Chapter Text
Part One: New York
March 14, 1979
Remus is sitting at Lily’s bistro table, sun pouring through the only window in the whole apartment. Light crawling across the floor and into the living room. He’s smoking, using an old teacup as an ashtray and flipping through one of the books Marlene gave him for his birthday.
There’s sweat rolling down his back, little beads of it gathering because the old radiators haven’t been turned off yet. He’s in his undershirt, jeans pulled on but still unbuttoned as he shifts his weight in the chair, propping his feet up on the one opposite him.
He doesn’t feel as groggy or out of it as he should considering him, Lily and Marlene were out until the wee hours of the morning. They had stumbled back to Lily and Marlene’s just as the sun was peeking over the East River.
Flipping the page, Remus hears a creak of a floorboard from behind him.
Marlene shuffles into the kitchen, looking at him sideways and blinking. She rubs her eye, the makeup she had on last night is still clinging on, smudging around her eyes making them look bruised.
“Why’re you up so early?” she mumbles, moving his feet off the chair and plopping down, eyes squeezed shut.
“It’s after one.” he responds, closing the book and taking the last drag from his cigarette. Rolling it between his thumb and index finger, the ember falls into the bottom of the cup and he tosses the filter in after it.
Marlene is rooting around in the pile of things on Lily’s table; a zippered pouch with makeup, the rest of the wine bottle they didn’t finish, keys, a headband and a silver monogrammed case with a few joints tucked inside.
Lighting one, she takes a deep breath in, leaning her head back tilting it towards the ceiling as she exhales. It’s long and low and tinged with the edges of exhaustion.
Lately, Remus has been enjoying these quiet mornings in the city. Away from his aunt in Connecticut, without the rest of the guys. Just him, Lily and Marlene waking up slowly before going about their day.
Marlene’s looking at him now, squinting through the haze of the smoke as she takes another long drag. Her blue eyes are turning glassy, starting to sway, shoulders relaxing.
“Still thinking about moving into the city?” she asks and Remus shrugs. “You know the owner of that bookstore on Christopher is looking for people to work there.”
“I dunno if I wanna work there.” He shies away from her gaze, hand finding the back of his neck as he leans forward, elbows on the table.
“There’s always the diner, that creepy cook is always looking for help and you’re not a girl so he won’t bother you.”
Another creak of the floorboards, Lily’s awake now, hands finding his shoulders. Her touch is gentle as she kisses the top of his head.
“What about the creepy cook?”
“Rem’s gonna move to the city, but we gotta find him a job first.”
“Do you actually want to move to the city sweetheart?”
He doesn’t know. Remus doesn’t really know what he wants since his life was upended at the end of his senior year. His dad hauled him to his aunts because it’ll be better for him after his mother died.
Lily’s clanking around in the kitchen, hand on her hip as she makes coffee on the stove and Remus chews the inside of his cheek.
“I don’t really know.” he says after a long silence. “I guess it would make sense to do it? You know if the band goes on more tours or whatever.”
“You don’t sound too enthused about the band making it big.” Marlene says with a snort.
“Yeah, are you alright sweetheart?” Lily asks, placing two mugs on the table before settling on the floor, her back against the cupboards she’s bathed in sunlight.
A long galley kitchen just off the living room with barely enough space for a fridge and a stove. Tucked up next to the stove is a clawfoot tub that borrows plumbing from the sink.
Her long, red hair falls over her shoulder in a braid, blue eyeshadow leftover from last night smudged all over her eyelids and her cheeks are covered with glitter.
Remus looks down at his undershirt, giving it a quick once over to make sure he doesn’t have any glitter casualties stuck on him.
“You just don’t want to get stuck spending an extended period of time with Pete and Sirius now do you?” Marlene kicks him lightly under the table with a socked foot.
“What about James?” Lily barks from the floor, brows coming together in a look that’s supposed to be menacing.
Marlene rolls her eyes, elbow on the table, cigarette clutched tight in her fingers as she points to Lily.
“We all know James will be the least of Remus’s problems.” He shrinks at this, looking down into his mug and a silence settles between them. His stomach is knotting, the thought of spending that much time, in so little space, with the stress of going from city to city is weighing on him.
Heavy shroud on his mind, he rifles through the pile on the table and pulls out a joint.
“It’s a lot you know, going on tour.” Lily whispers, leaning forward, trying to catch his eye as he takes a long drag. “Are you nervous?”
Remus shrugs, “I’m always nervous.” he mumbles.
“It could be great though, this is a big step, you’re not just playing to the same crowd at Arlene’s every weekend.” Another shrug, another drag and Remus is tamping down the nerves growing. They’ve been eating away at him, a slow creep, ever since the announcement.
Sirius’s excited face, shoving the papers at the rest of them, vibrating with anticipation and all he could think about was how sweet it all seemed.
“Yeah it could be nice.” He takes a deep breath, stretching out and looking at the plaster moulding around the ceiling light.
Marlene’s fidgeting next to him, hands on her coffee cup she’s twisting it on the table, the motion causes him to loll his head to the side. She throws a glance in Lily’s direction, a nervous little motion and his eyes narrow.
“How was,”—she starts, biting her lip—“that guy, last night…the one you left with.” Her voice trails at the end and Remus’s face heats, touching the back of his neck. Sitting up he ashes his joint in the teacup. Remus takes a second before jumping into a response thinking it over, about what he’s going to tell them.
The newfound freedom he has in the confines of their weekends spent out and about. This is uncharted territory, him talking about boys—Remus going out with boys.
His clandestine hookups that started after Marlene shared her secret, that she likes girls, and he felt comfortable enough to share his. Soft inside to soft inside, a whisper between them after a bottle of wine and it was such a great relief to say it outloud, something he always sort of knew. It was like a knot had been untied.
Lily had hugged him so close and he hadn’t felt that much warmth since his mother died.
Lily dragged them out after that. Marlene hanging from one arm and Lily from the other they went to Danceteria. The two of them had plied him with liquor so he would dance and he got lost under the lights.
The feeling of it, being with a mass of people all moving as one and paying him no mind.
It was something he started to chase on their nights out, the freedom of being unknown. The freedom of being himself under the moonlit night.
They went to Pyramid last night, Remus in the same thing he always wore—nothing too flashy. A bottle of wine deep and one too many joints, it was enough to shake the nerves off, just enough so he wouldn’t lose his nerve when someone asked him to dance.
The exploration started slow, a summer night after a little too much to drink and a white pill that went down too easy. Touching someone on the dancefloor, letting someone touch him. A blowjob in the bathroom, a quick fuck in the back room of Max’s Kansas City until it became going home with people.
Back to spacious artist lofts in Soho full of paint or a room in St. Mark’s. Sometimes it was places filled with people that weren’t paying attention or who were there for the same thing.
He had enjoyed it, and loves the freedom of being anonymous in a city like this. Doing what he wanted when he wanted. For the first time in his life he felt like he could do anything.
But then the band started getting booked, a gig once a month became two, then three, then every Tuesday at Arlene’s and every Thursday at CBGB.
So Sirius and James would make the drive in from Lancaster and Pete would take the train down from Queen’s and his little escapes were now filled with people. Soon, someone recognized him. His anonymity—his nights out with the girls—started to shift, everything coming to a head when a guy approached him while they were all out together.
A fancy party kid with family money, a little older than him. He used to hang around Max’s and try to see famous people. He only wore black and quoted a lot of Rimbaud. He cornered Remus while he was trying to get out of a booth, hand on his chest, pushing him back and James saw the whole thing.
Remus had brushed him off in an attempt to get away but he stepped forward again, body pressed right against his and James’s careful gaze had settled on him, ready to intervene.
Sirius and Pete were trying to score pot, Marlene and Lily off getting drinks so it was just the two of them.
Remus pushed him away carefully, telling him ‘I don’t know you’ meanwhile two weeks earlier Remus had known him intimately.
He had buried his nose into the side of his neck and knows he smells like cheap cologne and expensive leather. That the sweater he was wearing was butter soft and he has a tattoo on his hip, someone’s initials that he didn’t care to get the name of or the story behind.
Licking his lips, Remus thinks about the night before and swallows.
The guy had been fine, Remus liked the look of him. Broad shouldered, shaggy dark hair and a strong nose, but his eyes had been brown.
A little part of him thinks Marlene knows the deeper secret he’s keeping, but he doesn’t want to drudge it up.
“He was fine.” Remus answers, taking a sip of his coffee and fiddling with the book on the table. Lily’s foot comes into view, reaching across the floor and prodding Marlene.
A silence stretches between the three of them. The same thick pause that always settles over them when Marlene is about to try and pry him open.
“Are you gonna tell them?” she asks quietly and Remus knew it was coming.
“When the time is right.” He tells her.
Marlene presses her thin lips together like she’s holding back, jaw set before she lets out a sigh and stands.
“Don’t forget,” She turns to Remus when she says, “Mary is coming over tonight so everyone had better be on their best behaviour.”
Remus smirks at her, taking another sip of his coffee, “I’m always on my best behaviour, but I’ll remind Sirius he must be too.”
“Speaking of Sirius, I’m kicking the two of you out when James gets here.” Lily pipes up.
“What about Marlene?”
“I’ve got work so I won’t be back till late.”
“Great.”
Sirius is shifting his weight, foot to foot, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket as he looks up, hoping to see Lily peering down at them from her fire escape. James has his face pressed against the glass of the door, finger hammering away at the buzzer button.
“Lily, answer you’re fucking buzzer.” He mumbles and Sirius can only just hear it over the din of the city noise in the background.
He shifts again, opening his jacket and reaching in to grab a cigarette. Lighting it, Sirius leans against the building, closing his eyes.
They had arrived in the city earlier that afternoon and it took James well over an hour to find a place to park Effie’s station wagon.
Sirius had spent the entire drive from Lancaster to New York chain smoking in the front seat, a map spread over his lap as he spouted directions to James like they hadn’t made the drive the week before.
They had made great time even though James drove the speed limit the entire way. James always got nervous around the New Jersey exit, gripping the steering wheel and getting short when Sirius didn’t answer his questions fast enough.
James steps away, the sound of it causing Sirius to open his eyes. He throws his hands in the air and curses. Looking up at Lily’s window, grumbling something before Sirius snorts.
Lily moved out of Lancaster the second she could, taking a bus all by herself to New York with nothing but a suitcase and settling in this old decrepit building. The white stone work was once beautiful but now it’s crumbling, metal fire escapes criss-crossing their way up the sides and most of the windows are covered by some sort of draping.
Taking up James’s place, Sirius presses his forehead against the door, peering into the lobby. The glass fogs with condensation, his breath gathering against it and there’s movement.
Remus is coming down the stairs in a slow, languid way. There’s always a calmness, an air of caution enveloping him, his shoulders hunched as his tall frame slides into view.
“Fucking finally.” James mutters, shoulder to shoulder with Sirius now as Remus pulls open the large wooden door. He tries to push past but Remus puts a firm hand on Sirius’s shoulder.
“You and I are gonna make ourselves scarce for a while.” he says with a tilt of his head and Sirius’s stomach knots up.
“But I’m fucking tired man.” Sirius whines.
Remus looks down at him from the doorway, lip curled in a crooked smile with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The same tan blanket lined one his dad bought him a few years ago but it’s worn-in now, creased in all the places that bend and mended over.
“Tired?!” James exclaims, pushing past the two of them. “You weren’t the one driving.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.” Remus says, hand warm even through Sirius’s leather jacket as he grabs him by the elbow.
Remus leads him down the sidewalk for a few paces, letting go but leaving the heat of him in his wake.
Sirius’s heart is still racing from the contact, shoving the knotting in his stomach down as they walk and the streets are calmer in this section of the city. Not as busy as midtown, restaurants and shops line the road.
His stomach flips when their elbows brush again and Remus is lighting a joint, passing it to him in that unspoken way he always does.
It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of them. Usually when Sirius shows up it’s to play a show. A quick in and out affair, getting back in time for James to open his family’s store back home.
Things have been different since Remus was shipped off to live with his aunt, a funny pulling feeling had started the moment he left. Sirius tries not to think about it too often, tries not to dwell on it for too long or it leaves an empty feeling within him.
One that only feels full when they’re close.
He clears his throat, taking a long pull off the joint and their fingers brush when Remus takes it back.
They keep going for a while, wandering down the avenues in a stilted silence that doesn’t quite feel comfortable.
“Dave’s is open?” Sirius asks finally, looking up at Remus. Tall and broad shouldered, he shrugs. His way of saying he doesn’t wanna go there.
His head is on a swivel like he’s looking for someone and Sirius takes the chance to look at him while he’s not paying attention. There’s dark circles under his eyes, purple like bruises against his freckled face and it makes the green in his eyes look greener. Mop of dirty blond hair shoved under an old mesh back baseball cap. Red faded where the sun’s been beating on the top of it.
Sirius looks away quickly, hoping the fluttering in his chest will pass once he gets a drink in him. They keep walking, slower now, still looking and there’s movement he catches from the corner of his eye.
Someone is slumped in the doorway of a restaurant. He stares, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the alcove and it takes a second for him to register what’s going on.
New York is a different place than Lancaster, usually Sirius likes it. The crowds, the hustle or it all, but there’s a darkness here that he can’t seem to shake. A haunting that creeps through him in alcoves and doorways.
Stomach flipping, Sirius looks away before the man has a chance to see he’s been staring, watching as he shoots up.
It makes him sick, palms sweating and he speeds up, trudging forward, eyes trained to the concrete of the pavement.
Remus takes two large steps to catch up, not catching on to Sirius’s distress.
“We can go to Max’s? You know the place on Park where the Dolls played?” Remus’s voice is calm, something to focus on but all he’s thinking of is the belt, the drugs. The way the man's head nodded forward.
He sticks his hands in his pockets, tight fists and his nails bite into his palms, trying to shed the anxious feeling threatening to eat away at him, to devour him. The panic that’s mounting, running through his veins and Remus has asked him a question.
“I don’t wanna go to Max’s.” he mumbles and Remus stiffens next to him. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that back room.” The one full of people on hard drugs, nodding off, slumped against each other.
There’s a hard nod from Remus, a long inhale as he takes a drag and finishes the joint, flicking the roach. Hands back in his pockets his postures changed, more closed up, careful.
“Let’s just go to Dave’s.” Sirius says quickly, watching Remus still. “I know one of the waitresses there, maybe she’ll give us free drinks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, hoping it will hide the shaking, but Remus isn’t paying attention. His gaze is trained forward, brows furrowed.
The waitress Sirius likes isn’t at the front when they enter, a blonde taking her place. Sweet, she’s a little older than they are, hair swept back and out of her face and tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“Shelly isn’t here?” he asks when she comes up to seat them. His head is on a swivel, still looking for her.
“No, Shelly’s off today.”
He gives a hum of acknowledgement but follows her to a table anyways. Remus is trailing, keeping pointed distance between them as Sirius slides into the booth.
“Can I get a beer and a shot of whiskey?” he asks quickly before the girl can turn away and give them a moment. She nods curtly, pulling out a pen and pad of paper before turning to Remus.
Remus is browsing the menu, focused, brows knit together. He glances at Sirius over the top, looking at him through his brows and Sirius’s heart pounds a little harder.
“Are you getting food?”
Sirius shakes his head quickly, he taps his index finger, fidgeting under the table. Remus’s mouth forms a hard line, the furrow in his brow deepening and the scar that runs through his right eyebrow disappears. He purses his lips, still reading and Sirius is still tapping his leg under the table, starting to feel the sweat gather at the base of his spine.
“I’ll just get some fries and whatever beer you bring him.” Remus says finally and the waitress looks at him with a soft expression.
“Do you want a burger or something? We’ve got the whole kitchen open?”
Remus shakes his head, passing her the menu before she turns away.
The wood paneling of the walls is warm, the yellow glow of the lights above the table casting everything in a soft light and if Sirius didn’t have such a pounding headache he’d be able to enjoy it.
A jukebox is tucked into the corner, playing something softly but Sirius is focused on Remus’s hands, watching them as he pulls a smoke out of the pack of cigarettes in his flannel shirt pocket.
He taps the filter on the table and Sirius reaches into his own jacket to get him a lighter. Leaving it on the table, Remus leans back after a drag, one leg hanging out of the booth they’re in but not before he glances around to make sure he isn’t in the way of anyone.
Sirius finally shrugs out of his jacket, hoping the sweat that’s gathering won’t make him cold and the waitress comes back with their drinks.
He picks up the shot, clinking it against Remus’s glass before he gets a chance to touch it and throws it back. It burns cheap well whiskey hitting the back of his throat but he washes it down with the beer.
There’s a warm feeling crawling over his skin as the shot hits his system and he lets out a long sigh, leaning back.
“That bad of a drive?” Remus asks with a smirk, picking up his own glass and moving the ashtray to the middle of the table.
“James has made this drive a million times and he always gets fucking testy around Jersey.” Sirius mutters, he fiddles with a coaster, tapping it on the table before going for his glass again and taking another large sip.
The waitress comes back, bringing Remus’s fries and Sirius catches her before she has a chance to leave, asking for another drink.
“How’s Lily’s?” Sirius asks, stealing Remus’s cigarette that’s perched on the ashtray while he eats.
Remus shrugs, cutting a glare as Sirius takes a drag. He’s leaning forward now, elbows on the table, forearms around the basket of fries like Sirius is going to steal them. Picking through them, he takes a slow bite. Sirius reaches to the other end of the table and slides him the ketchup.
“Did you go out last night?” Sirius asks another question, trying to get him to keep talking, taking another drag of Remus’s cigarette.
Things have been different, quieter, more somber lately. Within the past couple of months things have started to shift, to change and Sirius doesn’t know why.
“Uh yeah,” Remus says as he’s swirling a fry in the little pool of ketchup, taking a long breath before he answers. “Some place Marlene likes…they play disco.”
Sirius has to resist the urge to snort, reaching across the table and taking a fry from the basket.
“You’re kidding, you went to a club? Where the fuck did she drag you The Saint?”
“No we went—hey how come me going to a club is weird?” Remus glares at him for a moment, eyes steely.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance—” Remus opens his mouth to retort but Sirius just speaks louder. “—Don’t you have to dance at a disco?”
He snarls at Sirius, a canine like gesture revealing the crooked tooth next to his incisor.
“There are other things you can do at a disco.” Remus intones and he takes a long sip from his glass.
He thinks about what other things can be done at discos. What seedy little activities can be had. Sequestering himself away into a dark corner and doing anything but dancing. Sirius can’t imagine Remus doing any of that.
He can’t imagine Remus sweeping a girl away to a quiet spot, pulling her off the dancefloor, having her follow him. Enticing her.
Remus never really had a way with women. He never really fell into the art of conversation with them. Sirius would watch as he became tongue tied or he would be too shy to speak, but somehow they always flocked to him.
They had always been enamoured by his presence. Perhaps it’s the way he holds himself, his calm and quiet demeanour with something a little different lurking beneath the surface.
Something Sirius doesn’t think he’s only ever caught glimpses of, once or twice in all their years of knowing one another.
The long silence that stretches between them sits heavy and Sirius is no longer facing Remus. Instead, he’s tucked into the corner of the booth, back against the wall, leg slung up on the seat. Now that the alcohol is thrumming through his veins, he feels a little better, less uptight than when they first arrived.
He’s fiddling with the coaster again, tapping it on the table, when Remus pulls his attention back, giving his foot a hard shove.
“Why do you hate Max’s so much?” he asks. Straight forward, right to the point, staring at Sirius.
“I don’t hate Max’s.” Sirius says quickly and Remus snorts.
“You do, you never wanna go unless someone specific is playing there.”
Sirius rolls his eyes, turning so they’re facing each other but he can’t bring himself to look at Remus. He’s picking at the skin around his thumb, wishing there were some fries left to soak up some of the beer that’s starting to slosh around in his gut.
