Home Alone
Severus had left two days ago and would be home in two more, so Sirius invited Remus out to the pub. It had been so long since they had been together, just the two of them, that they hardly stopped talking long enough to drink. Whenever their eyes met, they would both grin ear to ear, often chuckling for no reason besides a mutual joy at being together. It felt as if they’d once shared some funny secret that they’d since forgotten but each felt lingering at the edges of his subconscious. It was a wonderful, friendly feeling.
When he felt the time was right, Sirius said, “Okay, time to get – for lack of a better word – serious. I hear you’re cutting a lot and talking about killing yourself. Care to tell me what’s going on?”
Remus brought out his left leg from under the table so Sirius could see. He pulled up his pantleg to reveal several cuts running up his shin like steps on a ladder. “I ran out of good skin on my arms,” he said with a little shrug. “It’s become like minced beef up there.”
“Good God, Remus, you don’t deserve that, you know.” Sirius reached down and gave the injured leg a soft pat.
“There’s more, but I’d have to take off my trousers to show you.”
Even with the severity of the situation, Sirius couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease, “Ah, later then.”
Remus leaned back, smiling, and waved his empty glass at him. “Top me up a few times and who knows...”
“I can’t say no to that!” He was just standing up to order more drinks, when he saw a group of men coming in the front doors carrying pieces of a drum set and amplifiers. “Damn it, a band. There’s the end of our conversation, Reems; we’re about to be drowned out, rock n’ roll style.”
“Let’s get out of here then. My house?”
They always chose Remus’ house if they were drinking because he was the one most likely to pass out at the end of the night. Then Sirius, who usually still had energy to burn, would tuck him into bed and do dishes or a load of laundry before taking a cab home.
Tonight, they decided to walk so they could sober up some in the crisp night air. They were quite drunk, however, and by the time the little square bungalow was in sight they had thrown their arms around one another to keep from falling, Sirius hugging Remus’ waist and Remus, who was taller, hanging like a warm scarf across Sirius’ shoulders. The theatre was about to start casting for “Fiddler On the Roof,” so they sang as they walked up the quiet street, “If I were a rich man!” heartily enough that a sleepy neighbour opened her window and yelled at them, “Shut the hell up!” It only made them laugh and hug each other tighter.
Inside, Remus handed Sirius a glass and headed down the hall to his bedroom. “Follow me. I hide my liquor now.”
He went to the closet and pulled a bottle of gin from the pocket of a cardigan, filling their glasses while Sirius kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the bed.
“I don’t think Sev would like you sitting on the bed,” Remus said, immediately downing half his glass in one go.
“I don’t think ‘Sev’ is here right now,” Sirius pointed out. “And he’d probably be just livid to know I’ve sat on this bed a thousand times without fucking you. What a scandal!”
Remus chuckled. “True. Don’t get up, then, we’ll hang out in here.” He leaned on his dresser and crossed his feet in front of him, looking thoroughly relaxed and somewhat conspiratorial, too.
“Reems,” Sirius said suddenly, his voice filled with mock horror, “we’ve been here like five minutes and you haven’t offered me a chocolate! Are you trying to tell me you hate me? Was it something I said?”
He laughed. “I don’ have any to offer.”
“What? You never don’t have chocolate. What about your stash?”
Remus looked embarrassed. “Sev threw it out. He says I shouldn’t eat so much junk. And he’s right, you know, I eat far too many sweets. Like a child. Sev’s helping me fix my flaws, though. He says because I was an abused child, I never learned properly how to live in the real world. So, he’s teaching me.”
Sirius scoffed, annoyed. “How exactly is that arsehole teaching you anything? By throwing out your chocolate, that’s going to teach you to eat healthy?”
“Sev believes in logical consequences.” Remus poured himself another glass of gin and handed the bottle to Sirius. “So, for instance, if I talk back to him, I have to hold hot sauce in my mouth.”
Sirius’ heart sank. He didn’t know what that would feel like, but he imagined it burned. “What else?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “Moony, what does he do when you cut?”
He drank his whole glass of gin before answering. It only took a minute, but it felt to Sirius like an incredibly long silence. Finally, he spoke. “He pours bleach on the wounds. It cleans them, so it’s actually a good thing.”
“What else?” Sirius’ voice was stony, as if fighting its way through a pile of rubble, and he hoped he didn’t sound angry at Remus. “Come to the bed,” he murmured, “and tell me.”
Remus came and stretched out beside him, propped up by a pillow, and stared at the ceiling as he began listing punishments that made Sirius’ skin crawl. “If I’m lazy I have to stand holding paint cans for however many hours he decides. If I eat like a pig, I’m not allowed food for a while. If I forget to turn off lights, I get locked in the closet in the dark.” That one made his voice shake, and Sirius knew why – it had been one of his parents’ favourite punishments, and Remus still slept with the bathroom light on because of it. Sirius wondered if that bathroom light counted as “forgetting to turn off lights.” Remus steadied his voice and went on, “Sometimes I have to take cold showers, for various reasons. Sometimes he’s rough… you know… in bed.”
“As a punishment?” It was almost too horrible to think about, all of it. Sirius felt like he might cry or fly into a rage.
“A consequence,” Remus corrected, as if it made all the difference in the world. “And sometimes, if he gets really frustrated with me… he hits me. You were right about that.”
He didn’t bother refilling their drinks after that, just drank straight from the bottle. He drank and drank, then went to the closet to fish out another bottle from another cardigan pocket.