i don't want to be your muse

The smell of cinnamon and tea was all Sirius could focus on as he watched Remus, who seemed to be slowly curling in on himself. The fiddled with his bag strap, and the hem of his shirt, and then ran his fingers through his hair, and Sirius watched him wince as they got caught in his curls. There was a moment where it seemed Remus would give Sirius his answer, but then he would bite back, and Sirius would watch him retreat back into his own thoughts. 

“I’ll do it,” Remus said, his eyebrows furrowed and his grip on his bag almost painful to see. 

Sirius leaned forward. “You don’t have to -”

“But I want to,” Remus insisted, almost looking offended that Sirius didn’t believe him. “Lily, my friend, she’s always telling me I should do more with my poetry.” 

“Jamie, James, my brother, my other brother,” Sirius said, stumbling over his words, using his arms to emphasise what he was trying to say. “He’s always telling me to do more with my music, so I started doing small gigs where I could, but it’s never something I’ve just…”

“Felt you could pursue?” Remus finished, having felt the same way his entire life. 

Sirius nodded. “Exactly, I mean, how do you become a musician?” 

“How do you become a poet,” Remus returned. 

“Suppose we could figure it out together,” Sirius grinned. 

-----

There was a memory from their childhood that Sirius felt suffocated by. 

A moment when they realised their parents only cared for the idea of them over who they were.

Their hand had curled around their heart as they ripped it from their chest, presenting it to those they thought would appreciate it, but instead their parents turned up their noses; told Sirius that they shouldn’t make such a mess, and that the blood stains would be almost impossible to remove from the carpet. 

They quickly swallowed their heart, but the hole in their chest made it impossible for it to stay where their parents said it should - buried under a mountain of flesh and bone and fabric. 

Instead, they did the only thing they could think to do, and carried it everywhere they went. They felt its weight, dragging their every step, pulling and pulling, until they hated their own heart, and hated everything it stood for.

Sirius did the only thing they could think to do, and buried it in the garden.

Deep beneath the mud, grass, and tree roots, Sirius could breathe. They could follow their parents’ wishes, and the lack of warmth in their chest, the bounce in their step as they floated - it didn’t faze them.

Why should it? Their parents praised their actions, when Sirius would scorn others, when they would barely flinch as their parents yelled at them, when Sirius refused to hug their brother and spat cruelties at the boy, who did not deserve it. 

One day Sirius heard its faint beating from their room, a slow and steady sound that proved deafening.

With a shovel in hand, they dug deep in that garden, until Sirius found their heart, and with the wound in their chest healed from years of waiting, they could swallow it again. Sirius felt the heavy burden of a heart as they wept for the lost years of their childhood. 

They realised so much about themselves in so little time; Sirius was not their parents son, for they were not a son at all; they would not produce the heirs an heir should; they needed to apologise to Regulus, and help him to dig his buried heart too; Sirius had others who were more of a family than their parents ever would be, and they needed to hold them close to their heart, so the others could hear it flutter like a small bird the way they could. 

There was a mind discovering itself beneath their features, which mellowed and warmed with each self-discovery. James had said Sirius had never been open to conversation the first time he met them, simply looking down at those who passed by, but eventually, Sirius became the kindest, softest person James had ever known. 

Sirius knew it took years. Their self-hatred bubbled and boiled under their skin, revealing itself in anger and shouting matches that they instantly regretted. They were glad James was patient; they were glad Regulus was a gentle soul - though Sirius never thought they deserved it. 

Breaking the coils of wire their parents had twisted around their mind was difficult. It was not an easy task, and Sirius did not like the number of chances people gave them. They didn’t like when people told them it wasn’t their fault. They wanted to be held accountable for the pain they caused in their heartless existence. 

James always would.

James the Just. 

The man who Sirius knew would forever be their best friend. 

-----

“Sirius, I love you, you’re my sibling in all but blood,” James began, and Sirius knew he was holding back a smile. “But this is on you.”