“It’s not the place itself…” Sirius’s voice trails, stilling his hands, holding the glass instead. “It’s the atmosphere.” It’s the people…
Sirius has been to Max’s dozens of times. The steakhouse turned venue turned cool hangout became a staple in their rotation of nights out. But Sirius was a little more picky about what he would attend there.
He’s been crammed into a booth with too many people while Lily worked her magic to get them into the green room. He’s thrown up in their bathroom after one too many drinks and even been offered a bump of coke off a nice man’s keys.
But something about the place never sat well with him. The people who are drawn to it, the party crowd, the drugs, the wildness.
A shiver courses through him. The feelings from earlier, walking over here, catching up. The fear that if he closes his eyes for long enough he will see it. The needle, the belt, the way someone’s head slumps when they shoot up. He doesn’t want to run into it, the painful reminder and Max’s is full of them.
The people there—in the backroom—always reminded him of the boys Reggie got mixed up with.
The ones he started to hang out with right before the shift, before things started to become different and Reggie went from being his brother to someone else entirely. All of those boys who came home from college in the city for the summer to big empty houses on the edge of town just to lay waste to it.
Sirius’s stomach turns, it twists into a knot as he swallows the lump in his throat. The one that always seems to surface when he thinks too much about Reggie.
He’s reminding himself of where he is, thinking about the wood of the bench, how it’s hard on his tailbone after sitting in the car. The sting around his thumb from picking at the skin and the low hum of voices cutting through the song coming from the jukebox in the corner.
“I hate this song.” he says suddenly, changing the subject to spend a few moments outside of his own head and his hands are shaking again.
Thoughts still racing.
Remus makes a disapproving little noise in the back of his throat. Like this is just another thing Sirius always does, changes the subject quickly, abrasively when he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Sirius hopes Remus doesn’t notice the way he sits on his hands to get them to stop trembling. How he leans back to try and take in more air as he struggles to suck in more breath.
“I know you do.” Remus retorts but before he can say anything else, the waitress is back.
Sirius orders another beer and he can feel Remus’s eyes on him. Another long stretch of silence between them and Remus clears his throat.
“You gonna change it like you always do?” he asks, brow raising and there’s a hint of a challenge to his voice. The intonation of it, like Sirius won’t get up and do it.
So he does, calling Remus’s bluff. Unsteady on his feet, blood rushing away from his head he steadies himself on the edge of the table for a moment before making his way to the jukebox.
Hand in his jeans pocket, Sirius pulls out whatever change he has and queues up anything other than Stairway to Heaven. He flips through the catalogue, reading off the names, focusing on them as they start to spin.
Sirius drank more than he wanted to, standing up too quickly and now everything has started to move. Closing an eye he focuses.
“Fuck.”
Forehead pressed against the glass he takes a breath, letting it fill his lungs, letting it fill him up and another song is playing. He just needs a minute, another second away from the table because he doesn’t want to let Remus in just yet.
He knows that if Remus starts asking questions, he will do nothing but answer. Will crack open his ribs and spill it all on the table, every little secret he’s been harbouring. Lately, when one drink turns into two, turns into three, he’s been having a hard time handling his emotions. The ever present pendulum swinging from one side to another.
After a minute, after things have seemed to calm, he opens his eyes and catches a bright flash of something else tucked into the corner.
An old fortune telling machine, press a button to get a fortune and the bright colours are sucking him in. Sirius stumbles towards it, hand in his pocket already pulling out a quarter while staring at the automaton inside.
He feeds the quarter to the machine and it springs to life, the crystal ball lighting up before it flashes a few times and a piece of paper pops out. Sirius takes it, looking over his shoulder and seeing Remus staring back at him.
Green eyes intense under the warm light, dark circles prominent and the overhead lighting brings out the scars on his face.
Turning back, Sirius feeds another quarter into the machine. This ones for Remus…tell me what’s different…what’s changed…He pushes the button, watches the lights and takes the paper.
Holding the new paper in his right hand, he saunters back to the table.
“This one’s yours.” Sirius slaps his right hand on the table, “Right for Remus.” he says rather triumphantly. There’s the ghost of a smile on Remus’s lips, the first one since Sirius has arrived and it sends a shiver through him.
Sliding the paper off the table, he looks at Sirius, brow raised.
“I feel like this is cheating.”
“What makes you say that?” Sirius sits in the booth with a thud, looking down at his own fortune.
Your strength lies in your feelings but beware of letting your emotions rule your actions.
“How does the machine know this fortune’s for me?”
“Well—” He slides Remus’s paper over to his side of the table, picking it up. “—I was thinking about you when I pressed the button.”
Job tension eases as you and that troublesome coworker find common ground.
Sirius snorts, “Wonder who the troublesome coworker is.”
Remus cuts a glance to Sirius as they walk back to Lily’s. Hands in his pockets, the almost spring air is damp and he made sure to pack enough layers for when they’re up in Canada. Sirius on the other hand, only has a t-shirt under his leather jacket.
He shivers next to Remus, teeth clacking together and it takes everything in him not to just put his arm around him. To open his own jacket and let him in on the warmth. Remus is holding himself back, not allowing himself to think those things, because if he does, they could happen.
The walk back isn’t long, Sirius is chatting away, his words slurring together as he does, filling Remus in on the town gossip.
‘I saw your dad the other day…he looks better, said he’s going to come visit after all the planting is done…’
Remus knows his dad won’t be out until Christmas, that the promise of a visit is an empty one. At first he was a little hurt by it, the empty gesture, but now he doesn’t mind. It has been nearly three years since Lyall Lupin shipped him off to live with his aunt in Connecticut, and he’s only visited once.
Pete’s in the shower when they get back to Lily’s, record blasting through the speakers so loud they’re crackling. James is in the kitchen in nothing but his underwear, hand on his hip, clutching a spatula as he fries something in a pan.
Sirius trips over his own feet as he bumbles in through the door behind Remus, his hand clutching Remus’s bicep, fingers digging in before letting go. Rough. Everything about Sirius has always been rough. Never malicious, he just never seems to understand the weight of his being.
Lily bounds towards them, sweeping Sirius into a hug as he sways on his feet.
Remus kicks off his own boots, righting them next to each other by the door before moving into the kitchen. He needs a little time away from Sirius, a little space between them before they have to spend two weeks trapped in each other's orbit.
“Michelle used all the fucking hot water today.” Pete’s voice comes from the clawfoot tub. Nestled right next to the old porcelain sink, Pete’s hand peeks through the curtain, looking for the soap that’s perched on the edge.
Needing something to do with his hands, Remus is rolling joints from his stash at Lily’s bistro table, legs splayed out but careful not to get in James’s way as he cooks.
“How is Michelle anyways?” Sirius asks, brushing past the bistro table and settling by the window. Lily takes the open seat opposite Remus.
“She’s fine I guess, got a new boyfriend or something. Always moaning about how I’m taking the car.”
“Never understood why your parents make you share the car.” James mumbles and Remus has to take a breath. James always tries his best to understand, but he never will. He’s focused on rolling, jaw clenched. Not everyone’s parents can just buy them a car. Not everyone’s parents can lend them the station wagon for two weeks.
Not everyone can live the way he does.
“How’s Patty?” Sirius asks, pulling Remus from his thoughts. He glances up, Sirius has his back against the glass of the window, arms crossed and his t-shirt is pulled tight across his chest.
His pants hug his hips, outline of a lighter in his front pocket and the socks he’s wearing have a hole in them.
The window is cracked just enough to let some air in and Remus is grateful for the breath of a cool breeze that’s managing to waft into the kitchen. The old iron radiators of the building are working over time to heat the place as if it’s still below freezing.
“Mom’s good, asks about you a lot.” Comes Pete’s disembodied voice from behind the curtain.
“Well I’m flattered.” Sirius puts his hand on his chest like he’s flattered by the compliment, “Always knew I was her favourite.” He catches Remus’s eye, giving him a wink.
“Show up on our fucking doorstep bloody a few times and you immediately think you’re the favourite.” Pete mumbles. The sound of the water pounding against the iron of the tub is loud, the music even louder and the heat in the apartment is nearly stifling even with the breeze.
Remus finishes rolling one of his joints, lighting it quickly and taking a long drag, hoping the shitty weed that Marlene promised was good will help take the edge off.
“It was only twice, thank you.” Sirius retorts, suddenly standing in front of Remus, looking down at him with those cool blue eyes of his. “And one time it wasn’t even my own blood.” He cracks a smile, wiggling his brows and plucks the joint from Remus’s lips.
Remus’s eyes are locked on Sirius’s as e takes a long drag, holding it in before blowing it back in his face. He leans away, hand waving in front of his face causing it to dissipate.
Sirius holds the joint out, letting Remus take it from him and his eyes dart to the scar. Remus is full of them, ugly nasty things from the farm or the accident, but this one, that sits from elbow to wrist is from a particular incident.
A shiver runs up his spine, settling at the base of his skull and he doesn’t want to think back to that day. To the barn, to the nail and Sirius’s panicked expression in the driver’s seat of Effie’s station wagon.
“You’re not going to die on me!’
Lily reaches across the table, pulling him out of his thoughts as her hand rests on top of his. Her thumb sweeps over his knuckles gently, a careful motion. He doesn’t want to meet her gaze, the fear that he’ll let the emotion that’s simmering bubble up to the surface.
The water stops in the tub, pipes groaning and Pete’s red face pops out from behind the curtain. He glances around quickly, water dripping off his hair and onto the black and white linoleum floor. His hand emerges, reaching into the oven for a towel.
“At least it’s warm.” he says with a grin as it disappears back into the tub.
“Marlene’s new girlfriend is coming over tonight.” Lily says quickly, eyes glancing in Remus’s direction before she looks directly at Sirius. He’s back by the window picking at te corner of his thumb and Remus wants to still his hands. To stand up, walk towards him and just still them.
But Lily is still talking, her tone chastising when she says, “So everyone has to be on their best behaviour.” She raises her brows when she says it, still staring pointedly at Sirius who does nothing but wave his hand.
The skin around his thumb is red, little droplets of blood coming to the surface where it’s become raw.
“I’m always on my best behaviour.” He slurs out, words slow, eyes glassy.
A few hours later, Remus is a few more beers deep and feeling looser than he has in a while. He’s starting to get the same familiar creep of what it had felt like when they all still lived in Lancaster.
The general calm that weaseled its way in while they used to drink together. He feels like he’s going to look up and find them back in the Potter’s basement, back in the Pettigrew’s garage, or his own childhood living room.
After a dinner of whatever they could muster from Lily’s kitchen–all items which she has pilfered from the diner she waitresses at–Marlene arrives with a girl on her arm.
Black curls like a halo framing her face. Apples of her cheeks round, features soft and from the second she steps over the threshold she looks all too familiar.
They regard one another, her wide brown eyes narrowing, thin dark brows coming together in a look of recognition. Before she has a chance to say anything too friendly, Remus steps forward–hand out–and introduces himself.
“Mary, it’s really nice to meet you…” He looks at her with an earnest expression, pleading with her, you don’t know me, pretend you haven't seen me before. “…I’m Remus.”
She doesn’t miss a beat, a subtle and careful nod as she smiles, nodding at him. Mary picks up his silent plea, taking his hand before moving on to the rest of the guys.
After a bit of small talk, he settles back down onto Lily’s couch, grateful that everyone else is in the kitchen. He leans back, letting his legs stretch out, tilting his head against the cushion of the couch and lets his eyes settle on the crown moulding of the ceiling.
He has a beer in his hands, sitting on his lap and it’s not cold anymore, a little flatter than it was earlier. Remus doesn’t want to keep drinking, worried he’s going to let something slip to someone that he’s not ready to admit and there’s a hand on his shoulder.
Remus lolls his head to the side as Marlene settles next to him. He turns his back to everyone else sitting in the kitchen and Marlene is leaning her head against the couch cushion.
“You doing alright?” She whispers, leaning in like anyone would be able to hear their conversation over the music. He nods, turning away and fiddling with the bottle in his lap.
Marlene has glitter on her eyelids, her eyeliner a carefully drawn line around her eyes, accentuating the green hidden in the brown.
He’s always found her pretty, a little part of him wishing he could just settle on liking a girl, but he knows deep down he would never be happy with that.
“I’m doing okay.” He finally responds, letting out a long sigh, a breath he’s been holding for too long.
Sirius is laughing in the kitchen, the sound of it cutting through the music. Remus turns to look over his shoulder. Lily has her arms thrown around Sirius’s neck, pulling him around in some semblance of a dance. He’s got his hands on her hips as they push each other around, Sirius’s thumbs nestled over her shirt and a little part of him wonders what they feel like.
Rough on his skin, the callouses on the tips of his fingers, how it would feel to be tossed around Lily’s kitchen. Sirius’s rough hands.
James and Pete are at the bistro table, heads bowed, locked in on a game of cards. James is peering over the top of his hand, cards fanned out, a cigarette clenched between his teeth and his gold framed glasses are smudged. Thick with fingerprints, he pushes them up his nose again haphazardly.
Remus bites his lip, directing his attention back to Marlene. She’s close on the couch, the gap between her two front teeth and smattering of freckles across her nose very visible.
“You didn’t tell me Mary was the girl you met last weekend?” His voice drops to a whisper, something for only her to hear and Marlene’s face heats. Her freckles disappear into the red blush of her cheeks.
Last weekend they had gone out to a new club, somewhere different that Remus had never been before. Marlene came back from work and was alight with excitement. They got ready, just like they always did with Remus drinking on the floor and the girls excited around him.
When they got to the bar, Mary had approached Marlene as they were standing near the counter. She assumed him and Marlene were together but when he quickly said no, Mary lit up.
They danced all night while Remus stood around on the outskirts and watched. He loved to see Marlene happy, loved to see her smile and laugh as she danced. Marlene seems to be nothing but carefree in who she is.
Everyone around him paying her no mind as she leans in and kisses Mary and Remus watches her tangle her hand into Marlene’s hair.
Remus always tries to keep an eye on Marlene when they go out, a careful glance to make sure that she’s okay amongst the crowd. That she makes it home the next day or at the end of the night. A fierce protectiveness coming over him when they’re together that Remus assumes would be like having a sibling.
But the way that Mary looks at her, the way they giggle together as they dance, sets him at ease. The worry that usually knots up in his stomach starts to untangle and when someone approaches him he says yes to a dance.
At the end of the night, the four of them stumble out into the street just as the sun is rising and filtering through the buildings. Marlene had tossed a look over her shoulder, a mischievous glint of something in her eye.
“Take care of her!” He had slurred out when they parted ways, his arm slung over the dark haired boy he had been dancing with.
Mary had watched, her brown eyes knowing as she walked away with Marlene. She had seen him go home with a man and that had felt like the most scandalous thing he had ever done.
“I know, I know, I should have said something this morning…” Marlene whispers back, biting the skin off her lip and she looks sheepish. “I didn’t want to worry you though, I knew you’d get all anxious before she came over…your secret is safe with her I promise.”
He nods stiffly and they’re head to head on Lily’s floral green couch. Marlene touches his knee gently, a reassuring gesture and he nods again, a little more loose this time.
“Thanks Marls.”
“You should tell them.” she says it so quietly, he almost doesn’t hear it but he can feel her breath on his cheek and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“I know, I’m just…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tilts his head back again to look at the ceiling.
Marlene’s reassuring hand on his forearm, those same careful fingers, her grounding presence.
“I’m not saying right this second.” she says and he cracks open an eye to look at her. “Do it on your own time, I’m just going to say what I always say—I don’t think they will care.”
He nods again, letting the conversation die out and Marlene still has her hand on his forearm. Remus looks over to the kitchen again, unable to meet Marlene’s gaze. He knows if he looks at her too long he’ll crack and tell her more than he wants to.
Mary has joined Lily and Sirius, singing along to a song that’s playing on the radio. He can just barely hear Mary shouting over it.
“It’s The Supremes!” Her and Lily sway together and Sirius takes a step back. He’s still moving, but half a step away as the girls sing to each other and he’s a beat off, hips moving to a different beat in that half in the bag way he does when he’s had one too many drinks.
Remus’s eyes follow up from the curve of his hip to where his t-shirt has ridden up just enough for a bit of his stomach to show. Pale skin with a hint of dark hair leading down and Remus swallows, tearing his eyes away, cheeks heating.
If he wasn’t drinking he would have never let his eyes linger, his mouth water, he wouldn’t have let himself look. He’s looked at Sirius hundreds of times, if not thousands, so why does it feel so different when he’s been drinking? When he lets himself feel a little more loose, his thoughts are a little more free.
“Remus?” Marlene’s voice again, in his good ear from where she’s sitting next to him on the couch and he turns. Her eyes flick over his shoulder before settling on him again. “Do you have a crush?”
The air leaves his lungs because of course she would notice, of course she would see. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to speak it aloud and into existence, because if he says it out loud, it will become real.
Realer than it would be if he keeps it locked up tight somewhere inside of his chest, next to all of the unresolved feelings he harbours.
Instead of confirming, instead of saying anything, he just shrugs, unable to hold on to her gaze any longer as he thinks about how Sirius didn’t want to go to Max’s earlier. ‘I don’t wanna be anywhere near that back room.’ Does Sirius know it’s a vaseline bar? Does he know what goes on in that back room?
He must.
He had sounded disgusted, his nose wrinkling and lip curling revealing his perfect white teeth. Marlene may be reassuring, but Remus thinks Sirius would be disgusted if he finds out. Everything would change, how would Sirius be able to spend any time with him if he saw him as anything other than what he is?
“You do have a crush…” Marlene’s words trail, her mouth falling open and Remus can feel the lump starting in his throat. This secret he’s kept so close for so long threatening to come loose, to fall from his lips in a quick slip and a pained look. “It’s not James is it?” she whispers, leaning in and her nose is almost touching his cheek.
Remus shakes his head quickly, almost painfully as Mary settles down in front of them.
“Mind if I interrupt?” she asks sheepishly and they both stare at her.
“Of course you can.” Remus barks out and Mary fiddles with the end of her belt. Brown leather with fancy beaded tassels, a similar outfit to what he saw her in last weekend.
Marlene drops the subject quickly when Mary asks him if he’s excited to go on tour. As he answers, Remus can feel Sirius’s eyes on him.
“I forgot how much Pete snores.” Remus mutters and the sound causes Sirius to turn. Him and Pete are crunched on Lily’s pull out couch, Pete’s sweaty back pressed against Sirius’s while Remus lay on a collection of pillows and blankets next to the cot.
He gets closer to the edge, peering over the side of the mattress to look at Remus in the dark. Watching, Sirius’s slow—alcohol filled brain—regards the movement of Remus’s careful finger as he clicks a fancy Zippo lighter. The flame illuminates his face, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, the joint in his lips as they purse together and he takes a long drag.
Passing the joint up to Sirius, their fingers brush, causing Sirius’s heart to thunder against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.
“I have a feeling I’m going to be very hungover tomorrow.” Sirius whispers, the ember of the joint lighting up Remus’s face in such a way it looks soft.
“You’re always hungover.”
“Not always.” He bites.
Remus tilts his head back at an odd angle. He’s lying perpendicular to the cot, couch cushions and pillows piled up in some semblance of a mattress. Shirt shed, he’s half covered by one of Marlene’s granny’s quilts, the soft pastel colours and little flowers always surprising to see.
This is the usual set up, Pete and Sirius crammed on the pull out with Remus on the floor. Too tall to sleep on the cot comfortably, he always chooses to sleep on the floor.
He’s looking at Sirius square in the face as the cot creaks. Pete’s rolling over onto his stomach, his snoring not as aggressive in this position and Sirius closes his eyes. Placing his head in the crook of his arm he just breathes, smoke curling up close to his face.
