoothly, effortlessly, as if born to do this. The movement of his hand was graceful, and the flick of the quill produced swirls of ink framing beautiful writing. He turned around at the sound of Sirius’s voice.
“Sirius?”
“Hello, Remus,” he smiled.
Hello. I thought you would be asleep.”
“Well, I suppose I am not.”
“You suppose?”
He laughed, “Alright, I am not asleep, then,” he pushed the door open and stood inside. Pushed to the side was a bed with a tartan blanket splayed on it, and one bedside table neighboring it, a lamp and a stack of books situated on it. He obviously had a bookshelf with thick tomes with worn covers and cracked spines shelved on them. There was a large rug with a pattern woven into it, fuzzy to the touch, and dipped in red.
“What are you writing at this time of night?” Sirius asked.
Remus faltered. He’d often chastised himself for not trusting easily. When asked slightly personal questions he would falter, and maybe it was because of what happened to him. But he’d gotten better, and he would still get better, surely. He thinks it must be a psychological thing, and that over time, he would heal, just like how he healed from that night, albeit scarred physically and mentally.
But it always had been him and Sirius. Him and Sirius who’d climbed up that tree together for the first time; him and Sirius who had always laid their heads onto each other’s laps, asking about the story they were currently reading; him and Sirius who always were just different, in a way. He had come to know and love this boy, these boys, but it was Sirius in particular who he had come to know and trust the most, and he would always know that the other boy would always be there for him, in ways completely different than James and Peter. Because Sirius Black really was a boy like no other. And it was for this reason that Remus answered him truthfully.
“I am writing a book. What do you think about this?”
Sirius’s eyebrows rode up his forehead in surprise and wonder.
“Would you be so kind as to elaborate on what you think? Why are you looking at me so peculiarly?” Remus asked worriedly.
“No, no. It’s just… very intriguing. I did not know you were doing such a thing. It truly is a wonder. I think it is marvelous idea and thing for you to pursue, I was just not expecting that answer.” But then Sirius shook his head, and stood in silence for a few moments, as if thinking how to properly articulate this. “Yet that is not true, either,” he looked into Remus’s eyes, “I think I always had been expecting such a thing from you especially, Remus. I have regarded you with such expectations for a long time, for you have a gifted mind and a beautiful soul like no other. You read wondrous books often, and it is not much of a surprise for you to take on such an endeavor in writing one yourself. I think it is brilliant.”
Remus stared at him with endless hope tattooed in his irises, eyes blazing with marvel. Sirius had the stars in his eyes and Remus the moon behind his back.
“Thank you,” was all Remus said, until, “my star.”
At this Sirius looked up at him. He looked at Remus, this amazing, intelligent boy who was writing a book at such a young age, at the boy who he had asked to become his best friend at age fourteen. He looked at Remus, his best friend, the boy who’d kept him grounded for all these years, and the boy he’d shared so many delightful memories with. He looked at Remus, the boy he had first fallen in love with.
He took a few tentative steps towards Remus, the oak floor creaking under his weight, and was now standing in front of him. Like this, he was taller, until Remus stood up and looked down at his eyes.
The stars were still in his eyes, even at this angle, but they were gone once he pressed his lips to Remus’s and closed his eyes. Blissfully, magically, Remus kissed him back. It had been as if the stars had suddenly bloomed on their lips and skin, a million astral starbursts painting the sky. The strings of their heart plucked to play resonant notes like a violin; a song no composer would ever be closeto capturing the beauty of in their compositions. They opened their lips to let the other in, nipping and cupping their faces tentatively, streaming all the words and all the love they were too afraid to speak due to the cruel ways of the world, just like how bees do when they land on flowers, pollen grains sprinkling their hearts and glittering their bloodstream with stardust.
Maybe when the universe was being divided, they had seen these two boys and decided to assign them to the celestial bodies floating overhead above them, dipped into light as bright as the sun, and far away from everyone and everything like they were the only two people in the world. Because years back, Sirius would look back and think, that maybe they possibly were. Both the moon and stars and the only two people in the world.
They pulled back with swollen, laughing lips, laughing for absolutely no reason at all except each other, and how they would make this work. They would experience obstacles, and it would be undeniably hard, but for him and the moon, he wouldn’t give up.
They intertwined their fingers together, and for some odd reason, Sirius began to sway his body. A sudden impulse just sent across by his brain, telling him to start dancing with this lovely, beautiful boy, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. His body began swaying slowly, and he took hold of Remus’s other hand, the boy looking down at him perplexedly but soon began smiling with him.
There was no music, as phonographs had not come to exist back in their time, but there was no need for one. The moment itself was golden, magical - ascendency in itself, because if you listened closely, deeply, you would notice a faint thrum of their hearts beating simultaneously and rhythmically as they gazed into one another’s eyes, along with the laughter that poured out of their lips when they did. There was no need for one as they were each other’s music, each other’s lifeline and each other’s entire hearts, and all the music they needed was stirred and injected into the very veins which pumped their blood mixed with stardust. When Sirius would reminisce this moment for years to come by, he would remember that the dust particles which swirled and haloed them around had turned into golden dust, powdered glitter swaying amongst the air with them, illuminated by the faint moonlight assisted by the stars.
“What is the book about, Remus?” Sirius had asked.
“Us. You, me, James, and Peter. It is about us.” Then they both smiled.
Remus was a bit clumsy, at first, for he had never taken slow dancing classes as Sirius had ever since he was a child, but that was not an issue, not at all. Sirius guided him the way, and had unveiled to him the beauty that was dancing, just as he had with the very sanctuary that they stood in and would come to love for all their years. Perhaps in this moment, the world became magic as they swayed, because with the moon and stars, these two boys, nothing else would be capable of making such a golden elation at midnight.
***
They kept private. It was not easy, of course, for when the sudden urge came for one of them to just yell into the empty, heavy void that the other was theirs, it was hard to be suppressed, but they carried on, carrying their love from mansions and gardens and bedrooms, to beds that would creak loudly during the night when they expressed their love in actions.
But when the time came for them to be veiled away from the world in the garden and the little world they had built in Remus’s bedroom, it would all be worth it.
During one morning as they lay in Remus’s bed bare, Remus had been snoozing adorably. Sirius gazed at him, staring at his beautifully speckled freckles and that one dimple that somehow managed to have the power to pop out even during Remus’s sleep. He began stirring, and opened his eyes tentatively, making the sun decide to immediately pool into those wondrous eyes of his. Sirius pushed his curls out of his eyes and kissed his forehead.
“I truly do not believe having felt this way about anyone else before, my star, and if I had, such a love would never have been achieved as it is with you.” Remus mumbled sleepily.
Then he just kissed him, and at that moment, Remus knew. He knew that when the time came for him to be cemented and festered into the ground when he dies, this boy will be sleeping next to him. They lay peacefully in their snug, rumpled bed, all soft quilts and feathery pillows. They lay in their bed, gently, with nothing yet everything said between the two as their eyes fell into one another’s. They are soft in the morning light, hair tousled with sleep and curled carefully at all different waves. They are happy and in love in the morning light and in their snug bed, and for now, that is all that matters.
───･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───