Groaning, Sirius buried their face into the pillow before them. “I know,” they said, their voice muffled. “He was just -”

“Angelic,” James cut in. “Looking like the man of your dreams, the one you want to marry,” he exclaimed, throwing himself over the back of the sofa just to get into Sirius’ face. 

“I don’t remember saying that, you’re the one who’s saying that,” Sirius rambled, glaring at James who simply laughed. “He’s a mystery,” they sighed. 

“And you want to crack it?” 

Sirius shook their head. “I want to cradle it until it reveals itself.”

James nodded, humming. “That sounds very gay, I approve,” he joked, and Sirius snorted. 

“I’m a gay aficionado, what can I say?” they shrugged, pushing themselves up from the sofa to look at James. “I’m not really sure what I think we’re going to do,” Sirius sighed, wondering if they were being naive. “He said he doesn’t share, but…”

“You share everything?” James offered, sitting next to him. 

Sirius nodded, staring at the now wilting flowers on their coffee table. It was nice to live open plan, but they wished they both put more flowers around the flat, to make it look more colourful. “I don’t want to force him to share about himself.”

“Sirius,” James said, placing a hand on their shoulder. It was pleasantly warm. “If he said he will write poetry with you for your music, even if he is pushing himself, that’s on him not on you,” he stressed, and Sirius knew he was right. 

“I know,” they said, rubbing the back of their neck, moving their head around in circles. “How did your date go?” they asked, with a knowing smile - James gave them a look that said he knew they were diverting the conversation, but he wouldn’t push. 

James smiled, as if being guided to by Aphrodite herself. His eyes lit up and he bit his lip to stop himself from grinning; Sirius had never seen him like this before but knowing James, they weren’t surprised. “I think I’m in love.”

Sirius blinked. “Woah,” they breathed, staring at James. “Really?”

“Really,” James grinned. “She does this thing when she laughs,” he said, pressing his check into the palm of his hand. “Barely noticeable to be honest, but she leans in and shakes her head, and her laughter, oh mate, it’s like being bathed in sunlight and moonlight all at once,” he gushed, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. 

“A true poet there Jamie,” Sirius teased, pushing their hair out of their eyes. 

James stuck his tongue out. “Just because you’re yearning for one.”

“I’m not yearning, James, we’re not in the eighteenth century.”

“Might as well be, with all your theatrics,” James hummed, sipping his drink. He pulled a face. “It’s gone cold,” he said, as if he had just found out Sirius had dropped another mug. 

Sirius chuckled, tucking their hair away from their eyes yet again. “Just reheat it.”

James raised an eyebrow. “How? Magic?” he joked.

“The microwave,” Sirius said, as if it was obvious. 

The expression James pulled upon hearing Sirius speak was as if they had just proposed to ban rich tea biscuits. “The microwave?” he exclaimed. “Blasphemous, treacherous, get out.”

“And you say I’m dramatic,” Sirius mumbled, biting back a laugh as James tutted. 

“You can’t microwave tea, Sirius, that ruins the bloody tea,” James sighed, throwing himself into the sofa. “Honestly.”

Sirius smiled, unable to contain their laughter. It echoed and bounced off the walls - they had never felt safer.

-----

With a pen between her teeth, Sirius collected her hair into a ponytail, twisting the bobble around it but fumbling and failing to tie her hair back for the third time in a row. It would almost be a record, but there was that one time when she was drunk and James had dared her to do something she can’t remember, but instead she spent twenty minutes trying to tie her hair back whilst their friends fell apart with laughter. She shook her hands, rubbing them on her jeans before sighing and shoving her hands in her pockets. Leaning her head against the metal gate, Sirius felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end; it had become more and more irritable. It tickled her face, her nose, she felt as if it was inside her eyes, crawling up her neck and making her want to cut all her hair off. She never would, she loved her hair, but she wanted to. 

She took the pen from between her teeth and went back to twisting it around her fingers, twirling it as she chewed at the inside of her cheek. In the past, if she was waiting for someone, Sirius would have smoked a cigarette, but she had been trying to quit for a while now and her ability to stop was bad enough as it is, never mind if she had one whenever she was mildly uncomfortable. 