There’s a moment, the sounds around them ebbing and flowing. The hiss of the radiator, sirens in the distance and gentle snores. When he opens his eyes, Remus is still looking at him.
Green eyes holding something in the dim light that he can’t quite place. His face is relaxed, the little furrow that usually lives between his brows is smooth. Sirius can’t remember the last time he saw Remus this relaxed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is gentle, eyes soft and Remus bites the inside of his cheek. There’s a silence between them, a pause, thick with something and Sirius sucks in a breath.
“You mean the fact that it was your birthday three days ago and I haven’t mentioned it once?” he retorts with a smirk, passing the joint down to Remus. Their fingers don’t brush this time when he takes it.
Remus scoffs, knowing Sirius is avoiding. Avoiding talking about Max’s and the backroom and the drugs. The drinking and the fact that there’s been more of it lately and he doesn’t know who’s noticed. The tour, having a manager, being signed, still living in Lancaster when everyone else has moved away.
“The only reason none of you have mentioned it is because I asked you not to.”
“You’re just sad you’re old.” Sirius can practically feel Remus roll his eyes.
“Ha ha, you’re funny we’re the same fucking age.” He mutters and there’s rustling. Sirius sneaks a peek down at him from the corner of his eye. Remus is still looking at him, almost through him and he knows what Remus is trying to do.
He’s trying to crack him open, make him spill whatever’s going on because this is the first time it’s been just the two of them in a while. Remus knew Sirius wouldn’t talk at the bar, knew he wouldn't open up about anything with that many people around. But here, in Lily’s apartment with everyone else asleep, there’s a chance.
“I’m being serious, if yo—”
Sirius cuts him off, “Didn’t realise your name is also Sirius.” Remus’s eyebrows draw together, the furrow between them returning in full force and his mouth is a hard line.
“You ca—”
Sirius cuts him off quickly, not wanting to get too into it this late at night, not after he’s drank this much because he knows if Remus starts saying the right things he will talk. He’ll spill it all and let it out and that’s not what he wants right now. Right now he just wants to forget.
“Tell me a secret.”
There’s a long sigh, another rustle and Remus rolls onto his stomach, groping around for an ashtray and settling on a beer can.
They used to play this game as kids, swapping secrets back and forth when everyone else had gone to sleep. Just him and Remus in James’s parents basement. In the beginning, it was nothing, stupid things that children do.
‘I stole a candy bar from the corner store.’
‘I blamed Reggie for a broken lamp.’
‘You know that girl in fourth period English with Mr. Flitwick? I think she’s cute.’
‘I forged my mom’s signature on a test.’
But after a while it turned into,
‘That black eye wasn’t from a hockey puck.’
‘I think my dad’s cheating on my mom.’
‘I sold oregano to those stupid fuck football jocks and told them it was weed.’
‘Something’s up with Reggie—I think he’s using hard drugs.’
A secret for a secret, lying head to head and staring at the ceiling before things got too real, before they really grew up. Sirius remembers looking up at the popcorn ceiling in the Potter’s basement like it was the stars, like the constellations themselves were watching over them and not just plaster and wood panelled walls. He remembers feeling like he was telling his ancestors all the fucked up shit his parents were doing, just waiting for them to come down and smite them, to do something other than just watch.
Because his mother was a god fearing woman, he thought maybe, if he told the stars enough there would be some kind of retribution.
But there wasn’t and now, he and Remus are in Lily’s apartment in the city, far away from the small town that bore witness to it all.
A little part of him is worried that it’s all going to catch up, that he’s on borrowed time while he’s here and at the end of the tour it will have meant nothing. Him and James will climb into the station wagon and wave their goodbyes and go back to Lancaster. Back to the Potter’s and their white picket life.
Pete and Remus will stay here. Pete will go back to his parents in Queen’s and Remus will go back to his aunt’s in Connecticut.
Maybe they’ll make it big as a band, maybe there will be another tour, a record deal, something to get him out. But he doesn’t let himself hope too much, because if he does and it doesn’t come true. What will happen?
Another rustle, another sigh and Remus has his chin pressed against the top of his knuckles, looking under the bed.
“I think Jamie’s gonna ask Lily to marry him.” he says finally and it takes a moment for the words to register.
Another change…
Sirius snorts, pushing aside the little bit of worry building up in his chest.
“That’s not a fucking secret.” he says back a little too loud and Remus glares at him from the floor.
“You didn’t specify what kind of secret it had to be.” He bites, eyes intense, still looking at Sirius. “Alright, I’ve said my secret, now it’s your turn.”
Another breath, Sirius is still tamping down the worry about the change, trying to think of what he should tell Remus. He’s looking down, taking Remus in. His sandy blond curls are a little more tame than usual. They look soft, cared for and Sirius wants to reach out, to run his fingers through them, tell him everything he’s been harbouring.
There was a girl at a party…Sharp nose, soft curls and green eyes…I wish…
Sirius doesn’t let himself think like this unless he’s drunk, drunk enough to let loose and let his mind wander into the what ifs.
A few more drinks in and he just might…If he had any more to drink he may even spill his guts, just carve his heart out of his chest and let it sit there.
He wants to tell Remus everything.
I don’t know what to do with Reggie gone. I don’t want to be in Lancaster anymore. If the tour doesn’t work, if the band doesn’t get somewhere I’ll have nothing. Pete and James have their families, you have your aunt and you’re close to the city. I have nothing. I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to cope and everything is all my fault.
“I’m scared for the tour.” Remus cranes his neck back to look into Sirius’s eyes, probably trying to see if he’s being genuine. Sirius shrugs, “this feels big, like way bigger than anything else we’ve done.”
He’s quiet, pensive. Sirius watches as he chews on his lip like he’s contemplating what he’s about to say.
“I think it will be big.” and it’s quiet, a whisper like he knows what can happen, like he can see the future. “You should sleep, you know, get some rest so you’re not as hungover tomorrow.”
“Goodnight Moony.”
“Goodnight Starboy.
Chapter 2
Notes:
No TWs for this chapter but a big thank you to Rust_andStardust23
for catching a couple of small errors in chapter 1!Recommended Listening:
Ring My Bell - Anita Ward
Don’t Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra
Ten Years Gone - Led Zeppelin
Oh! Sweet Nuthin’ - The Velvet Underground
Fearless - Pink Floyd
Chapter Text
March 15, 1979
Remus wakes to something soft brushing over his ear. The ghost of a touch across his skin, featherlight, it sends a shiver through him. Cracking open an eye, he hopes to catch a glimpse of Sirius before anyone else wakes.
He knows they’re Sirius’s fingers—that it can only be him—and when he looks up from his spot nestled on the floor next to the cot, Sirius is grumbling. His forehead slick with sweat, hair sticking to his skin as his head and arm hangs over the side of the mattress.
His dark brows are furrowed together, mouth contorting into a moan before rolling onto his back and out of sight. Remus can already smell the odour of rancid liquor hanging in the room.
The sour stench of beer and sweat mingling together with weed and cigarettes.
“Moons…” The vowels are drawn out, Sirius’s gravelly voice followed by a grunt and the cot squeaks as he moves, “...fuck me…”
Remus snorts, sitting up and rolling his shoulder in an attempt to release the knot nestled in his neck. He pulls the quilt around his waist quickly, feeling exposed sitting there in his underwear with his back to the cot.
The springs are popping under everyone’s weight, Pete and Sirius shifting around, groaning.
“Sirius, your breath is vile.” Pete’s voice and Remus looks over his shoulder. He’s sitting up, scrubbing his face with a firm hand, pink splotches popping up all over his milk white skin. His hair is standing on end, like yellow straw sticking up at all angles.
Sirius rolls, burying his face deep into the pillow and lets out a long and low groan.
“I’m so fucking hungover.” He mumbles and Pete shoves him playfully. The sheet, blue with tiny flowers all over it, something Lily was gifted when she moved out, has bunched up around Sirius’s waist. Remus finds himself staring at the expanse of Sirius’s back.
The little birthmarks like constellations against his skin, the curve of his shoulders and how his back slopes into the dip of his hips. Steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, muscles moving as he rolls over to glare at Remus, one eye closed, cheek shoved into the pillow.
He’s smirking but it slips into a grimace as he sits up, back arching, curling over himself and he lets out another groan. The hangover takes hold, no doubt nausea rolling through him and Remus hopes he won’t throw up.
Remus adjusts again, crosses his legs as he leans over and grabs the cigarettes tucked into his jeans pocket.
“I feel quite fine.” Pete says with a shrug, sharing a conspiratorial look with Remus before leaning back onto the cushions and lighting up a joint.
Sirius still looks green, forehead shoved between his knees, careful not to move too quickly so he won’t slosh the contents of his stomach. There’s dark circles under the hollows of his eyes, skin perspiring, gathering in the little dip of his temple.
Behind the curtain, the partition into the bedrooms, there’s commotion. Noise from other people waking, gentle sleep-tired voices floating into the living room. The sound of bare feet slapping on hardwood, padding through the curtains and into the living room.
James pushes his way through, the beads that hang clink together quietly and he stares down at the three of them.
“Which one of you wants to come and buy the van with me?” He’s fully dressed, clean white t-shirt on but his hair sticking out at all angles. James pushes his glasses up his nose, now clean, directing his attention to Remus.
“I have laundry to do…” Remus says, shaking his head. “...I didn’t have enough time to do it yesterday.” He can’t look at James when he says it.
“I’ll go.” Sirius pipes up, lifting his head but his eyes are still closed. His skin is clammy but he’s looking less green. “We need more beer anyways, we can stop on the way back.”
James shrugs and Remus has a sinking feeling that this is a bad idea.
“We have to be smart about this.” James has his hand around Sirius’s bicep, holding him still. The car lot is located near one of the scrap yards close to the Manhattan bridge and overlooking the East River.
Him and James took the subway down, popping into a Bodega for something to settle Sirius’s stomach before they entered into battle for what would be their mode of transport for the tour.
Sirius rolls his eyes, shaking off James’s grip. “Okay, and how do you think we can do that?”
“Nothing is good enough for us, we need something with low mileage…” James is levelling him with a serious expression, his brows coming together. “And it has to run well, I can’t be stuck fixing the fucking van on the side of the road!” he says quickly.
“Who says you’re going to be the one who’s fixing it?” Sirius scoffs, sticking his hand in the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a Swiss Roll.
“You and I both know it will not be you fixing the van.”
Sirius just shrugs, unwrapping the cake and shoving it into his mouth. He brushes the crumbs off the front of his shirt before he says through a mouthful, “Fine, fine, so what’s our budget. How much money do we have?”
“I’m not telling you.” Sirius cuts him a perplexed look, mouth opening before James cuts him off. “You have a terrible poker face, you’ll give everything away before I even have a chance to start negotiations.” James uncrosses his arms, about to reach for the buzzer when the gate opens with a clang. The old motor buzzing as it springs to life.
They share a look before stepping inside, Sirius muttering to himself quickly, “Low mileage, runs well, has to fit four of us plus gear…” His voice trails as he walks towards the office, nothing more than a metal trailer with a door halfway off its hinges.
He’s still muttering, eyes trained to his boots, when James grabs his forearm, pulling him back before he gets the chance to step on the stairs.
“Look at me.” James’s tone is commanding and it catches Sirius off guard, his dark brown eyes peering through his soul. “We have a signal when we like something.” Sirius nods and James lets go of his arm.
He’s waiting for James to continue and when he doesn’t, Sirius asks, “Okay what’s the signal?” Just above a whisper, cutting a glance into the dirty window of the metal trailer.
Licking his lips, James runs a hand through his hair so it stands on end. Poking out from every which way, he subconsciously tugs at the ends before snapping his fingers quickly.
“That’s it!” He’s pointing at Sirius now, “When you like something, tuck your hair behind your ear.”
Nodding, Sirius tucks his hair behind his ear. Long enough now to do it, if he moves too quickly it falls back into his eyes.
“I can do that, and when you like somethi—” The door at the top of the stairs flies open with a loud clang and the two boys shrink back. James’s palm is flat against Sirius’s back, steadying him on the bottom step.
“Are you here to buy something or just yammer on my doorstep?” Any words Sirius has, die in his throat when he tries to speak. The man standing at the top of the stairs towers over them, hand on his hip he’s in an ill fitting suit with oil stains on the cuffs. His pants are too long, sleeves too short and the shoulders too broad. When he puts a fist on his hip, Sirius can see the outline of a tattoo almost peeking out onto his wrist.
James’s firm hand on the small of Sirius’s back leaves and he clears his throat.
“We’re looking for a van?” he says from behind and the man’s face softens, but only slightly.
They spend the better part of an hour walking circles through the winding lot. Up one aisle, down another. Most of the cars are worse for wear, rusted out, no longer running or more than likely stolen.
Although, a few had seemed promising. Sirius had been especially drawn to a shiny black pickup truck on the edge of the lot. Something about it was calling to him, a pull that he could feel right in the centre of his chest.
The man, who Is also named James, talks them through a few different options. He shows the two of them a station wagon, then a van, then a fancy little four door; but Sirius only has eyes for the truck.
He slides up beside his James, elbowing his ribs gently and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.
“I like that one.”
James cuts Sirius a look from the corner of his eye, “No.” He responds through his teeth.
“But a pickup truck could be cool, gear in the back with us in the cab?” Sirius responds in a low tone. The other James is a few paces ahead of them, droning on about mileage.
“No, Remus would kill us if we made him squish in the back of that cab.” The man has stopped talking, arms crossed and Sirius can see a little more of the tattoo on his forearm. “Besides, we’re going to have to sleep in this thing.”
Sirius lets out a long sigh, “we could sleep under the stars!” He spins to face the other James. “You know I’m named after a star.” He just nods, obviously not interested.
“I’m going to say this one last time. No pickup trucks, no sleeping under the stars, no but James,”—he drags out the vowels and Sirius blushes at the mimicry—”we need something practical.”
The other James clears his throat, “We do have a Club Wagon that could fit your needs.”
“Thank you, I’d love to see it.”
They’re brought halfway across the lot to a large brown van with rust peeking through the paint. Some of the chrome detailing is scuffed, long deep scratches cut along the bumper and the sliding door to the backseat is missing a handle.
“She runs pretty well, has decently low miles…” The other James is patting the side of the van and Sirius isn’t listening anymore. He’s opening the back doors, climbing in and taking a look around.
He stands, head slammed against the roof, looking around. The very back of the van is big enough for all their gear with room to spare. There’s a bench seat with red velvet and brown leather upholstery and he can see a tape deck set into the stereo.
Sirius reaches for the side door handle, throwing it open with ease and revealing the two James’s on the other side. They’re staring at him as his James runs a hand through his hair. Sirius returns the gesture, tucking a lock behind his ear.
“I dunno if Moons is gonna fit on this.” James gestures to the back bench seat as Sirius reclines it. It folds down like a futon and Sirius lays back, his own legs too long for it.
“He’s used to the floor, I don’t think he will mind.” he says, staring up at the ceiling.
“This could work you know,” The springs of the van move as James climbs inside. “I take the passenger seat, Pete on the bench. Tons of space in the back for you and Remus.”
Sirius throws himself into a sitting position, “Hold on, Moony and I are suddenly together on the floor? How come I don’t get to sleep in a comfy seat?”
The other James appears at the open side door and suddenly the conversation is whisked away. They’re talking about financing and interest and safety features and Sirius is still hung up on the idea of him and Moony in the back of the van.
They’re brought back into the trailer to sign paperwork, Sirius nodding along as the two James’s negotiate. Sitting back and thinking about the beer he has tucked in his jacket pocket. If his James wants him to shut up, he will, and if that means they can come back after the tour so he can buy that pickup truck for a good deal, who is he to say anything?
“FUCK YEAH!” Sirius is in the passenger seat of the van, lighting up a joint with one hand and reaching into his jacket pocket for the beer. With the joint clenched between his teeth, he cracks open the beer and James just rolls his eyes.
“You’re ridiculous.” he says, climbing into the driver’s seat and checking the side mirror. He fiddles with a few things, getting acquainted with the van, letting his hands roam over the steering wheel, checking all the dials.
Sirius takes a generous sip from his now warm beer, tossing his feet onto the dash and leaning back.
“Gotta christen the beast!” He exclaims and James finally puts the keys in the ignition. The van roars to life with a growl and they regard one another.
“She’s got quite the kick to her.” James mutters, reaching forward and wiping away some of the dust before turning the radio up. It crackles for a second and Sirius’s stomach drops, did we just buy a van without a working radio? His eyes cut to James as—clear as day—a breathy voice comes out of the speakers.
The night is young
And full of possibilities
Well, come on and let yourself be free, yeah
“Thank fucking God!” Sirius is dancing, all shoulders and humming along as James pulls out of the lot. He takes a second, orienting himself and finding signs, his head on a swivel as they pull onto the road. James is a nervous driver in the city, but he’s shaking his head, cracking a smile.
“No, no way. Not you too.” There’s a hint of playfulness to his voice, a touch of teasing. Sirius is bopping his head, singing along to Anita Ward under his breath.
“It’s a fucking catchy song dude!” The hand holding the joint is tapping along with the bell in the song and James snorts.
“No. No disco.”
“Pfft, no disco”—Sirius rolls his eyes, still moving along with the beat—“Lily loves disco.”
“Next time Lily wants to go dancing then she’s bringing you not me.”
“I’d gladly go.”
“Oh would you now?” James is leaning over, turning the dial, flicking through channels before settling on something.
What happened to the girl I used to know?
You let your mind out somewhere down the road
James stops, moving his hand back to the wheel, drumming along with the beat. Sirius is smoking, taking sips from his beer and it’s already half done. They still have a few hours before the show tonight and he can feel it in the pit of his stomach, the pre-show jitters. The knots that start to form, to settle and spread over his bones before trying to make their way out of his skin.
He takes another sip, another drag, before saying, “We gotta name her.”
“The van?” James has his shoulders hunched, eyes trained dead ahead as someone steps out in front of them without looking. He slams on the brakes and Sirius doesn’t bat an eye.
“Yeah, she’s practically a part of the band.”
“We’ve only just met her.” James looks around again before pulling out of the intersection.
Sirius licks his lips, sucking in the bottom one and chewing it for a second. Looking out the window before he says, “Maggie?”
“No, she’s a bitch in that Rod Stewart song.”
“Anita?”
“Doesn’t feel right.”
“Annie, Kate, Suzie?” Sirius says, rapid fire and James is shaking his head. “What about Joan?” Another shake so Sirius continues, “Jane? Tina?” There’s an inflection at the end of every name and James is still shaking his head.
Sirius stops, taking a long drag from the joint. He tilts his head, running his tongue along his teeth. They’re starting to feel a little different, the weed beginning to do its job by taking the edge off.
“Older, she feels older than those names.”
“Like grandmotherly?” Sirius asks. James nods, eyes on the road as they speed through the city.
He’s pursing his lips, fidgeting in the seat and finally Sirius says, “Pearl?”
“Now we’re talking.”
“Is that the one?”
“No but we’re getting there.”
“Bessie, Bertha, Edna? We could name her after a star? À la the great and terrible House of Black?” He raises his eyebrows, catching James’s eyes as he cuts a glare.
“Ah yes, because that will end so well for us. No way, I don’t want to deal with your weird familial curse.”
They’re quiet, Sirius curled in the passenger seat, beer and cigarette in one hand as he runs the other through his hair. He looks out the window, watching the streets pass as the city moves around them.
“Minnie.”
“Minnie?”
“Yeah, Minnie. My uncle Alphard had this feisty tabby named Minnie. She was a skinny little barn cat that would fuck up all the Tom’s in the area.”
“We’re naming the van after a cat?” James’s voice pitches but he doesn’t look away from the road. Sirius shrugs, putting the joint in his mouth.
