a beautiful world | wolfstar

old rain

Closing the door to the music room, Remus slumped onto a piano stool, his guitar leaning against his leg and a line stitched between his eyebrows.

Clumps of uncoordinated music could be heard through the gaps in the door. The large window was stained with old rain and dust. The faint markings clasped the light between their turbid fingers.

There was a sense of familiarity in the peeling plaster-clad walls and the weary creak of the chair Remus was sat on. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend everything was fine.

Of course, everything was emphatically not fine.

When he had woken up with Sirius in his arms that morning, he had thought he was dreaming (or perhaps it was a nightmare - he couldn't really tell). But even if the warmth and softness beneath him was imagined, the hardness of other places certainly was not.

Remus had then proceeded to jump out of the bed, realised his legs were not actually awake and had collapsed like a paper doll on the wooden floor.

He rubbed his still-sore back, grimacing at the memory.

He couldn't remember much of last night. Remus' recollections were messy smudges of anger and pain, diluted by alcohol and a desire for emptiness. But there was nothing beyond that. Just wavering flashes of clarity. Everything else was gone, like a ball you can't quite seem to catch.

He hadn't seen Sirius that morning. After noticing his little issue, Remus had escaped to the bathroom. When he had deemed it safe to emerge, Sirius was still fast asleep, and Remus couldn't really say whether he was relieved or upset. Maybe both.

Remus didn't want to see the other boys, though. They, too, had been sleeping when Remus had scurried off to the music rooms. He dreaded the interrogation he was sure to be put under.

And now here he was, exhausted and regretful, plucking absently at his out-of-tune guitar and watching the sun pool limply on the floor.

And he was hungry. That really was the cherry on the fucking cake.

***

"Where are you going?" Sirius mumbled to James, still half-asleep, and feeling strange, like he'd lost something important. James smirked at him, pulling on a shirt.

"I need to tell Lily something. But Peter has something he wants to talk to you about, don't you, Pete?"

Sirius didn't like the grin that spread across Peter's face. "I do, actually. Have fun with Lily."

"I will. Au revoir, bitches." He strutted out of the room.

Sitting up, Sirius realised why he felt weird. Remus was no longer curled around him. How quickly did his brain manage to register that as something familiar? Something that was necessary?

"So, Sirius, my little friend," Peter said calmly, getting up from his bed and sitting in front of the other boy.

"Worms, you're literally one inch taller than me."

"When me and James returned from our mission last night, do you know what we saw?"

Sirius gulped. "I have no idea."

Chuckling, Peter leaned in a bit closer. "Would you like to know?"

"Ah, no?"

A huff. "Ding-dong, your answer was - " Peter flicked his nose - "Wrong!"

"Dude, that fucking hurt."

"You and Remus shared a bed last night," Peter declared. "Do you deny it?"

"I mean - "

"And Remus was wrapped around you like you were his teddy bear. Am I wrong?"

"W-Well - "

"There is no 'well'." He sounded menacing. "I am never wrong."

"P-Peter, please h-hear me out - !"

"And then!" Peter yelled, punching the mattress, "Remus left early this morning! Gone! Disappeared!" He clapped in Sirius face, making the poor boy jump. "Kapoof!"

"I don't know why he did!"

"I want an explanation!"

"Okay!" Sirius bellowed, terrified. "I can explain, just calm the fucking fuck down!"

Peter sat back, smiling innocently.

"Excellent, do continue."

So Sirius told him. He kept it brief, and left out the kiss, because what else could he do? The memory was theirs to keep.

As he was talking, Sirius tried to figure out why Remus would have left without saying anything. Did he regret kissing him? Maybe he was embarrassed about last night. Sirius didn't know.

" - and then he asked me to stay, so I did, and we fell asleep. That's all."

Peter had been quiet while Sirius had been talking. He sat there now, lip pursed, eyes a little sad.

"Pete...? You okay?"

He sighed. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"The best of people tend to think the worst of themselves."

Sirius looked at his hands, unable to think of anything to say. He picked at the black nail-polish.

"I think..." Sirius looked up again, trying to find the right words. "I think it's because the best people are aware of their flaws. That's what makes them... them." He snorted. "But then they overthink those flaws, and they obsess over them, and then it - "

" - consumes them," Peter finished, smiling softly. "Yeah."

There was a moment of quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Sirius wished Remus could love himself, because there was so much there to love.

But something else was tickling the back of his mind. Remus had left. And that couldn't mean he was happy about last night's events.

It was like a pebble, dropped into water. Sinking, slowly drifting downwards, resting sadly at the bottom of a river that never slowed.

Remus didn't love him. Sirius had sort of already known it, but the actual fact hurt so much more.

Sirius loved a boy who didn't love him. The thought was heavy on his tongue. It was scribbled across his bones and painted over his eyes, but he didn't register it. But then again, it was the only thing he could register.

But why would he love you? his subconscious whispered. Why is it such a surprise?

He doesn't love you. It's what you deserve.

He couldn't cry. Peter was right in front of him. But how he wanted to.

Remus didn't love him. And God, did it fucking hurt.