Sighing, feeling the irritation of her hair building into anger, she almost cried when she saw Remus heading toward her. “Remus!” she called over the traffic, hoping to catch his attention. 

Remus almost tripped upon hearing Sirius call out - he had been heading in the wrong direction. “Sirius,” he grinned, and Sirius noticed he had a dimple on the left side of his face. “Bit hectic today, isn’t it?” he said, glancing at all the passers-by. 

Sirius laughed, leaning against the gate as someone decided to walk between the two of them. “Very.”

The two had decided that before they work on poetry and music, they should get to know each other more. The task of finding a way to do this whilst not getting overwhelmed by their surroundings, or being trapped in an endless loop of trivial conversation had been a feat. However, they ended up combining their love of hushed sounds and art to visit the art gallery. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “If I’d have known it would have been busy, I’d have suggested something else.”

Sirius shook her head. “Absolutely not, I happen to adore art galleries Remus, I always find a way to talk myself out of visiting.”

Remus smiled. “So I picked a good way to know more about you then?”

“I’ll talk your ear off if I see the right painting, you’ve trapped yourself I’m afraid,” Sirius teased, bouncing up the steps before the gallery. 

“Who's your favourite artist?” Remus asked, as they entered the building. Sirius felt as if there was a change in atmospheric pressure, but she knew it was just the volume difference. 

She took a moment she didn’t need before she answered. “Van Gogh.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why is that unsurprising,” he muttered to himself, and Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I mean, it’s as if he takes these moments where he can see the world again, that split second between everything being desaturated and everything being filled with life, and captures it with his painting,” she explained, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Everyone loves Starry Night for a reason, you know?”

With a hum, Remus nodded. “I can’t disagree with you,” he shrugged.

“What about you?”

“I don’t know enough about art,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “But I’d probably agree with you and say Van Gogh.”

“That’s cheating,” Sirius teased, smiling as Remus shook his head. 

“People are allowed to have the same opinions as you,” Remus replied, his eyes bright. 

Sirius snorted. “Impossible, all of my thoughts are original.”

Remus bit his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “You’re impossible, Sirius.”

“That’s exactly my point,” she said, as they entered the first room. 

There was a comfort in art galleries that Sirius found hard to place. It was similar to the feeling of coming home after being away for days on end: the feeling of finding something you thought was lost, something trivial to others, but meaningful to you. The comfort was laced into the walls, which dripped with familiarity as Sirius brushed her fingers across the stones and chipped paint. Even though the art was always changing, the building itself did not; it helped her know where to go and where not to go. 

There weren’t many people in the gallery, which was to be expected during a weekday. Sirius glanced at Remus, who glanced at Sirius, and the two couldn’t help but smile. “Why are you smiling?” Remus asked.

Sirius shook her head. “Why are you smiling?” she asked, her smile breaking into a grin. 

“I asked first,” Remus replied, raising an eyebrow. 

“First the worst, second the best,” Sirius said, giggling when Remus sighed, rolling his eyes with a soft smile. 

“You’re an odd man Sirius.”

Sirius bit the inside of her cheek. “Not actually a man,” she replied, with a small shrug. 

Remus paused for a moment, his eyes widening. “Oh,” he muttered. “Okay,” he nodded. “What pronouns do you prefer?”

Happy that Remus reached what should be the bare minimum and wasn’t transphobic, Sirius let out an internal sigh of relief. “I’m genderfluid, so they change somewhat frequently,” she said, her heart beating faster as she spoke each word. “She/her at the moment though,” she smiled, fiddling with the pen at her side.

Remus nodded again. “Sorry for assuming,” he apologised. He smiled softly, noticing her nervousness. “You’re an odd person Sirius,” he corrected, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin. 

“Why thank you, thank you” she said, taking a small bow. “I try.”

Remus snorted. “I could tell.”

“Oi!” Sirius exclaimed. “You’ve known me for a week.”

“And it’s been enough time to notice that you’re very unapologetically you,” Remus admitted. Whilst Sirius could hear the teasing tone in his voice, she couldn’t help but take it as a compliment. “It’s quite endearing,” he said, his voice quiet. 