“Oh come on Jamie! She purrs like a kitten, don’t ya girl.” Sirius says through clenched teeth, patting the dashboard affectionately. He rolls the window down with some effort, pouring a bit of his beer on the side of the van. “Welcome to the band Minnie! May you always take us where we need to go.”
Remus and Pete roll up to Arlene’s a little earlier than expected, bringing all their gear in through the back of the bar. Pete takes the van, mumbling something about finding parking while Remus sits at the bar, waiting for James and Sirius to show up with the new van.
A little part of him knew he should have been the one to go with James to help negotiate, fuck even just to make sure the thing runs. But Remus was grateful for the afternoon of quiet at the laundromat, him and Marlene doing their thing without anyone else to bother them.
He’s two beers in when Sirius’s voice cracks through the quiet. Melinda—the bar manager—never lets them turn the radio up higher than the fourth notch. Her reasoning is, even though the space is massive, not everyone wants to listen to rock ‘n roll before 8:00 pm on a Thursday.
“—no I’m telling you they’ll love it.”
Remus turns around on the stool, elbows settling on the bar, beer in hand and he swears Sirius’s eyes light up. Even from this distance he can see it, blue eyes glinting under the low lights, smile catching even in the haze of the smoke.
He gestures towards Remus excitedly, smacking James’s arm.
“See! They’re already here, we can run through it at least once before the show.” Sirius says excitedly and Remus raises a brow in James’s direction to which he returns with a roll of his eyes. He scrubs his face with his hands, shoving the keys in his pocket before trailing after Sirius.
“We can run through it at least once?” Remus doesn’t bother hiding the hesitation in his voice.
“Magic Man.” Sirius is in front of him now, eye to eye because Remus is sitting down, looking up at him expectantly. Like the weight of this decision falls on his shoulders alone.
Remus’s brows come together, “The Heart song?” Sirius nods enthusiastically, “I dunno, we haven’t practised together in what, a month?”—he looks to James for confirmation and is met with a nod—“Maybe we should stick with our own material, or something we already know.”
“Oh come on!” Sirius smacks Remus’s shoulder, “Our own material is only twenty-two minutes long. We need to end with a fun cover.” He’s standing between Remus and James now, enunciating his point with a hand before looking up at Remus again.
Leaning back, he puts his beer on the bar, reaching into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He’s buying time, thinking it through. Rifling through the pack, he pulls out a joint and lights it, offering it to Sirius and sucking on his teeth before saying, “What if we did a Sabbath song? That’s low stakes, we all know most of them.”
Sirius is already shaking his head before Remus can even get the words out. James rolls his eyes, he’s definitely been shutting this idea down the entire drive back.
“On our first night?! Let’s do something fun!”
Remus’s mouth forms a hard line, joint clenched between his fingers and he decides there’s no reasoning with Sirius at the moment. He directs his attention to James.
“So we have wheels?” he asks and James nods.
“We do, and she works pretty well from what I can see.”
Not the most promising thing for him to say…
“Did you check the motor like I told you to? All the fluid levels? It’s not rusted out on the floorboard?”
James’s face pales a little before he sucks in a breath but Sirius interjects.
“Ugh! You’re not listening!” He waves a hand in front of Remus’s face, but he’s too busy glaring at James, letting the frustration fester.
“You didn’t check any of them?” Remus leans out of Sirius’s way, levelling James with a serious expression. “When was its last repair? Or oil change? Does it even lock?” James has his hands in his pockets, face no longer pale but turning red. “Fuck me Jamie, I knew I should have gone with you.” Remus is pinching the bridge of his nose, smoke from his joint getting in his eyes so he squeezes them shut.
“Hey, she works okay! I didn’t see that much rust on the sides and we can slide open the back door from the inside.”
Remus has his face in his hands before James can finish, mumbling a few things to himself, swallowing down the building frustration.
“You can open the back door from the inside?!” He mimics, leaning back and rubbing his face. Remus gets off the stool, pacing away before turning back to James and Sirius has disappeared behind the bar.
He’s changing the radio station, static kicking on before popping a tape in the deck and turning it up way past the fourth notch.
“Hey! I’m gonna use the stereo for a minute!” Sirius calls over the music and Melinda—who’s been busying herself in the back—pops her head out and waves him off.
Remus can no longer think clearly, the music coming through the speakers drowning out any coherent thought he had as James looks at him sheepishly. His eyes are cast down, cheeks flushed and he’s pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand.
“Look,”—James’s head snaps up and Remus softens his gaze—“It’ll probably be fine.” he grumbles before walking away and joining Sirius next to the rest of their equipment.
He’s pulling his guitar out of the case, not bothering to plug it in and plopping down on the raised stage. Eyes unfocused, Sirius stares off into nothing for a moment. Remus has watched him do this hundreds of times, listen to a song over and over and learn the whole thing by ear.
Remus realises he’s staring, just looking at Sirius as he strums something out. He stops and starts a few times, biting his bottom lip before he gets it. Sirius looks up at him with that glint in his eye, lip quirking and a smile blooming.
“I think this’ll be easy for you.” Sirius mutters, continuing to play along, moving his head with it. He closes his eyes like it will help him listen and Remus leans back on his heels, hands in his pockets.
James slides up next to him and whispers, “He’s been playing this song non stop, he had the tape in his pocket and sprung it on me after we named the van.”
“Why didn’t he bring it up last night? Or yesterday, it wouldn’t have taken us the whole day and now we have like,”—Remus checks his watch—“like two fucking hours!”
James nudges him gently, “I think it’ll be fine, who’s coming to the show anyways?” Remus throws his head back, taking a deep breath as Pete saunters through the bar.
“Hey! Magic Man, this is a good one.” He’s looking at Sirius as he says it, hand tapping on his thigh. “Sick drumline, super easy.” Remus does nothing but glare.
“See!” Sirius shouts excitedly, still playing along, moving with the beat before he stops, looking up at Remus. “I think we can do it, besides, you and Pete will be playing together so the two of you can set the pace. I’ll follow your lead.”
He can’t help the slight blush that tinges his cheeks when Sirius says it, throwing his hands up and uttering “fine fine, we’ll do it.”
The smile that cracks through Sirius’s face causes a knot to form in the pit of Remus’s stomach, not butterflies or something light. But something heavy and unmoving, like a stone in his gut.
“We can’t always be giving into him like this.” James mutters, rubbing his face before joining the rest of them.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Big thank you to Eden for answering my vague and weirdly alarming questions about blood loss! Nothing like messaging your friends out of the blue with “what are signs of blood loss other than clammy, cool to the touch, parched mouth etc and can you spill enough blood to get blood loss if you catch your arm on a nail (I'm not dying it's for writing purposes)”
TW: there’s blood in this one! Also some general feelings of internalised homophobia which is a bit of a common theme throughout this fic.
Recommended Listening:
Magic Man - Heart
Come Together - The Beatles
Bloody Well Right - Supertramp
Monday Monday - Mamas and the Papas
Can’t take my eyes off of you - englebert humperdinck
I Saw The Light - Hank Williams
Wildwood Flower - Joan Baez
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Part Two: Boston
March 16, 1979
After a few rounds of practice, they played Magic Man, and Sirius loved it. It felt like the perfect send off. Melinda, the bar manager and general thorn in his side, had even seemed as if she was enjoying herself.
When they leave for Boston, it’s with a bittersweet feeling and for the first time in recent memory, Sirius isn’t hungover. His head is clear and because of that, he finds himself thinking about the horoscope shoved in his pocket.
Your strength lies in your feelings but beware of letting your emotions rule your actions.
Over and over again he thinks about it while sitting in the passenger seat. Pete and Remus are on the bench in the back, the gear loaded up in the trunk. Sirius can just see Remus out of the corner of his eye through the mirror on the door, curled up on the seat.
“Where am I going Sirius?” James pulls him out of his thoughts and his head snaps down to the map on his lap. Their tour manager had scrawled out directions and stopping points on a map he bought at a gas station the night before.
Tour manager is a strong term to use as Sirius never really sees him as that. The man is in his forties and was nicknamed Mad Eye Moody back in the sixties due to his ‘great eye for talent’. He was in fact not nicknamed Mad Eye due to his lazy eye like Sirius had thought when they first met.
Mad Eye came out to the show the night before and handed off a folder of papers to James who flipped through them with an overwhelmed look on his face. His dark brows knit together, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand and smudging the lenses.
“Now you idiots need to remember to be on time, no one likes it when you’re late.” Mad Eye’s voice is gruff as he says it to them. “Be respectful of the bar managers they’re doing you a fucking favour. And for Christ’s sake when you cross the border don’t do anything stupid.” His right eye looks directly at Sirius when he says the last bit, a wave of nods cascading through the rest of them.
“We have your office and home number if we need anything.” James is clutching the folder to his chest, patting it protectively.
They went back to Lily’s, Sirius and Pete on the pullout again with Remus on the floor. Mary and Marlene piled into her bed, giggling together into the wee hours and Sirius had lay awake staring at the ceiling.
He wishes he drank more, the beer lulling him off to a near comatose sleep, but he hadn’t. Instead, Pete had snored all night next to him and Remus was lying close to him, his subtle breathing filling Sirius’s too sober mind.
Is this the emotion that’s going to fuck me over? Will this rule my actions? Will this be what ruins it?
“Just get to the highway.” He assures and James nods quickly.
Sirius is fishing around in his shirt pocket, pulling out a joint and catching a glimpse of Remus in the side mirror again as he rolls the window down.
He’s pulled up one of Pete’s drum cases so he can lean against the door. Leg bent, book in hand, shaggy fringe falling in his eyes.
Since moving in with his aunt, Remus has become a reader and Sirius has taken notice. During quiet moments in Lily’s apartment, when everyone else is doing their own thing, Remus is reading.
While living with the Lupin’s, free time was spent working. If Remus wasn’t at school or out with the rest of them, he was doing chores around the farm. But with his aunt, things seemed different. Slower, quieter, more subdued, almost soft.
Sirius sneaks a peek at what he’s reading, looking at the cover through the mirror.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
He recognizes the author’s name from Rolling Stone, Hunter S. Thompson. Chewing his cheek and finally lighting the joint, Sirius wonders what it’s about, wants to ask him, wants Remus to read it to him.
A brief flash of Sirius with his head in Remus’s lap in the backseat as he reads. Remus’s deep voice filling his thoughts, the feeling of his hands through Sirius’s hair.
He blinks when the radio station changes, a shock of static and James’s grimace from the corner of his eye. He’s flipping through channels, only catching a few sounds of each song before changing to another and Sirius is pulled violently from his thoughts.
“Hey, open the glove box would you?” James is smacking Sirius’s leg, eyes still on the road, other hand white knuckling the steering wheel.
“Doesn’t open.”
“What do you mean? It opened when we bought it?”
“Yeah then I slammed it shut and I can’t get it open again.”
Remus snorts, loud, the noise coming directly from behind him and it sends a shiver down Sirius’s spine. He takes another drag from his joint and James makes a disgruntled noise from the driver's seat.
“Fine, fine, pass me my bag.” James holds out his arm and neither Remus nor Pete—who’s sound asleep on the bench—move. Glaring at them through the rearview, he gropes around sightlessly, mumbling to himself and Remus is gracious enough to move his leg out of the way.
James straightens out, tape in hand and he pops it out of the case before shoving it into the deck. No longer white knuckling the steering wheel, he lets out a long breath.
They’ve already been on the road for a few hours and according to Moody’s map, they should get there in the next hour or so. All Sirius can think about is stretching his legs and having something to eat.
When the song starts, Sirius glares as he reaches for the dial. “Nope, no way Jamie. Hard no on this one.”
Here come old flat-top, he come grooving up slowly
He got ju-ju eyeball, he one holy roller
James has his wrist in a vice grip, “What!? Why?”
“No Beatles in the van.” Sirius is trying to shake him off, other hand sticking out the window with his joint.
He got hair down to his knee
Got to be a joker, he just do what he please
“What the fuck do you mean no Beatles in the van?!”
“I mean no Beatles in the van dude!” Sirius wrenches his hand away, flicking the radio to FM and they’re hit with a wall of static. James flinches and something kicks on after a few seconds.
“But—”
“Nope—”
“Come on! Rem, Pete! Help me out here!”
Pete stirs in the backseat, woken by the noise and Remus is looking at the two of them through his brows, book tented on his leg.
“Vanilla Fudge or something else.” Sirius says and he crosses his arms, he can see Remus chuckle from the corner of his eye.
“BUT THEY’RE COVERING THEM! Ninety percent of that fucking tape is Beatles covers!” James screeches, exasperated.
“Yeah, but it’s not The Beatles.”
James is seething, teeth clenched, jaw tight as he looks at the highway.
“Just get us to Alice’s.”
Sirius can see Remus pick up his book, they share a look in the mirror and Pete sets up a game of solitaire on the back bench.
Marlene’s friend Alice is a few years older than them. When she answers the door, she’s wearing an apron with little pink flowers all over it and drying her hands on the end of it. Her sandy blonde hair frames her face, fringe swept off her forehead in a headband, a few stray hairs peeking up over the top like a crown.
She’s slight, a little taller than Marlene and if they were to stand side by side, they would look related. Maybe it’s how they carry themselves, Marlene with her shoulders rolled back in that quietly defiant way she can back up with her smart mouth. Alice presents herself in a similar way, only with a little less lip.
They’re both from the same small town somewhere in Virginia, but unlike Marlene, Alice still carries a sweet drawl to her words. The careful enunciation and gentle inflection that makes Remus feel at ease.
He had no clue that Marlene was from the south until she slipped up one day while on the phone with her mom. She had looked over at him sheepishly from across the living room, the same expression on her face as if she had done something heinous.
“When I left at sixteen it was the first thing I wanted to lose.” She had told him.
“We all have our skeletons, I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to.” he had replied and at that moment, a bond had formed. Even before she was keeping secrets for him, he was keeping secrets for her. A quiet pact between them.
After finding out, Remus had a hard time imagining Marlene in pretty pink debutante dresses and bows in her naturally chestnut coloured hair. He could only see her as she is, with her bleach blonde shag, bright colours and rips in her stockings.
It came out eventually where she was from, and aside from a few dinner time comments, they didn’t love her any less.
“Well hello there boys!” Alice is all smiles at the four strangers on her doorstep, a few more strands of hair springing free from her headband. She’s still wringing her hands together as she takes them in.
“Alice?” James asks, stepping forward and offering his hand.
“Well of course!”
“I’m James, this is Remus, Pete and Sirius. We’re Marlene’s friends? I believe she called you?”
“She did call me, in fact she has been calling me relentlessly since ten o’clock this morning. Worried y’all got lost.”
Sirius blushes, hand rubbing the back of his neck as she says it because they had in fact gotten lost on their way into the city. James took an accidental forty five minute long detour courtesy of Sirius cracking open a beer instead of paying attention to which exit they needed.
James lets out a frustrated noise that no one else would ever pick up on, before whisking the conversation away to a different topic.
Alice and her husband Frank, live in a charming third floor walk-up above a laundromat and tiny grocer. As they enter, Remus has to duck below the doorway that opens directly into their living room. Similar to Lily’s apartment, it’s small but comfortable. Dissimilar to Lily’s apartment, this one has doors.
There’s a collection of needlepoint pillows on the couch along with a pile of quilts and afghans. No coffee table, but there’s a record player along the wall with the glass doors that lead to the kitchen.
Remus glances at the records piled on top; Joan Baez, J.J. Cale, Carole King and Hank Williams. Next to the record player is a bookshelf shoved full with books and magazines, every inch of space taken up. No semblance of order, just whatever fits and Remus recognizes a couple of the titles from his aunts own stash.
Sirius plops onto the floor, struggling to untie his boots and taking up far too much room. Slipping out of his own boots, Remus steps over him and tucks them neatly in a corner and away from the door.
A growl rips through Sirius’s throat, muttering under his breath about cold hands as Remus smirks at him.
He nudges Sirius with a socked foot before saying, “No laces, no problems.” and motions to his own boots.
Sirius rolls his eyes, “Fuck off Moons, I like my boots, I just wish they liked me.”
“I see our guests are here!” Frank emerges from one of the doors off the living room and moves down the line, shaking everyone’s hand. Sirius is still struggling on the floor, the last to be greeted before he makes a triumphant noise, finally kicking off his boots. They land in the corner, next to the shoe rack, one upright and the other tipped on its side.
Remus rights them and follows everyone into the kitchen.
There’s an old wooden table with mismatched chairs surrounding it. The last to come in, Remus is stuck at the head of the table, looking around quickly to see if he can slip somewhere else but Sirius grabs hold of his wrist. He tugs hard enough to get Remus into his orbit so he all but falls into the chair.
Alice is fussing, bringing out serving dishes and trivets and placing them all on the table. Remus’s palms start to sweat because they haven’t brought anything for her, not even a bouquet of flowers.
When Marlene had first suggested the idea of staying with Alice, Remus was the only one who was apprehensive. He didn’t want to impose on her, but Marlene insisted and said they should accept the kindness of others.
She’s made a full spread and uncomfortable feeling aside, Remus can’t remember the last time he’s eaten at a real table. At Lily’s they always eat clustered around the coffee table. At his aunt’s it had always been in front of the television, the two of them slipping into their comfortable silence.
James sits next to him, Sirius on his other side, sandwiched between two extroverts, Remus reasons he won’t have to talk much. His eyes are wandering over the table, looking at the full set of bone China he picks up a side plate. It’s white with blue and pink flowers all over and he comes to the conclusion it must be wedding China.
“I’ve got green beans and mashed potatoes and meatloaf.” Alice says triumphantly and Pete has a smile on his face like he’s died and gone to heaven. His hands are folded neatly on his lap, waiting patiently before he starts helping himself.
“Alice loves to have people over.” Frank whispers, looking between the four of them as Alice slips into the depths of the kitchen. “We haven’t had people ‘round since we moved.” he says quietly, and Remus picks up the undertone immediately, the loneliness.
She comes back with a basket of rolls, plunking it down in the middle of the table and Remus can see the steam coming off them. They pass everything around, everyone helping themselves and mumbling thank you’s before Sirius picks up the conversation effortlessly.
He asks about where they’re from, what Frank does, what Alice is going to school for, why they moved and Remus sits back. He looks up every once and a while, catching onto bits and pieces but James and Sirius volley the conversation back and forth.
“Remus sweetheart, you haven’t touched any of the good stuff!” Alice’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Better dig in before Frank and Sirius eat it all.” He looks up, deer in headlights, as Alice tries to scoop a heaping pile of meatloaf onto his plate.
Before Remus can react, Sirius’s hand is over his plate, interjecting. “Oh Alice, it’s alright—”
Remus’s words finally catch up with him and he clears his throat gently, meeting her gaze. “It’s nothing against your cooking, I promise”—he swallows, glancing down for a moment and mustering the strength—“I just don’t eat meat.”
“Ah shit, Marlene never told me!” Alice sounds disappointed, “I would have made better veggies!” She looks genuinely hurt, like she’s unable to provide for her guests. Biting her lip, her brows knitting together.
Remus offers a smile coupled with a little shrug, “It’s all lovely, don’t worry.”
There’s a bit of a lull, cutlery on plates and Frank is getting antsy on the other side of James, fidgeting with his fork before he says, “So what kind of music do y’all play?” He looks nervous when he says it. Remus wonders if the record collection is his or Alice’s. If they sit in the living room together and listen and talk about the music. Pick apart the lyrics, the way that everything sounds together as a whole.
Just like what he and Sirius used to do. Lying in the Potter’s basement, facing the ceiling with the turntable between them. A song for a song, offerings to gods that don’t seem to listen.
Sirius is talking, explaining the vision of the band to Frank and Remus can see him punctuating points with his hands out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want to stare, wants to stay focused on his plate so he doesn’t get sucked into the conversation.
“Why don’t you come to the show tomorrow night?” he asks, directing the question right at Alice. Her eyes flash with excitement for a moment, before it’s replaced with something else, apprehension.
Sirius picks up on it immediately, leaning in like he’s sharing a secret and he whispers, “I can get you in. I’m really close with the band.” he snickers a little, eyes flicking to Remus in a mischievous way and he can feel his face heat.
“Are you sure you want a couple of squares there?” she asks, mouth forming a hard line as she fiddles with the edge of her napkin.
James pipes up, looking between the two of them, first Frank then Alice. “It’ll be nice to have a couple of familiar faces in the crowd.”
“Remus, sweetheart, I can do this. Don’t worry about it.” Alice slides up next to him, his hands already elbow deep in dishwater.
“No, no, it’s okay, I don’t mind.”
“Go on, sit with your friends”—she bumps him affectionately—“Frank’s probably talking their damn ears off about baseball in there.”
He gives her a pained smile and her gaze softens, “I’m going to be spending the next few weeks with them, I can spare some time apart.”
She nods and it feels mothering, like she can see he just wants a little bit of quiet. Some reprieve, even if it’s for just a moment.
He wonders if Marlene told her about him. Her friend Remus who’s a little different, but not different like Pete who’s quiet because he puts his foot in his mouth. Different like he doesn’t fully connect with people, like something was wired a little wrong.
Maybe it’s the life he’s lived so far that makes him the way he is, an old soul seeking comfort in the quiet spaces he can.
She picks up a dish towel, one with yellow flowers all over it and he hands her the dishes to dry. Everyone else is in the living room and it’s just the two of them at the sink. He can hear Sirius bark a laugh through the open doors, James falling into peels of it as well.
Lately, he’s been finding himself in the room next to the chaos when they’re all together. Peering in from the outskirts of it and he wonders why he does this to himself. Why he hides away and seeks solace in solitude.
Next to him, Alice is humming softly and he’s reminded painfully of his mother. It’s an old folk song that turned into a church hymn, a staple in the Lupin home growing up. He used to help his mother with dinner or cleaning up and she would sing, back when he had to look up at her.
A rarity now, Remus having to look up at anyone.
He passes a serving platter to Alice, his flannel pushed up so it won’t get wet and it reveals the long scar on his arm. Wrist to elbow ditch, it’s faded a lot since it first happened and definitely not the worst he has.
Her eyes widen an almost imperceptible amount, but he notices.
“Fell in a hay loft.” he says quietly.
Remus is used to it, the worry that falls on people’s faces when they see him for the first time. He knows how it looks, how it seems.
The scars that litter his body from years of working on the farm, catching himself on nails, cracked skin from the cold. The scars on his face, the deep cut that’s faded over the years since the accident, the one that runs from his tear duct down to his cheek.
Her hand clenching the dish towel, like she’s been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Staring when she shouldn’t have been and Remus realises, maybe Marlene did say something. Maybe Marlene told her to be gentle with him and he can’t fault her for that.
“Sirius and I were being stupid kids,” he continues quietly, “teenagers actually. I slipped and caught myself on a nail, almost went right down the ladder to the concrete below,”—Remus laughs, heaving a breath—“but Sirius was there and he dove to grab me. He hauled me into the back of the Potter’s station wagon and drove me to Pete’s. His mom was home and she fixed me up. She’s, uh she’s a nurse, told me to get a tetanus shot, but I turned out fine.”
Alice gives him another pained smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes and it looks like she’s going to say something before she swallows and takes another dish from his hands.
Remus had been working in the field all morning, clearing out rocks in the rows to get ready for planting season. No one else was home, his dad had borrowed the neighbours car to go into the next town over for some sort of auction.
His dad had left a note that morning, hoping he would come back with a newer pickup truck or some form of farming equipment.
Their old pickup had died, the starter no longer working even though Remus and his dad had already replaced it twice. His dad had muttered something about faulty wiring or the like, but neither of them pressed it, falling into their amiable silence with one another.
He rounds the corner of the house, hoping his dad isn’t home yet and he can fit in a nap before starting dinner. The Potter’s station wagon is parked up next to the barn, the door to the hayloft open and his heart skips a beat for a moment.
“You can’t smoke in the hayloft you idiot.” He says, nudging Sirius’s boot with his own. Still chilly out—even for May—the wind whips through the barn. Sirius is wearing a leather jacket, stiff and new and still shiny. He sits up, little bits of hay in his dark hair. He’s just started to grow it out, already hitting his shoulders, it suits him.
He’s propped himself up onto his elbows, waving his hand in an air of leisure. “I’m not smoking, I’m lounging.”
Remus snorts, narrowing his eyes, “Where’s James?”
“Home,” Sirius hoists himself up so he’s sitting, crossing his legs. “He didn’t wanna come.”
“So you took the Potter’s station wagon on a little joy ride to this shithole?”
“Didn’t really know where else to go.” he mumbles, licking his lips and Remus is drawn to the movement.
Sirius had been living with the Potter’s for the last half a year or so, he never went into detail about it—not even with James. He just showed up on James’s doorstep in the middle of the night with a split lip and a black eye and Effie took him in.
Remus swallows, “Well, I’m honoured you wanna toil away your Sunday in the hayloft with me.”
Something passes over Sirius’s face, like clouds over the sun on a summer’s day. Tumultuous with the supposed promise of rain.
Remus is still standing at the top of the stairs, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. They used to spend time up here last summer, all of them, lounging around amongst the bales. It felt like being cooked alive in the high heat of August, but something about the quiet had always drawn Remus in. The way the sun peeks through the boards, casting long shadows as it moves through the sky. The smell of the hay, sweet and earthy and inviting.
Sirius stands suddenly, crossing the little bit of distance between them. A whole head shorter than Remus, Sirius looks up at him with those clear blue eyes of his—and there’s something there. His mouth parts, but Remus doesn’t let him speak. Instead, he takes a step back, thinking Sirius is trying to get to the door.
His foot slips.
In an instant, Remus is teetering backwards, grasping at anything he can and Sirius lunges forward. Throwing himself to the ground, Sirius grips Remus’s wrist so tight his knuckles turn white, but not before he catches the nail.
Remus’s feet find purchase on one of the rungs and there’s blood everywhere. Spurting from the open wound, it’s dripping down to the awaiting concrete below and the first thought in his head is my dad doesn’t know how to get blood out of clothes.
“FUCK!” It’s Sirius who says it, eyes wide, brows so high they practically disappear into his hairline. There’s another chorus of swearing and Remus pulls his wrist from Sirius’s iron grip, cradling his bleeding arm close to his chest and letting himself down onto the concrete slowly.
Sirius is on him in seconds, shedding his jacket and ripping off his t-shirt. Over his head, he’s wrapping the shirt around Remus’s forearm, backing him against the wall at the foot of the ladder. Remus is still silent, eyes wide, taking everything in.
The tips of Sirius’s fingers feel cool against the skin of Remus’s arm and they’re covered in blood. Deep red and sticky, he’s wrapping his shirt as tight as he can around Remus’s forearm.
“There’s, there’s blood—” Remus is pointing with his uninjured hand to Sirius’s jacket. Tossed to the ground, there’s specks of red along the collar and lining.
“I know, I know. It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Sirius is shirtless, applying pressure to the wound, both his hands gripping Remus’s arm tight. White knuckling and he doesn’t feel it. He should feel the sharp pain of the ripped skin, but he doesn’t.
Sirius drags him out of the barn.
He’s in shock, or panicking, or something. He must be, he has to be. He knows it, knows he is, recognises the signs as Sirius leads him across the lawn and towards the Potter’s station wagon.
Remus is looking at everything but his arm. The lawn that isn’t quite green yet, the willow tree in the front that is just starting to produce buds. Sirius, who is shirtless and clutching his wrist with such a ferocity it should make him blush.
It’s all Remus can think about now, the broad expanse of Sirius’s back in the sun. His milk white complexion and all the little marks that marr his skin. Covered in goosebumps, they erupt when a breeze whips up the driveway.
“You’re cold.” The words leave Remus’s lips and his voice doesn’t sound like his own. Sirius throws a look over his shoulder, jaw clenched.
“You moron.” he bites and throws open the passenger door, practically shoving Remus into the seat. Falling into it, he sits there dumb founded, holding the t-shirt tight. It’s almost soaked through, blood sticky on his fingers and he’s trying not to think about it.
“I’m, I’m going to get blood everywhere.”
Sirius slides into the driver’s seat, thrashing around, thrusting his hips up. Remus lolls his head to the side, taking it all in, blaming it on the blood loss as he doesn’t avert his gaze. He’s fishing in all his pockets, searching for the keys, swearing again he finally finds them.
The engine turns over before starting up. Roaring to life it’s way different than the shitty pickup truck that used to have to turn over half a dozen times before sputtering to life. Remus tilts his head back against the seat, taking a deep breath, just wanting to close his eyes.
He’s tired, eyes dry and he can’t tell if it’s from all the work he did this morning, or the fact that he’s bleeding. Hand on his cheek, Sirius smacks him a little harder than necessary.
“It’s okay if we get blood on the seats, it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s from you, it’s fine. Effie and Monty won’t care.” Sirius has his hand on the back of the headrest now, no longer on Remus’s cheek. Head turned and focused as they fly down the driveway, reversing onto the concession.
Sirius slams on the brakes before they end up in the culvert on the other side, stopping in the middle of the road. The sound of gears grinding against one another fills the car, screech and clank of metal on metal. Remus blinks at him and Sirius is struggling to switch from reverse into first.
“Clutch, you need to hit the clutch.” he mumbles and Sirius glares, glancing down at the pedals.
“I fucking know that Jesus Lord Christ.”
The radio kicks on after so many moments of just the engine roaring and the gears grinding and Remus groans. Long and loud as the sound of it fills the cab.
But Monday mornin', Monday mornin' couldn't guarantee
That Monday evenin' you would still be here with me
“Man, I don’t wanna die listening to the Mamas and the Papas.” Squeezing his eyes shut, the sharp pain is starting to radiate through his forearm. It’s sticky and wet, the blood seeping right through Sirius’s threadbare shirt. Pressing harder, Remus looks down at his own bloody arm and his heart rate quickens.
Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah (yeah)
“Who the fuck says you’re gonna die?!” Sirius screeches, his voice thin. Denny Doherty is still singing about Monday and all Remus can think about is this is the second time he’s been in a car thinking he’s going to die.
Reaching across for the dial, Sirius flips through the stations haphazardly, his other hand clutching the wheel.
“I don’t want this on while I die—” Remus’s breathing is starting to speed up, sucked in quickly through his teeth. The rise and fall of his chest pushing against his arm as the pain spreads through him.
“You’re not going to die!” He’s changing, cycling through the channels, biting his lip in concentration and catching the first millisecond of a note before moving on to the next. Remus has turned to face Sirius, eyes trained on the sharp incisor that’s slipped over his lower lip, focused on the way it moves. Sirius flicks his gaze in Remus’s direction and he can see the panic reflected there.
They veer into the lane of oncoming traffic and Sirius returns his other hand to the wheel. He grips it tight, pulling them back to safety and there’s a second of reprieve. Remus can feel his heartbeat start to slow, even if he does die—at least he will be looking at Sirius.
Oh, pretty baby
Don't bring me down, I pray
Oh, pretty baby
He closes his eyes, scrunching them tight and lets out a groan.
“God I feel like this is worse.” He squeezes his arm tighter to his chest, starting to feel light headed, vision getting spotty.
“I can’t control what they play on the fucking radio!” Sirius shrieks.
The spots are getting bigger, blurring things together and Remus’s head starts to slide down the headrest.
“Hey! Hey, Rem, no, no!” A hand, smacking him hard against his chest, catching his arm and the pain is sharp.
“Jesus, watch it!” Parched, his tongue feels thick in his mouth.
“Fuck, come on we’re so close—oh Jesus Christ, like three more minutes—stay with me you moron!” Sirius sounds shrill and Remus is blinking up at him from the passenger seat. “You’d better just be panicking about my driving.” he mutters the last bit and Remus’s heart is slamming so hard against his ribs he thinks it’s going to bruise.
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you
You'd be like Heaven to touch
He closes his eyes again, feeling like he’s floating as he tries to catch his breath.
“Listen! Remus, hey”—Sirius is grabbing his thigh, squeezing it hard—“No listen to me, fuck okay, okay. I love you baby, and if it’s quite alright—” He’s singing, obnoxiously and not on key and it causes a laugh to bubble up in Remus’s chest. Sirius is still squeezing, smacking his leg, trying to keep him awake and coherent.
“Sing with me, come on I know you know the words.” Remus opens his eyes and as they come into focus, Sirius is staring at him. Moving his head on a swivel, keeping an eye on both Remus and the road. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and it’s making Remus dizzy. “No, no closing your eyes, you’re not dying on me. You’re not going to pass out okay? I can’t drag your fucking giant ass into the Pettigrew’s house.”
“You’re bringing me to Pete’s?!”
“Of course I am! I know you don’t have fucking insurance.”
Remus’s mouth forms a hard line as Sirius glares at him from the corner of his eye. His dad had let the insurance lapse after his mom passed away. They were no longer covered by her job and Lyall Lupin was never one to spend an extra dollar on a just in case kind of situation. Remus found out when he tried to fill his prescription for the pain medication he was prescribed and had to pay out of pocket.
He was given a single refill on the pain meds after the accident, so part of him thought it would be fine. Whatever, he wouldn’t have to pay for them again after that. But when they ran out, and the pain was still there, he didn’t know what to do. Remus went weeks stumbling around, his hip and knee aching from the rod that put his femur back together.
It was slow moving for a while, a big adjustment, until Pete noticed. He observed quietly, watching Remus struggle before slipping a joint into his pack of cigarettes.
It took the edge off. Of course it wasn’t perfect, but made it so he could sleep through the night and function a little better during the day.
“Besides,” Sirius’s voice is sombre, quiet in the cab and Remus swallows thickly. “This injury doesn’t…look the best after everything that’s happened.”
They pull up to Pete’s house, a bungalow, long and low with a straight shot of a driveway and no neighbours for miles on either side. Sirius barely has the parking brake on before he throws the driver side door open, tripping his way around the hood of the car to help Remus get out.
Reaching in, Sirius is careful not to touch his arm, hands grasping under Remus’s armpits to haul him out. He almost clocks Remus’s forehead on the top of the car as he does it. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, it takes Remus a second to get his bearings. All the blood draining from his head and he can feel his pulse in his arm.
His good arm—although still covered in his own blood—is thrown over Sirius’s shoulder. He feels cold under Remus’s touch and he can’t figure out if it’s the blood loss or the chill in the air.
“Is Pete even home?” Remus whispers, voice hoarse, throat dry and scratchy. His palms are sweating now, nervous to take his boots off when they get inside because his feet feel like there’s puddles in his socks.
“No, but his mom has been working nights so she should be.”
“Sirius, she should be home?” Remus can feel the shiver run through Sirius’s body when he says his name. The stiffness that finds its way into his shoulders, the immediate closing off of his posture. Like he’s done something wrong because of the stern tone Remus’s voice has taken on.
If this were under any other circumstance, Remus would be relishing in the fact that he’s this close to Sirius. But as it stands, at this moment, Remus wants to do nothing but vomit. Whether it’s because of the adrenaline coursing through him, the blood loss or the proximity is a toss up.
Sirius is kicking the door, his boot making a dull thud on the metal, arm wrapped around Remus’s waist, fingers digging into his hip. His left hand holds Remus’s—the one that’s thrown over his shoulder—and Sirius is squeezing his fingers so tight they’re white.
They stand there for a minute, nothing but their breathing filling the space and Sirius kicks the door again, muttering something under his breath.
Remus is feeling light headed again, swaying into Sirius’s touch and his hands are getting cold, tips of his fingers going numb. He knows this feeling, recognises it immediately. It’s panic, the cool shot of adrenaline spiking through him, pins and needles working their way through his limbs. His skin feels like it’s vibrating, the sharp throb of the gash on his arm timed with his fast beating heart.
“Oh my fucking God Patricia.” Sirius grits out through his teeth, about to kick the door again when it swings open, as if on command.
“Sirius? Remus? What’s going on?” Pete’s mother, a slight woman with light blonde hair and large brown eyes, looks up at the two of them. She’s doing her best to keep a straight face, her mouth twitching at the corner in the same way Pete’s does when he’s trying to hide something. Her eyes dart back and forth, assessing the situation with a well trained gaze.
“I’m gonna be sick.” Remus manages to mumble out, wrenching his fingers out of Sirius’s vice grip and turning.
He vomits all over the Pettigrew’s front step, whatever was left in his stomach from breakfast, and it burns all the way out. Remus stays like that, doubled over, letting the snot drip from his nose and the spit dribble out of his mouth.
God I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.
He heaves for a second longer, closing his eyes and Sirius is already talking a mile a minute.
“Remus fell in the hayloft and cut himself on a nail and he’s bleeding and he was panicking and there’s blood all over. But I didn’t get any in the car, or maybe I did and I don’t know if he’s panicking because he’s having flashbacks of the accident or if he’s in sho—”
Patty cuts him off, “Alright Sirius, take a deep breath and help me get him inside.” Her hands are soft, careful on his waist as she pulls him to stand. Sirius’s hands are frantic, trying to manoeuvre Remus in through the front door.
“Fuck, Mrs. Petti—the step—” Remus is wiping the snot from his nose with his good hand, looking down at her as she swats his hand away.
“I don’t care about the step.” Her voice is calm, the only one that seems to be in this current situation. When they get through the front door, she stops moving, turning to Sirius. “Go shower, get all the blood off. You can take something from Pete’s room to wear.”
“But Patty—”
“No, listen to me, go and shower. I’ll take care of Remus.” she says sternly and Remus feels the absence of Sirius’s hands as he’s being lowered onto one of the big brown leather recliners in the living room.
Tilting his head to the side, Remus stares down the long hallway that leads to the bedrooms, watching as Sirius walks away. He glances over his shoulder, biting his bottom lip and looking like he’s going to say something before disappearing into the bathroom.
The Pettigrew’s living room is a mismatch of whatever furniture seems to be the most comfortable. A recliner, a couch, a coffee table and a little television tucked in the corner that no one uses.
Remus sinks into the leather of the overstuffed chair and closes his eyes as Patty removes Sirius’s shirt. It sticks to his skin, tugging at the spots that are already clotting and he sucks in a breath.
“He’s going to be really upset, I don’t think we can get the blood out of this.” She mumbles and Remus opens his eyes.
Patty is scrutinising the cut on Remus’s forearm. Her thin brows are coming together, but her face doesn’t give away how bad it may be. A trained professional.
This is the first time he’s really seen it, Sirius managed to wrap his arm up tight before he could panic too much about it. Nestled into the meaty part of the ditch in his elbow all the way down to his wrist, a long red slash and it doesn’t look as deep as it feels.
He sucks in a quick breath when her hand grazes his palm, getting as close to it as possible. She’s assessing the damage, asking him to wiggle his fingers before spreading them, twisting his arm gently.
“Well, I have good news. It’s already clotting so as long as we clean it out—and keep it clean,” she says with an air of authority she usually reserves for Pete and his dad, “you should be left with just a scar.”
“So I’m not going to die?” The words tumble out when Patty’s back is turned, moving into the kitchen before returning with a very extensive first aid kit.
“No,” She’s kneeling beside the chair now, laying out his arm in a practised way. “Even though you may have felt as if you were, I think it was just a panic attack.” There’s gloves in the kit that she pulls on before continuing. “Whether the attack started due to the shock or Sirius’s driving, we will never know.” There’s a touch of humour to her words, trying to lighten the mood because they do know.
They both know what the root of all his terror was. Fuck if it had been raining, Remus doesn’t think he would have even made it this far. Reduced to a puddle in the front seat, unable to uncurl his body from the car.