“Remus, my dear fellow,” she began, linking her arm with his. “That’s the highest compliment I could ever receive, you’re winning my heart,” she grinned, as Remus flushed a light pink, shaking his head. 

“Ah yes,” Remus nodded. “My plan all along,” he said dryly. 

Sirius snorted. “As it should be,” she nodded, barely containing her laughter. She leaned into Remus as she chuckled, and noticed he was mirroring her actions, laughing along with her. “What’s your favourite piece in this room?”

Glancing around the room, Remus locked eyes with the painting opposite them. “That one,” he said, nodding in its direction. 

Walking closer, Sirius squinted at the painting. “It’s pretty,” she mumbled, staring at the twisting tree branches. She looked towards the plaque beside it. “Springtime, John William North.”

“Fuck off, that’s not his name,” Remus laughed, making Sirius jump. She didn’t notice he had walked up behind her to get a look at the plaque. 

“I’m not lying!” 

Remus shook his head. “That’s the most generic, English sounding name I could imagine.”

Sirius grinned. “We can’t all have fantastic names, Mr Wolf Wolf.”

Rolling his eyes, Remus stared at the painting, as if expecting the branches to move. “I like the haziness of it, as if it’s an image from a dream. There’s not much detail besides that tree, it’s oddly mesmerising.”

“I’ve forgotten the exact technique behind it, but I know that there was something painters would do so that the image they were looking at was hazy like this,” Sirius explained, staring at the blurs of green and pink as if it might help her. She sighed. “Either way, it does look like a dream.”

Remus nodded. “I feel nostalgic for it, as if I’ve seen this exact field, this exact tree before, but I know I never have.”

Sirius hummed. “I know what you mean.”

“It reminds me of when I used to wake up early just to prove that I could, and take the longer routes home from school to see the sunset,” Remus began, smiling to himself. “My parents used to hate that I did that, worried I’d passed out in a ditch somewhere.”

“Pass out often?” 

Snorting, Remus shook his head. “Probably about twice?” he said, as if trying to remember himself. “In their defence, the first time, I was eight - got hit in the face with a ball.”

Sirius winced. “Dodgeball?” 

“Every child's worst nightmare,” Remus nodded, his expression drawn, as if it was a very serious matter. “Can we sit for a minute?” he asked, sitting on one of the benches to the side of the gallery. Sirius saw him flinch slightly, muttering something she couldn’t quite make out - it didn’t sound like any language she knew.

“You good?” Sirius asked, as Remus rolled his left shoulder and his right ankle, as if to see if he had sprained either of them. 

Remus hummed. “I - er - probably just walked here a bit too quickly.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, not believing what Remus was saying, but knowing she hadn’t known him long enough to point that out. She nodded, trying once again to tie her hair away from her face. “Fuck,” she mumbled, the hair bobble feeling weird in her hair. 

“Want some help?” Remus asked, nodding to the bobble in Sirius’ hand. At first, Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus was teasing her, and was going to tell him to get lost, but she saw no mirth in his eyes, only something she couldn’t quite place. 

“If you could?” Sirius grinned, rubbing the back of her neck.

Remus chuckled, and Sirius felt his fingers brush against hers as he took the hair bobble; they were softer than she expected. “Let me know if I pull on your hair.”

Sirius hums. “I will,” she said, though she didn’t think she’d need to; Remus was incredibly gentle with her hair, as if it was as fragile as glass. He brushed his fingers through her hair, guiding it into a ponytail, and managing to do what Sirius had been struggling to do - tie the hair bobble. “Thanks,” she grinned.

Sirius could have sworn Remus’ face was slightly pink. “No problem.”

“We can go for some food if you want? If your feet are hurting, you probably shouldn’t walk around an art gallery,” she joked.

“But you really want to,” Remus replied. “I’ll be okay.”

“Nope,” Sirius responded, grinning. “Your comfort is more important Remus.” She noticed that Remus looked both conflicted and relieved at her words. “Besides, I know a place around the corner that does the best chips.”

Remus chuckled. “Well now you’ve got my hopes up.”