“My dad’s going to kill me.” he whispers.
“I don’t think he’ll kill you.” Whatever she puts on the cut stings and Remus lets out a hiss. “Now Sirius on the other hand? No license, Effie’s car? That’s grounds for murder at a minimum.” She huffs out a quiet laugh, eyes trained on her work.
They’re quiet for a moment, Remus squeezing his eyes shut as Patty dabs at his arm lightly.
“Do his parents—” She stops herself, pausing, trying to find the words.
Remus opens his eyes, watching her search before deciding to say, “No, he’s been living with the Potter’s for the last little while…You know, after…” He lets his voice trail off, not sure how much Pete has told her, or how much Sirius wants her to know.
“You don’t have to tell me, I’m kind of glad he brought you here. I know things have been…rocky lately. Not just with Sirius, with…all of you.” She doesn’t say it out loud, instead blankets it as all of you. Doesn’t want to single out himself and Sirius and how they’ve been abandoned by the adults in their life.
At the ripe age of sixteen, they’d been left to fend for themselves. Sirius’s by choice, Remus’s by death. But that’s only half true, his dad is still around, but only sort of.
He tries his best, fumbling his way through parenthood when he barely did it even before his mom died. Now Lyall was grieving and stuck dealing with a shithead teenage son as well as a failing farm.
Remus swallows, blinking back the beginning of tears at the thought of it, the adrenaline starting to wear off and being replaced with something else he can’t put his finger on.
“Yeah, things have been…” He starts but doesn’t know how to explain. Things have been strained, things have been awful. He’s barely healed from the accident, barely scratched the surface of the grief that’s building and now he’s here.
“I know Remmy.” His heart clenches at the nickname.
His mom and Patty had worked together at the nursing home in town. There’s no doubt in his mind that she knows all about him and his father, Patty and Hope were friends after all. But he doesn’t find solace in that, instead he finds bitterness.
“You don’t have to tell me. Just know that if you want to you can, okay?” she says finally.
There’s bits of medical tape across the gash, holding the two pieces of skin together and Patty’s wrapping it with gauze carefully, telling him what to do and how to care for it. She’s part way through going over the instructions and what to look out for so he doesn’t die of an infection—when Sirius saunters out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.
Slung low on his hips, his hair wet and slicked back off his face, he’s trailing water all over the hardwood.
“So he’s gonna be okay right? Nothing’s fucked up?” Sirius gets close, dripping on Remus’s bicep with his wet hair, “He’ll still be able to play bass in the band?”
“Yes, yes he will. Now stop dripping all over my floor!” Patty shoos him away, but Remus can see she’s grateful for the levity. Unlike his name sake, Sirius never takes anything too seriously. For someone who was dealt an equally shitty hand in life, Sirius always takes it in stride.
Patty had given the two of them free range over Pete’s closet after all the blood was cleaned off. Lucky for Sirius, he and Pete were generally the same size, unlucky for Remus he’s a solid five inches taller.
“I can’t let you go home in that bloody shirt, Remmy.” Patty had used the nickname to lessen the friction but he rolled his eyes anyways. The only thing that was anywhere close to his size, was a bright orange bible camp t-shirt Pete had stolen from the local mission on a dare.
It barely meets his belt, leaving a swath of skin for the world to see causing him to feel even more exposed than he already does.
He’s sitting on the couch, newly bandaged arm laying over the armrest while Sirius flips through one of Michelle’s Tiger Beat magazines. Pete’s little sister Michelle had only just recently turned thirteen and was beginning to throw herself into the world of teenage girls, much to Pete’s chagrin.
Sirius is enthralled by the magazine, chuckling to himself as he skims. He’s on the floor on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, finger trailing along the articles.
“Listen to this, apparently there’s flavoured lip gloss. In this article, it says”—he clears his throat for dramatic effect—“find your guy's favourite flavour so next time you’re kissing there’s a sweet surprise.” He laughs at this and Remus narrows his eyes at him.
Even Remus knows about flavoured lip gloss. Last summer, he had kissed Emmeline Vance out behind the bleachers and she tasted like cherries. His lips had been sticky sweet for the rest of the afternoon.
Sirius is looking over his shoulder and Remus realises he must have made a sound like he was going to speak.
“I uh, I knew that”—Sirius raises a brow at him—“Emmeline Vance wears cherry gloss, it’s real sticky after you kiss her.” He doesn’t know why he says it, kind of wishes he could scoop the words back into his mouth and swallow them down. When it comes out, Sirius stiffens a little, his hackles raising and his eyes turning a shade of steely Remus isn’t used to.
Thankfully, Pete comes home not too long after and Patty fills him in on everything that’s happened.
The two of them stay for dinner and eat at the table with Pete’s dad and Michelle who won’t stop sneaking glances in his direction.
Remus stays quiet, his arm throbbing in time with his heart as the day catches up to him. He looks at Sirius from the corner of his eye, wondering why he showed up to the farm unannounced anyway, did he really want to just spend the afternoon in the hayloft?
All through dinner, no one says a word about Remus’s arm. Everyone ignores it, just like they had with Sirius’s black eye and part of Remus wonders if Patty told them to. If she had pulled aside Pete’s dad and Michelle and asked them not to bring it up. Or if everyone was just used to him and Sirius arriving a little worse for wear.
After they finish, Pete drives Sirius and Remus home in the Potter’s station wagon with Patty following. They drop Remus off first and there’s another pickup in the driveway, next to the old one.
The light in the kitchen is on, a gentle glow in the middle of nowhere and he can see his dad moving around inside the house. He pats Pete and Sirius on the shoulder from the backseat before getting out of the car and waving a thank you to Patty.
Slipping in through the back door, his dad looks surprised to see him and he mumbles out what happened that day. Lyall can’t hide the look of shock on his face, the tears that spring to his eyes as he coughs and pulls Remus into a hug.
“I’ll have to uh, I’ll have to call Patty to thank her.” he says after clearing his throat and Remus just nods, excusing himself to go to his room.
Remus remembers lying in bed that night, arm still throbbing and thinking about nothing but Sirius’s face and the look that crossed his face in the hayloft.
Alice finally kicks Remus out of the kitchen, claiming she can put the dishes away by herself so he can sit and relax. Everyone else has crammed themselves on the balcony off the back of the apartment. Someone’s left the door slightly ajar, letting bits of conversation and smoke from a joint into the living room.
Remus is standing by the couch, looking at the acoustic guitar tucked into the corner he never noticed when they first came in. It looks like the same one he used to borrow from the preacher at their local parish.
Something comes over him and he finds himself dragging the tips of his fingers over the frets before picking it up. He settles on the couch with it on his lap and maybe it’s because he was thinking about the farm and his mother just now but he starts to play.
Something simple, just open chords because he’s never been one to play anything more complicated than that.
“I wandered so aimless, life filled with sin,” The words come back easy enough, the chords following as he continues to strum it out. His brows furrowed together in concentration and everything around him has gone fuzzy.
He continues into the next verse, the one Alice had been humming earlier and it’s getting easier to play, the notes coming back to him faster than he expected.
“I saw the light, I saw the light, No more darkness, no more night”
“I was singin’ this earlier! I didn’t realise you knew it or we coulda had a duet!” He jumps at the sound of Alice’s voice. “Jeez Remus, didn’t mean to scare you.” He stops, placing the guitar next to him and flushing.
“No-no it’s alright”—he can’t meet her gaze, a wash with embarrassment—“shouldn’t have been touching it anyways.”
“Please keep playing, Frank keeps telling me he’s gonna learn something from Joan Baez but he never does.” She’s leaning in the doorway, dish towel still in her hands and she’s fiddling with the ends of it.
“Does Frank play guitar?” He asks and finally looks over at her.
She rolls her eyes, “he wants to…but he’s busy you know, with work and he takes care of his mother…” and he has a real job and a real family and real obligations. Is what it sounds like but Remus doesn’t hold it against her.
Pete is the first to stumble back in, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood as he breaks into peels of laughter. He settles on the couch next to Remus and leans back.
“Do you know Wildwood Flower?” Alice asks with her eyes trained on Remus and he heats once more. “Oh I love that one!”
“That’s a little complicated for my simple cowboy chords, Alice.”
Sirius is the last to come in from the balcony and Remus catches a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye. Standing confidently just over the threshold, boots on but unlaced and his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
He lights up when he sees the acoustic guitar in Remus’s lap, blue eyes bright and a curve to his lip that causes Remus’s heart to clench.
“Nah dude, you can totally get it, it’s not too hard.” He’s kicking his boots off into the corner of the room and they land in a heap. Remus’s mouth forms a hard line and he shakes his head, not loving all the eyes suddenly on him.
Sirius looks over at Alice, “if you put it on I can figure it out.”
So she does, Alice pops the record on the turntable and Sirius pulls his guitar from the case and settles on the floor. He sits cross legged, parked so close to the speaker he practically has his ear against it. James is next to him, reclining on his elbow with a beer and the two of them are firing comments back and forth. They’re talking their way through it as they tend to do when learning something by ear.
Sirius is staring blankly at a spot on the floor, jaw tight, guitar in his lap. A cherry red Gibson SG he found in a pawn shop while visiting Lily in New York last year. He had been ecstatic to find something made for a leftie and bought it immediately.
The lacquer is worn off on all the high traffic areas, on the contour from his arm sitting on top of it and around the volume knob, revealing the wood beneath. He’s got a cigarette clenched so tight between his teeth the filter is warped, lisping through it as he and James continue to fire ideas back and forth.
“I got it!” he says around the cigarette triumphantly, taking it from his mouth and sliding it between the strings and the headstock. James gets up and restarts the song, needle dropping close to the previous one and they get to hear the tail end of All My Trials.
Remus is still on the couch, guitar leaned against the wall next to him and he’s holding onto a beer, picking at the label to keep his fingers busy. His legs are spread, slouching against the back of the couch. Pete’s next to him, his leg bouncing, knocking against Remus’s until he catches a beat like he’s playing along.
Alice is captivated from her spot next to Frank on the floor and she leans in when Sirius starts playing along with the record. It’s tinny, his electric guitar not plugged into anything but Remus can hear it clear as day.
Sometimes he forgets how good Sirius is when it comes to music. Just being able to listen to something once or twice and fumble his way through it has always impressed Remus. The way he can focus, puzzle his way through anything and when it clicks, it’s like magic. It makes Remus a little jealous at times, how Sirius never seems to be nervous about anything they play, how he has a calm and cool confidence about him.
Sirius has always been one to put on a show. He knows how to woo a crowd, entrance them like they’re under a spell. But it’s the simple act of sitting in someone else’s living room while singing and playing along with a record, that feels like a real connection is made.
Alice is smiling so wide she starts to sing along and Frank is looking at her with nothing but love in his eyes, touching her thigh affectionately.
Remus takes a long sip from his beer, not knowing where to look when he can feel Sirius’s cool blue gaze settle on him. It’s like jumping into a lake on a hot summer day, sending a jolt right down to his toes.
“...I will charm every heart, in his crown I will sway…”
Fundamentally, Remus understands that it’s just a song and Sirius is singing along to whatever is playing. But sometimes, when he’s looking at Remus with a glint in his eye, it feels like he’s trying to say something different. Trying to pull at an unnamed tether he has right in the centre of his chest that always seems to drag them together.
“See, not so hard.” Sirius says finally and he’s still looking at Remus even though the song is finished. The cigarette in the headstock has burned itself down to the filter but Sirius plucks it out and takes a drag anyway.
Remus shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It seems easy,” he says quietly.
Alice and Frank are head to head now, talking quietly as the record keeps playing and Pete’s moved to the floor. Cards out of his pocket, he’s setting up a game of solitaire.
“It is.” Sirius sounds reassuring, taking the acoustic that’s leaning next to Remus and passing it to him. He sits in Pete’s spot, and Remus turns, mirror images of one another. Pulling another cigarette from his pack, Sirius lights it, taking a long drag before sticking it in the headstock again.
“Watch me okay?” Remus nods, like he hasn’t been watching Sirius the whole time, like he has any other choice but to do it. Sirius’s fingers move along the frets as he strums like it’s as easy as breathing, and maybe it is for him. Maybe this is just second nature.
Hours spent in his room at the Potter’s, playing along quietly to things as everyone else is asleep. Remus never had that luxury.
“Hold on.” He breathes, trying to match what Sirius is doing but it’s sluggish, different from playing bass and he’s catching on but not fast enough.
Sirius stops, leaning back and staring, scrutinizing and Remus knows what he’s doing wrong. Fundamentally he gets it, understands because it’s the same foundation, the same way of playing. When he bites his lip, Sirius leans forward, placing his hand over Remus’s gently.
“Like this.” and his voice is so quiet, a whisper between the two of them and Remus flushes, blood rushing right to his cheeks as Sirius’s calloused fingers move over his.
They continue on like that, Sirius breaking things down slowly and he fumbles through it a few times before he picks it up. Him and Sirius play it through together a few times and Remus can feel that tether in his chest tugging him along.
The cigarette in his headstock has burned out again, ash falling all over his pants and Sirius laughs.
“Got too into it apparently.” he says quietly and Remus’s fingers still tingle from where Sirius had been touching him.
“Would you be able to teach me something too?” Frank pipes up and Sirius turns around to face him, spell broken.
“‘Course I can!”
He’s getting up, pulling the guitar out of Remus’s lap and passing it off to Frank.
They wrap it up after a while. Sirius has shown Frank some basics and Alice is delighted. It’s well into the night and Pete is dozing on the floor with James, cards scattered between them.
“We have an extra room with a pretty big bed if two of you want to sleep there? The other two will unfortunately be on the couch and the floor.” Alice announces and Sirius nudges Pete and James awake with his toe.
Sirius is the first to speak, “I’ve gotten the pullout for the last few days, it’s only fair Moons and Pete get a bed.” Remus narrows his eyes, he knows there’s an ulterior motive to this but he doesn’t say anything about it.
Getting up, he downs his beer and puts the empty in the kitchen, grabbing his bag before slipping into the guest room. Sparsely furnished, Alice has done her best with what she has.
Another needlepoint cushion tossed on the bed, a soft and well-loved quilt that reminds Remus of the farm and a couple of knick knacks scattered on the surfaces throughout the room.
Remus strips down to his underwear, taking the side of the bed with the window. He climbs in, pulling the quilt up to his chin and lying on his side. The moon is peeking through the sheer curtains, casting shadows across the bed.
Pete climbs in after him, mattress sinking under his weight as he settles in.
“Night Remmy.” Pete mumbles, already half asleep and Remus rolls over to look at him.
“Goodnight Pete.”
Boston isn’t much quieter than New York, the gentle hum of the city always acting as a soundtrack turned up a little too high. He can hear James and Sirius whispering back and forth through the crack in the door, talking before they settle in to go to sleep and Remus wonders if they’re swapping secrets.
He’s never heard Sirius ask any of the other guys “tell me a secret” so part of him thinks that he knows Sirius a little better than everyone else. A little piece that just the two of them share, because that’s the way Sirius works.
A little something for everyone, someone a little different for everyone, and Remus wonders if the Sirius he knows—the one he sees behind closed doors—is a Sirius just for him, or the real one.
On this thought, he realises why Sirius had given up sleeping on a bed and volunteered him to be in the room with Pete.
“Fuck Pete do you ever snore.”
Notes:
if you'd like to hear what I think Remus would sound like singing this song, I recommend listening to this
Chapter 4
Notes:
A/N: I mention a few books in this chapter. Spice Box of Earth, a collection of poetry written by Leonard Cohen, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson and The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. I also mention a bookshop, not by name but by location. The Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop was one of the first book shops to focus on LGBTQ+ works in a way that wasn’t just porn. They highlighted authors, carried books others wouldn’t and had their own monthly publication called HYMNAL.
Recommended Listening:
You Keep Me Hangin’ On - Vanilla Fudge
You Really Got Me - Van Halen
Nightclubbing - Iggy Pop
Chapter Text
March 17, 1979
Sirius doesn’t sleep late even though he wants to.
There’s a quiet calm to Alice and Frank’s that reminds him too much of Lancaster and it’s unsettling. If their apartment was any bigger, it would feel too close to the Potter’s house in the suburbs.
The needlepoints, bone China and photos of family on the walls, gives him a chill he can’t shake.
He slept on the floor last night even though James has spent the last few nights in Lily’s bed while he slummed it on the spring filled pull out. But he wouldn’t give up rolling over and catching Remus still half asleep on the floor below him.
Sirius’s stomach twists in that familiar and confusing way it always does when he finds himself thinking about Remus. A low lying ache knotting itself deep in his gut and it makes him want to throw up a little.
Even last night, watching as he navigated a room in an unfamiliar place with people none of them knew. His quiet hospitality that Sirius always envies, thoughtful contributions to conversations. Sirius found himself catching glimpses of Remus and Alice in the kitchen, washing dishes together in their hushed conversation.
He’s thinking of waiting in the doorway to the balcony, listening to Remus playing and singing along quietly. Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever heard Remus sing before, really sing. Nothing over a quiet whisper in the car or talking over a track during practice. Remus always prefers to be tucked away in the back, unseen, unheard.
The knot in his stomach is starting to give way to the dull nausea that takes over during the lead up to a show. It settles over him, causing his palms to sweat and get clammy, the back of his neck to prickle sending a shiver down his spine. New city, new people and it causes the knot to lessen.
Something about being anonymous excites him.
The sun is already peeking up over the tops of the buildings, shining through the back door and casting the whole living room in a soft yellow-orange glow. James is still knocked out on the couch, head tilted back and mouth open, snoring quietly. His arm is thrown over the armrest, legs splayed out and he looks comfortable.
Always one to make himself at home, to find tenderness and lean into it. James is covered by one of the quilts and Sirius wonders if Alice made it. He wonders if there’s a matching quilt on the bed Remus and Pete are sleeping in.
Stretching, he stands up and grabs his pants from the floor, everything important still in the pockets and his belt still in the loops, he pulls them on. Sirius doesn’t bother with his boots or the buckle on his belt and slips through the back door.
The cool air hits his skin and he hopes it’ll help wake him up, chase off the pre-show nausea with something other than a beer.
Lighting a smoke, he leans on the railing, the metal cold under his forearms. He’s barefoot, the stone chilly under his feet and he puts his head in his hands.
Sirius chain smokes a few cigarettes, lighting another with the last, when the sound of the door creaking breaks him from his stupor.
Whipping his head around, Remus stands in the doorway with a look of shock on his face.
“I’m surprised you’re up.” Sirius beats him to it and Remus shrugs, a one shouldered movement before sliding up beside him.
There’s heavy bags under his eyes and the early morning sun is only making them look worse. Remus always has a vague sadness about him, following him like an ache and Sirius wants to chase it away. An attack dog on the loose, ready to bite.
Remus rubs his face, causing it to redden before he says, “I know I said this the other night, but fuck, I always forget how much Pete snores.”
Sirius snorts, keeping his eyes trained forward, “I’m not excited to sleep in the van with him that’s for sure.”
They’re quiet for a beat, Remus standing next to him in nothing but his well-worn Wranglers, faded paper thin in all the places that bend. They’re too short, ends frayed and there’s a wallet sized imprint on the back pocket, even when his wallet isn’t there. He’s wearing socks, his belt pulled tight so his pants don’t slip down the straight sides of his hips.
“I learned a trick last night,” he says and it’s low like they’re sharing a secret. “If you roll him onto his side it’s not as loud.” Remus is rolling his shoulders, staring forward as he speaks.
Sirius nods, taking a drag and peering at Remus from the corner of his eye. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen this much of Remus. His skin is pale in the sunlight and he still has the breath of a tan line on his arms from a t-shirt.
The scars on his torso are lighter than they used to be, silvery but still a little pink around the edges. The one on his face, deeper than the others, is nestled into his tear duct, skirting around the deep dark circles under his eyes. The one on his nose is almost invisible, nothing but a bump.
Every last scar mapping out a lifetime of shit.
Not hardship or turmoil, just shit. A rough hand dealt to a good person. All of them holding stories of accidents and hardwork. All of them save for the claw-like stretch marks that peek up over the top of his waistband from the summer he grew an entire five inches. Already tall, Remus shot up and towered over all three of them.
Remus has his eyes closed, face turned towards the sun and there’s freckles dotting over his nose. Not as prominent as they were when they were younger, Sirius still catches glimpses of them in certain lights. His hair is darker, now that he’s no longer toiling away under the sun on the farm. The sandier lighter parts are blending in with the rest of his waves.
When he opens his eyes he catches Sirius staring, cutting him a glance as if to say what? To which Sirius answers with a shake of his head, his cheeks heating and the blush creeps all the way along his neck and he has to look away.
Remus grins, knocking his shoulder gently and pulling out a fancy Zippo from his front pocket.
“This is new.” Sirius looks at him again, jutting his chin out and there’s a satisfying metallic click when it closes.
Taking a long drag, Remus exhales from the corner of his mouth, batting the smoke away from his face before answering, “Lily gave it to me.” He flips it around to show it to Sirius, RJL engraved on it in a scrawling script.
Sirius takes it from his palm, twisting it around to get a better look. “And she didn’t get this for your birthday?” He raises a suspicious brow.
“No, not for my birthday.” he responds with a roll of his eyes and a snort and Sirius tries to recall if he’s been using it since they were in New York. “It was a just because present.”
Sirius narrows his eyes, “Did Marlene get you a—just because—present?”
“A record.”
“A record? Which one?”
“Why? Wanna know if you got me the same one? Or if she knows me better than you?” Sirius tries to fight the roiling jealousy that surges through him as Remus huffs a gentle laugh.
“Don’t worry about it.” he says quietly, knocking Sirius’s shoulder tenderly.
They stay like that, arms hanging over the railing, gentle drags of their cigarettes in the quiet morning that doesn’t quite feel like spring. Sirius is biting his lip, thinking of the night before and his brow furrows together and before he can stop it, he’s opening his mouth.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing before.”
Remus looks like he’s been kicked in the chest, all the air knocked out of him and it takes a moment to collect himself.
“Didn’t think you’d heard that.”
“I did, the door was open. Frank made a comment about how he was glad to have us around. Alice gets lonely up here since all her friends are back home and all the women at work have babies. He was so happy you knew something by Hank Williams.”
He sucks in his bottom lip, rolling the smoke between his index finger and thumb like he always does when he wants to avoid something.
“I’ve only sung outside of church once.”
And before Sirius can even have a thought in his fucking head, he asks “when?” but there’s no intonation to it because he knows the answer.
His mother’s funeral.
They share a flash of grief between them, one that spans four summers and four winters and the seasons in between and a new found feeling that Sirius is still getting used to. One he hasn’t fully let himself feel yet. One he hasn’t gotten through and is still in the midst of.
Their eyes lock and Sirius is pleading with his gaze because he doesn’t know how to do it with his mouth. I remember how awful that time was, I’m just stupid, I remember it all. I sat in the corner of that hospital room. I was there. I remember.
But before he can open his mouth to try, Pete stumbles out onto the balcony. He’s sleep mussed, a quilt draped over his bare shoulders and it matches the one from the living room.
Sirius doesn’t get a chance to say anything, and Remus doesn’t look any less stricken.
Remus wonders if Sirius went to the funeral.
If Sirius was even allowed to go. He wonders if Walburga and Orion had shown up at the Potter’s door after months of nothing—a year of nothing—to steal their son back for a few hours. To save face amongst the town. They would have stuffed him in a suit, fed him lines and then dumped him back with Fleamont and Euphemia when they no longer needed him.
They would have used his shock to their advantage, paraded him around while he was still pliable and unable to bite back.
All the Black family ever wanted to do was keep up with appearances, but word travels fast in a small town and Walburga never passed up the opportunity to play the victim.
Remus remembers the phone ringing, how he was in his room at his aunt’s. Shipped off to Connecticut right after graduating with barely a chance to say goodbye. Not even a year later and his aunt is calling him down into the kitchen, telling him Sirius’s brother is dead.
The feeling of the news, the way it washes over him like a cold sweat even now, is something he will never shake.
“Did he, did he call? Did Sirius call?” His words stutter out as he stands in the doorway of the kitchen. “Did he sound okay? Is he still on the phone?” Remus looks around quickly, but the phone is hung up on the wall, cord twisted around itself like his aunt had been pacing while talking.
She looks up at him, tears rimming her eyes before she shakes her head. Remus sits down at the kitchen table, staring at the spot just next to her.
“No sweetheart, your dad called.” She swallows and Remus nods, letting her collect herself. “He wanted to know if you were coming home for the funeral.”
He didn’t go. He couldn’t go. Remus didn’t have enough money to catch the train and his aunt needed the car to get to work. Even if he could borrow the car, he wasn’t ready to make the five hour drive alone. Remus still hasn’t driven alone since the accident, he’ll never admit it but his hands always shake before he gets into a car, especially when sober.
Pete hadn’t moved to Queens yet, his parents and him still lived in their old house along the concession, so he was the odd one out.
They never did talk about it, never brought it up when he was around, just like they never talked about the death of his mother. It was just something that happened and they moved on. Sirius, James and even Pete, all stayed tight lipped.
It makes Remus feel like an outsider, like when his dad sent him to live with his aunt, a door had closed on that part of his life. No longer a teenager in a small town, he was thrust into adulthood, forced to navigate it with little guidance.
Sometimes, there are moments where he catches glimpses of his old life, like peering through a crack in a doorway. Sometimes it’s something one of them says, a memory dredged up and it feels like that crack is being opened, like he’s being allowed back in.
But then the distance grows.
Sirius and James go back to Lancaster and he goes back to Connecticut and there are still so many things left unsaid.
In a way, Remus does the same. He’s always had a tough time opening up and it hasn’t gotten easier as he’s gotten older.
In the beginning, he worked part-time stocking shelves at a supermarket since full-time wasn’t conducive to him going into New York to play gigs every other week. When he was new, a few of the girls who worked the tills tried to invite him out. He always declined politely but never felt inclined to give them a reason.
There had been a few times that he went out alone to little bars that had jukeboxes or live music. He’d watch the bands, staying along the outskirts and soaking it in, wanting to be anywhere but the place he was supposed to call home.
Remus has always been someone who is comfortable with spending time alone. In fact, he got really good at it when he was young. That had always been something that he and Sirius connected about, the hours spent alone when they were kids. Pete and James always had their parents, people to go home to. But Remus and Sirius never did.
His parents worked, Remus could never hold that against them, he understood that they needed to. His mom was a nurse and whenever his dad wasn’t dealing with the farm, he was picking up odd jobs around town to make ends meet.
Sirius on the other hand, his parents just didn’t care. A father who worked to avoid them, a mother who was supposed to care for him and his brother. Two kids left to fend for themselves in a house of opulence.
Remus had only met them a handful of times, and didn't need to see them more than that to know the kind of people they are.
But where Remus was completely alone, Sirius always had a brother to take care of.
There was a stretch of time where Sirius’s parents had just disappeared. Up and left for some business trip leaving nothing but a note and a wad of cash on the counter.
He confided in Remus, one night as they lay in the basement of the Potter’s. Sirius had only just begun living with them and Remus could tell the guilt of leaving Regulus behind ate at him.
“I’m worried about Reggie.” he says and they aren’t looking at one another, instead they’re staring at the ceiling.
“Why?”
“Something’s…off…with him.” Looking back Remus wishes he pressed further, asked more questions, but in hindsight, it’s always easier to see what he should have done.
At the time, Remus had been too busy thinking about how they were alone. Lying next to each other on the shag carpet, listening to records quietly. The edges of their pinkies almost touching and Remus was fighting the urge to reach out and grab Sirius’s hand. To reel him in and hold him close and tell him everything would be okay.
Remus always knew he was different, assumed he was nothing but a late bloomer or thought that’s how everyone starts and he will get to feel that spark eventually.
He listens to the way James talks about Lily, or Pete talks about girls and he didn’t know if he had ever felt that way.
Until it hit him.
Sirius.
Lying on the brown shag carpet surrounded by the wood panelled walls as Sirius whispers, “tell me a secret.” And all Remus wants to do is spill his guts.
Sirius always makes him feel this way and Remus had always chalked it up to what they were doing whenever they were together. Running from teachers, stealing booze from his parents liquor cabinet, smoking weed in the forest, jumping off cliffs at the quarry. They were always up to no good.
But in these quiet moments, the ones they share between just the two of them, he feels the same.
Sometimes he thinks about the crush, thinks about how Sirius makes him feel. Debates on whether he should say something.
Then he thinks better of it, and buries it down again.
“Good morning boys! How did everyone sleep?” Alice emerges from a closed door in a fluffy dressing gown, her short hair sleep mussed but wearing a big smile.
There’s a chorus of grumbles from various spots in the apartment. James is still passed out on the couch and hasn’t moved. Pete is parked on the floor, elbows on the coffee table flipping through a magazine and Sirius is banging around in the kitchen.
Remus is at the kitchen table, book open, trying to pick apart what Leonard Cohen is saying, when Alice enters. She sees Sirius and his attempt to make coffee and clucks at him in such a way that he’s brought back to Sunday’s after church when his mother was still alive.
A shiver runs through him, settling in his toes and causing them to go numb. He never expected he would have to face these memories in someone else’s kitchen. Remus is still trying to read, trying to focus on the page and understand the words.
He can’t think of the way Sirius’s eyes softened on the balcony just now. The way he looked at Remus and it felt like pity.
Sirius is talking to Alice, Frank has gone off to work and she’s fussing over what to make for breakfast. He can feel the tingling in his fingers, the urge to get up and help. To put his book away and clean or cook or be useful in some way.
But he keeps his head down, trying to block it out and just read, to spend a little time away from Sirius. All he can think about is the way his face contorted when he realised what he said this morning and Remus couldn’t find the words to tell him everything is okay.
But is it? Will it all be alright?
“Did you bring any other books?” Sirius sits down next to him at the table, pulling his chair closer and leaning in. Alice is clanking away in the kitchen, getting coffee and breakfast ready.
Remus looks up at him, warmth in his eyes. They look at each other for a moment, calm settling and Remus knows this is Sirius’s way of brushing everything under the rug. Not wanting to address what he said earlier.
“Why? Wanna borrow one?” he asks and Sirius blushes. Almost imperceptibly, a little bit of pink across his nose.
He has his arms folded on the table, t-shirt pulled on haphazardly and one of the sleeves is caught up around his bicep. His hair is wild, falling in waves to his shoulders and it looks like he’s tried to pat it down so it will lay flat.
“Kinda.” There’s a twitch in the corner of his lip and a jolt runs right through to Remus’s heart. The blush has settled and Remus tents the book he was reading on the table.
There are two others in front of him. Sirius reaches over, picking up The Picture of Dorian Gray and flipping it so he can read the back.
“I also have Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and this one.” Remus slides Spice Box of Earth across the table for him to look at.
“Interesting mix.” He’s still looking at The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Remus shrugs, leaning back in the chair, “The poetry book is because we’re goin to Montréal, I thought it would be nice since Cohen’s from there.” He clears his throat quickly before continuing. “Fear and Loathing just felt right and Marlene got that one for me from the bookstore she fills in at sometimes. You know the one on Christopher?” Sirius is nodding but he’s still looking at the book, brows coming together before he finally pulls away, trance broken.
“I didn’t know Marlene works at a bookstore.”
Remus snorts, “Yeah, bookstore, record store, diner and sometimes the movie theatre over in Alphabet city.”
The corners of his mouth turn down as he nods his head. Truth is, he brought Fear and Loathing for Sirius, saw it in a shop and bought it on a whim. Remembering Hunter S. Thompson’s name from the stacks of Rolling Stone magazines Sirius would keep in his room. The ones that were lost when he left home.
“You can borrow this one, haven’t started it yet.” He slides The Picture of Dorian Gray across the table.
“Wow, Moony lending out a book.” Pete comments, sitting across from Sirius at the table and picking it up. He’s glancing over it and as he does it, Remus can feel Sirius’s eyes on the side of his face.
“So, now that we’re all awake.” Sirius looks around the table, “What’re we going to cover tonight?”
Alice is in the kitchen making one last round of toast for them and Sirius can hear her humming to herself quietly. The same old tune Remus was playing on guitar the night before.
“Why don’t we just do Magic Man again?” Pete asks, leaning over his plate like someone’s going to steal it from him. His eyes are still hazy from sleep and red from the weed.
Sirius rolls his eyes, “We’ve already done that one, we need another. Something fun.”
“I dunno man, we could just keep it for the rest of the shows? It’s not like we’re playing Arelene’s over and over. Everyone’s going to be new.” Pete says and Sirius is already shaking his head. Alice returns with a rack of toast, placing it in the middle of the table.
“No way, we need something fun. We need something that feels like Boston.” Sirius grabs a piece of toast and puts it on his plate.
“Not all of us can just hear something and play it.” Remus’s voice has a rough edge to it, “Some of us need more than a few hours to learn a song.” He shrinks when Remus says it, shoulders caving, stomach dropping.
“Rem’s right.” James says through a mouthful of food, looking at Sirius specifically. “What about Barracuda? We all know that one.”
“We’ve already done a Heart song though.”
Remus lets out a long breath next to him and Sirius can feel his frustration. He almost wants to keep going, to keep pushing him, to see how far he can take it. Sirius can’t remember the last time he’s seen Remus lose his cool but a little bit of him wants to make it happen.
“Okay, NIB?” James tries and Remus shakes his head.
“If we play that, Remus has to face the audience.” Sirius pipes up and Remus lets out a groan next to him.
“Give me time with that one.” Remus mutters quietly, “It’s not complicated I just—”
Sirius cuts him off before he can continue. “Fine, something by Van Halen?”
“Which song?” James’s attention has been piqued.
“Don’t you fucking dare say Erruption.” Pete chimes in.
Sirius leans back in his chair for a second, lips pursed. “Running with the Devil?”
“Meh.”
“You Really Got Me?” Sirius tries, brows raised in Pete’s direction. He knows Pete loves the song.
“That’s not a Van Halen song.” James says, exasperated.
“Yeah but they do it better than The Kinks.”
“Rich to say that but okay.” James mutters, stabbing a piece of bacon.
“You’re just still mad about no Beatles in the van.”
Pete’s humming, tapping out the beat on the table with his hands, bobbing his head along. His mouth forms a hard line, blond brows coming together before he looks at Sirius.
“We could do this one.” He’s grinning, still banging along.
Alice is looking between the four of them, sipping her coffee.
“See Pete’s on my side.”
Remus rolls his eyes, leaning back in the chair, arm draped over the back. “You just wanna do something flashy.”
“Always Moons. Always.” He gets up, chair scraping across the hardwood. Pulling his guitar from its case, he sits back down at the table and strums it out a bit. They’ve played this song before, used it as practice but it’s been a while.
There’s a little part of Sirius that always remembers chords, he can just sit down and pull it forward like opening a book and finding a page. Remus is next to him, watching his hands as he plays and he stops and starts a few times, fingers fumbling before he can pick it up again.
“I’m just so impressed.” Alice mutters from the other end of the table.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Remus watches the crowd as he stands at the bar, bands milling about before going up to the stage to play. They aren’t big enough for an opener, so Moody’s booked them as a tack onto a few shows showcasing local talent.
Sirius is a few beers deep and just as many joints, leaning against the counter, facing the stage. Him and Pete were lounging in the sun all afternoon, talking music and smoking on the balcony.
He’s a lot less uptight than he was earlier, less shaky and Remus takes notice. The general calm that falls over Sirius when he drinks. No longer chomping at the bit to try and get a rise out of someone.
He’s bottling it up.
All of the emotions, the grief, everything is being shoved down deeper instead of being dealt with. But that’s none of Remus’s business.
Remus heaves a breath, Sirius and James probably talk, share quiet whispers with one another since they live together. James probably knows it all, all Sirius’s inner workings while once again, he stands on the outside.
He takes a sip of his beer, facing the small stage in the corner. This place is nothing like Arlene’s and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing.
Arlene’s is smaller, more intimate and usually packed with people no matter who’s playing. Usually, Remus would be able to look into the crowd and pick out a few familiar faces.
Sirius had wanted to get to the venue early, so they did. The four of them showed up and checked in with whoever Mabel is. James checked Moody’s map three times to make sure they were at the right place while Remus struggled with one of Pete’s drum cases.
They had time to sit around for a bit, figuring things out, solidifying the setlist and snacking on chips bought from the shop around the corner.
More bands arrived, the space started to get packed and Remus found himself shrinking against the bar until now.
Sirius is sliding up next to him, matching his posture, beer in hand and eyes trained on the stage. The crowd moves, ebbs and flows as the next band sets up. A few people around them are having a conversation, something about going somewhere after and Remus is trying to tune it out.
“He’s got a Rickenbacker.” Sirius shouts and he’s on Remus’s bad side so he turns, trying to hear him better but getting nothing but static.
There’s a second between them and Remus is tempted to ask Sirius to repeat himself, but instead he says, “The guitarist?”
Sirius shakes his head and Remus leans in more, tilting his head.
“No, no the bass player.” he says, louder this time. “Lemmy plays a Rickenbacker, they have a woody punchy upper mid kind of feel to them. This band is going to sound aggressive.”
Remus just nods, leaning away as Sirius continues to stare, to absorb and as he does, Remus can feel the gap between them growing.
Sometimes during shows at Arlene’s Remus would see Sirius turn to James, their faces almost touching as they talk over the roar of the crowd and the drone of the music. Remus never caught what they were saying, too busy trying to tamp down his nerves.
And now he wishes he had.
Sirius elbows him, pointing to the stage and motioning with his head. He says something, but Remus can’t hear it over the feedback.
The first band of the night is getting up on the dais—another Moody find—an all girl outfit from upstate New York called Nothing but a Gash. Remus wonders where the fuck they got that name from.
“Look!” Sirius is motioning again, leaning in like he does with James and Remus does his best to angle himself down to hear. He’s pointing to the bass player, a slight girl with a haircut like David Bowie on the cover of Aladdin Sane but dyed jet black.
“Watch how she plays.” He continues and Remus nods, not really wanting to watch. He sneaks glimpses of Sirius from the corner of his eye. His sharp jaw in profile, lights from the stage casting him in an ethereal glow and he’s nodding along to the beat.
Eyes closed, it’s like he’s in a trance and Remus can’t help but get sucked in. He isn’t even pretending not to look anymore, enthralled in just being this close to him.
The crowd is pulsing, frenetic energy flowing with the energy of the performance. They’re tight, succinct, working with each other and their silent communication on stage. The bassist keeps a close eye on the drummer, turning in and smiling.
The singer—also their guitar player—is powerful, her voice angry and raspy. Remus loves it, finds himself no longer trying to watch Sirius from the corner of his eye. He’s watching the crowd, seeing how they react to what they’re listening to.
They’re moving, still pulsing and a few people are starting to shove one another in the crush. A tussle breaks out and he’s pulled back to sweaty nights at CBGB with Marlene.
The pushing and pulling, mass of bodies moving as one as the band plays and they’re all getting lost. Only tonight he won’t be stumbling home with Marlene on his arm after drinking too much. Falling onto Lily’s living room floor and waiting for the room to stop spinning.
He’ll be back at Frank and Allice’s wondering if Sirius is thinking of him. Remus shakes his head, sucking in a quick breath and looking back at the stage.
“It’s been a pleasure, we’re Nothing but a Gash!” The lead singer says into the mic, her lips pressed right against it, breathing hard. Sirius nudges him gently and Remus looks over.
“I wonder if it’s a play on The Slits.” he says and Remus shrugs, draining his beer.
His palms are sweating, mixing with the condensation from the bottle and he’s worried he’s going to drop it. Turning to put it on the counter as Alice and Frank enter and make their way over.
Frank looks tired, dark circles under his eyes but Alice is all smiles. She let them be all afternoon, leaving them a key to head off to the library but not before she promised to come to the show later.
She pulls him into a tight hug and he can feel his shoulders relax, even if it’s just a little. Pete’s next to him immediately, chatting away with Frank as James joins them.
Remus thinks about writing Marlene a postcard at their next stop, just to thank her for bringing Alice into their lives.
Pete claps Remus on the shoulder gruffly, levelling him with a look before raising a brow and Sirius is off chatting with the lead singer of the previous band.
“Doing okay?” he asks. Remus nods stiffly, always ready to vomit before he gets on stage. The contents of his stomach churning in an unappetizing manner.
He fidgets with the zippo as they set up, flicking it open and closed and the crowd pulls in closer. Whispers amongst them of who they are, excitement filling the room.
“They’re from New York.”
“I heard they’re a Mad Eye Moody band!”
“Do you think they’ve played with Blondie?”
The smoke in the room hangs heavy, casting everyone in a hazy purple glow as Remus looks out. His bass weighs on his shoulders, strap cutting into his neck and he takes a breath, turning to Pete.
Sirius is fiddling with the mic stand, bringing it up as he checks his guitar strap. He throws a look over his shoulder, catching Remus’s eyes as he waits. Bright smile, pearly white and half crooked, like Sirius was born for this.
He gives Remus a thumbs up, waiting a slight furrow to his brow like he’s worried. Remus returns the gesture and the look is gone. Erased like it was never there and Sirius is looking out into the crowd.
“Hi there,” Sirius’s voice reverberates throughout the room as he strums lightly, tinkering with the tuning pegs. Remus turns to watch him, still parked close to Pete and his drum kit.
“My name is Sirius Black, and we are The Dark Stars.”
Chapter 5
Notes:
Teeny tiny inaccuracy in this chapter that I didn't even think of until recently. I mention tuning the radio to the drive-in station and parking as close as possible (something I used to do as a teen lol) BUT they didn't switch to radio signal for the movie audio until the 80s and since this takes place in 1979 it would still be the speaker attached to the car. So this is just a selfish memory insert on my part.
Recommended Listening
Sunday Morning - The Velvet Underground
I’m not in love - 10CC
Factory Girl - The Rolling Stones
In My Time of Dying - Led Zeppelin
Albatross - Fleetwood Mac
Chapter Text
Part Three: Portland
March 18, 1979
Sirius wakes the next morning with an odd feeling in his chest. A clawing, sharp sensation nesting deep that he thought he escaped when he left Lancaster, but here it is.
Something set him off the night before.
After the set, while he was talking to one of the girls from Nothing but a Gash, he caught a glimpse of someone in the crowd. A familiar face he hasn’t seen in a while.
Shaggy black hair, falling into the same piercing blue grey eyes that once looked up at him. There had been a shift in the air, his heart caught up in his chest, breath gone from his lungs. Sirius had wanted to reach out and say something, shout to get his attention, but when he blinked, he was gone.
Sometimes Sirius sees him in crowds of people. The curve of his jaw, the edge of a shoulder, a quick glimpse of the same quicksilver eyes or dark black hair.
At first, Sirius had thought it was the beginning of the end, the old Black Family Madness finally knocking down his door, getting ready to take him. He hadn’t been running from it for long, but it was only a matter of time.
A little while after Reggie had died he asked Effie about it on a quiet Saturday morning. It was just the two of them, too early for Monty to be awake yet. Usually not an early riser, Sirius has been woken by a dream.
He can feel the edges of a nightmare crawling over his skin as he sits at their kitchen table. He knows he didn’t sleep well but can’t remember what kept him awake. It settles in his bones, the restlessness mixing with the marrow and refusing to leave. It makes him feel like he’s vibrating, his hands shaking as he fidgets with his coffee cup.
“Do you want something more than cereal this morning?” Effie’s voice is quiet.
He shakes his head, grip tightening around the mug. It’s brown with little orange flowers on it, James and Sirius bought Effie the set for Christmas last year. Effie’s mug sits next to its saucer that she’s using as an ashtray. A little secret between the two of them because Monty hates it when she does.
“Sweetheart, is everything alright?” she asks and Sirius can already feel the tears prick high in his nose. The worry settling deeper into his stomach as the space between them lengthens. He doesn’t know where to begin, how to start.
Is it nothing but remnants of the nightmares he had last night? Is this something he should really worry about? Sirius finally looks up, meeting her gaze.
“Can you,” the words are strangled and he has to swallow before he continues. “I keep…I keep seeing him.” His leg is bouncing, his knee just barely brushing the bottom of the table and he isn’t looking at her anymore. Can’t bring himself to meet her gaze.
There’s a noise from the end of the table, air sucked in too quickly and ceramic on the wood table. Sirius flinches at the sudden change, braces for the screaming to start, clutching his mug tighter. But it never comes, instead she says his brother's name so softly, so quietly.
“Regulus?”
He nods again, a stilted movement and struggles to swallow before speaking, “Sometimes I think I see him in town…I-I dreamt,”—he looks up and there’s tears welling in her eyes—“he’s not there, he can’t be there…he’s—”
Sirius has never seen Effie cry before, not in all the years he’s known her. She wasn’t invited to the funeral, none of them were. Pete came round to the Potter’s after Walburga and Orion dropped him off, after they were done with him. Throwing him back when they no longer needed him.
He’s glad they didn’t come to the funeral. It was full of stiff backed people who didn’t even know Reg. They all stood around the Black family home, talking about him like they knew who he was, but they didn’t, no one did.
“Sweetheart,” Effie’s voice again, sweet and quiet and Sirius is still glaring at the coffee cup. His knuckles have gone white, gripping it so hard, focusing on the feel of it.
“Am I,”—his voice cracks—“is this the curse? Is this the Black family curse? Am I going crazy? He’s dead and I keep seeing him, he’s dead.” he whispers the last bit, like if he speaks it aloud it will come true and be real. There’s scraping across the floor, wood on linoleum and Effie is taking him into her arms just like she would for James.
He’s so much bigger than she is now, no longer a scrawny little kid coming over after school to hang around with her son. She pulls his head into her shoulder, arms gripping him tight as he finally lets go.
“No Sirius, you’re not going crazy, I promise you—” She says more, says so many more things that are supposed to make him feel better, to reassure him that the curse isn’t taking hold. But he doesn’t hear them over the sound of his own sobs.
They wrack his body, taking over and he can no longer breathe as she rubs slow circles in his back and he realises that she’s crying too.
He doesn’t feel reassured when she tells him he isn’t going crazy. He doesn't know what to do with it. How is she supposed to know that he isn’t going crazy when she isn’t in his head? When she hasn’t seen it happen to countless members of the Black family?
Someone’s banging on the bathroom door, open palm against the wood and Sirius is hurtled back to Alice’s bathroom. He shakes his head, blinking away the remnants of tears. The water’s hot, scalding him and his skin is red and raw from scrubbing. He turns around, tilting his head back to wash out the rest of the shampoo.
It smells like strawberries and it immediately reminds him of Lily and her penchant for berry scents.
“Sirius!” It’s Pete’s voice on the other side of the door, followed by another open handed smack on the wood. “Stop hogging the fucking bathroom!”
“Gimme a minute!” He grabs the crusty bar soap from the corner and lathers up, letting the water cascade over him again. The bathroom is small, old clawfoot tub crammed into a corner with a pedestal sink and a toilet under a frosted window. The shower curtain—yellow with cats along the bottom—looks new, like Alice picked it out and bought it right before they showed up.
Sirius takes another long breath, scuffling on the other side of the door before more pounding.
“There’s gonna be no hot water left!” Pete shouts again.
“There will be!” Sirius shuts off the tap, reaching through the curtain and grabbing a towel.
“Are you masterbating in there? I swear to God you’ve been in there for thirty fucking minutes! I have to piss!”
Another rapp on the door and Sirius is tempted to start moaning, to call someone’s name out in a simulated orgasm—but the first name he thinks of is Remus.
Blood rushing to his cheeks, already light headed from the heat of the shower he swallows the thought. Burying it deep within himself and taking a breath, clambers out of the clawfoot.
Sirius wraps the towel tight around his waist, waiting a second before throwing the door open. Pete’s standing on the other side, slack jawed look on his face before everything kick starts again.
Pushing past Sirius he rushes into the bathroom mumbling something before slamming the door.
Sirius saunters into the living room and James snorts before saying loudly, “I told him to wait or just piss outside.”
He shrugs in response, and James is shaking his head, turning back to the magazine in his lap.
They’re already starting to get in each other’s hair, to push each other’s buttons. The close quarters and tight scheduling begin to wear on them and Sirius is feeling it. He digs through his backpack, pulling out his pants and smelling a t-shirt to see if it’s the one he was in last night. Slipping into the spare room he changes, grabbing his toothbrush before crossing the living room towards the bathroom.
The shower is running, Pete and James flopped on the floor playing cards.
“Remus is in there!” Pete says sternly and when Sirius passes, he just waves him off.
He tries the bathroom door which swings open.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Remus mutters on the other side of the shower curtain and Sirius leaves the door open, the heat escaping into the living room. He leans in over the pedestal sink and wipes the condensation off the mirror before turning on the tap.
“Should have locked the door!” he says with a smirk, shoving his toothbrush in his mouth and turning to rest on the sink. He’s facing the shower now and can just make out Remus’s outline, a faint shadow cast from the lighting overhead.
It almost feels like they’re back in Lily’s apartment, Sirius brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink while someone showers next to him.
The water shuts off, pipes groaning and Sirius is still brushing his teeth. Leaning into the sink he spits. He can hear Remus on the other side of the shower curtain, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. Droplets hitting the plastic before they fall into silence.
Nothing but the low sound of the radio in the other room and Pete and James’s idle chatter.
There’s a long sigh from behind the curtain before, “Did Pete use the last towel?”
Sirius looks through the mirror at Remus’s shadow.
“Nah there’s one left.”
“How small is it?”
“Mmmmmm—”
“It’s a hand towel isn’t it?”
“Nah it’s a little bigger than that.”
There’s a long and loud groan from behind the curtain.
“I can never shower in peace with any of you—Jesus fucking Christ—my God.” Sirius slips out for a moment, retrieving his used towel from where it was hanging in the bedroom and tossing it over the top of the curtain rod.
“Y’all are gonna write? I wanna keep in touch, and not just from Marlene’s half-assed postcards when she can remember.” Alice says and Sirius smirks. She has James’s face in her hands, reaching up and forcing eye contact.
They’re packing the van slowly, taking their time and soaking up the last few minutes before they hit the road again. It’s only two hours from Boston to Portland, but after Sirius’s mishap the other day, James wants to leave early.
He had cited it was to ‘scope out the venue and find a place to stay’ but Sirius knew it was just in case they get lost on their way in.
Sirius has the map spread out over the hood of the van, finger tracing Moody’s pen marks and reading his notes. Frank is over his shoulder helping him decide the route, adding insight of his own.
“Next time I see you, you’d better be able to play along with the whole Joan Baez album.” Sirius jokes with a smile and Frank lights up immediately.
“Oh you bet, with what you showed me I’ll be able to do more than that.”
Alice shoves a container into Pete’s hand that he tries to refuse. She’s turned the rolls from last night’s dinner into sandwiches.
“I just want you to have something made with a little love. Lord knows when your next chance at home cooking will be.”
Sirius gets in the front seat and James is already talking a mile a minute, going over the directions.
“I have to turn left to get on the freeway going north. We’re going north and it shouldn’t take us that long to get there—”
Pete’s wrenching on the backdoor from the outside, throwing his body weight into it and Remus makes a disapproving noise. Reaching back, Sirius gets the handle to click, door sticking as it slides along the rails.
He leans forward, map in his lap, taking a cigarette from the pack on the dash and lights it with one hand. Taking a drag, he runs his finger along the route Frank mapped out, only half listening to James’s muttering.
Turning the key, Minnie wakes with a great groan, metal on metal and Sirius holds his breath. He thinks about making a joke about her being tired or finicky but when he catches James’s eyes across the console, he knows he shouldn’t.
Uh oh.
James is the first to look away, focusing on the road ahead. In the rearview, Sirius catches Remus’s eyes, a gentle raise of his brow but Sirius doesn’t let the worry show. Flashing a grin, he looks down at the map again.
Alice and Frank are waving from the curb as they pull away, broad smiles on their faces and Sirius’s stomach twists.
It takes a second for the radio to start up. It crackles in the background as Sirius reads what’s on the map.
“We need to get onto the freeway, you have to turn right at these lights.” he says, folding the edge of the map so he can see through the windshield better. He’s trying to read the signs, leaning forward, smoke dangling from his lips and squinting through the sun.
Something familiar creeps in through the static, a song he hasn’t heard in years and in an instant he’s somewhere else.
A different car, heart pounding, palms sweating as Remus sat bleeding in the passenger seat. A stupid look on his face, eyes soft as the sun filtered through the trees and they sped through the back roads. Remus was looking at Sirius like he was the last person he’d ever see and even to this day it made his guts twist.
James clears his throat, head on a swivel checking his blindspot as he white knuckles the steering wheel.
It’s quiet, the song barely audible above the gentle roar of the engine. Sirius finds himself settling his back against the seat, pulling his leg up and rolling the window down, letting the air in. He dangles his cigarette in loose fingers, tempted to look in the mirror, wondering if Remus is thinking the same thing.
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you
His heart is thundering and when he takes a drag his breath catches in his chest, a gentle hiccup. His eyes drift to the mirror and he can see Remus over his shoulder in the back. His head is tilted down, book open on his lap, shoulders hunched forward. His eyes flick up, so green through his dark lashes and Sirius’s cheeks heat.
Now that I've found you, stay
And let me love you, baby
Let me love you
He has to look away.
“Where am I turning? Sirius pay attention where am I turning, which way am I going, you’re not—”
Sirius’s head snaps to the direction of the noise.
“Jamie you’re fine, look,”—Sirius points—“follow the signs we’re getting on the fucking freeway. It’s only one of two directions.”
“Yeah but which direction?!”
Sirius rolls his eyes, “I-93 North. We’re going North, even I fucking know that and I can’t drive.”
“Legally.” Pete pipes up from the back seat and Remus snorts.
“Also how the fuck have you not turned this off yet? The Beatles are shit but Engelbert Humperdinck is fine?” James is reaching across the console, hand about to hit the tuner when there’s commotion from the back.
“Don’t change it.” Remus says and James stops mid reach, hand hovering.
“Moony?! You’re a secret Humperdinck fan?” Remus gives a shrug and James groans, pulling onto the freeway. “Just for this we’re listening to Abbey Road.”
No one puts up a fuss when he puts the tape on, not even Sirius who looks at Remus through the mirror once again.
The four of them are killing time in a pool hall down the street from the venue.
They always split into the same teams when playing pool, Remus and Pete versus Sirius and James. Once, Sirius had been partnered with Pete way back in high school when the local bar let them in before 9:00 pm to play pool and watch bands. It ended rather poorly since Pete didn’t have a competitive bone in his body and spent more time laughing with the group next to them than setting up his shots.
“We got lost going into Boston, I assumed it would be the same.” James mutters under his breath and Remus just snorts at him. He’s been griping about showing up early for the last thirty minutes. Leaning against the wall, James watches as Sirius sets up his shot.
Their table is tucked into a corner of the hall, right next to the cigarette vending machine and across from the bar.
“This is nice though, we get to hang out somewhere other than Minnie.” Sirius’s cue cracks against a ball and it ricochettes across the table but doesn’t hit its target. Remus smirks as it comes to a stop and steps up to the table.
“Minnie?” he asks, half bent over, lining up his shot. “Who’s Minnie?” He takes the shot, sinking a striped ball and Sirius growls next to him.
“The van.” James responds, taking his turn quickly before rifling through his pocket.
“You named the van?” Pete sounds quizzical, brow raising as he walks the length of the table, eyeing a few of the balls and hunching over. Remus knows he’s just pretending to be into it.
Sirius scoffs, “Of course we did, she’s named after a cat my uncle Alphard had.” Crossing his arms. He looks over the table at Remus, gaze warm under the soft lighting. Remus can’t tell if Sirius is trying to see his reaction or get a read on what ball he’s going for next.
“A cat?!” Pete’s arm flies out, cue popping into the air and hitting the light before he catches himself.
“Yeah, she purrs but she’s feisty.” Sirius says with a shrug.
“The feist is a little worrisome.” Remus mutters under his breath, flipping the cue and resting his hands on it. He uses this time to stretch his hip, hoping no one will notice.
Pete regains his composure with a gentle shake of his head, stepping up to take his shot and sinking the wrong ball.
He shrugs, eyes cutting to Remus before saying, “that’s fine, I know we’ve lost. I'll buy the next round?” He’s already walking towards the bar, not waiting for them to answer.
There’s a dullness settling over him, new surroundings fogging his senses and Remus has an ache in the pit of his stomach. The hall is loud, conversations hitting the roof and echoing down. Bouncing around in his skull in an overwhelming way.
James starts fiddling with the cigarette machine close to their table. He feeds it a couple of quarters, tries to pull one of the knobs and gives it a smack for good measure.
When nothing happens, he gestures over to the counter, saying something Remus can’t quite hear over the lull of the background noise of everyone else in the hall talking.
Since the accident things have changed, been different. His hip is stiff, leg sore, hearing not what it used to be. There’s a constant low lying hum that follows him, sounds are muffled on his left side when he isn’t paying attention. He swallows, closing his eyes for a moment and waiting for the feeling to pass.
But it doesn’t.
Acknowledging James leaving, Sirius slides up next to Remus, placing his cue down on the table. He’s still hung up on feelings from the van, and wasn't expecting to rehash the memory of the hayloft to Alice, even if it was the condensed version.
Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, sharp pressure and pushes any thought of that possibility out of his mind, out of his life.
“Nervous yet?” Sirius often asks this before shows, knowing Remus gets nauseous just like he does. They’re crowded around the corner of the pool table, almost shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the green cloth.
Remus drags a hand through his hair, something to do with his hands as he nods. “I always feel like puking my guts up until you start singing.”
Sirius has a joint between his lips, freshly rolled. More tobacco than weed this late in the day and this close to a show. Remus digs his lighter from his pocket, leaning over and lighting it in the unspoken way he always does.
“We can share.” Sirius says, taking a long drag and letting the smoke out through the side of his mouth. They’re facing each other now, the hum of the bar dimming. Remus nods, taking the joint from Sirius and their fingers brush. A split second of a touch and all Remus can think about is the expanse of Sirius’s skin from the other day.
Parading through Alice’s living room in nothing but a towel, hair sticking to his head and a determined look on his face. Remus licks his lips, exhaling and passing it back.
He glances over to the bar and Pete’s preoccupied. James is telling his tale of lost quarters to someone who will listen. Cornering a man who looks vaguely important and pointing back to the machine. The man is nodding, turning and grabbing a set of keys.
“Hey.”
Remus whips his head around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and is met with two girls standing on his left side. They’re both a lot shorter than him, one of the girls has long pin straight dark hair with two braids framing her face. Her jeans are patched with little hearts and flowers and her tube top shows off a big stretch of her stomach.
The corner of her mouth twitches and Remus doesn’t have the joint on him to feign being busy. It takes him a second longer to respond but he finally says, “Hello?” Already mentally kicking himself for making it sound like a question.
The other girl giggles, a sweet sound and Sirius is leaning over him with an outstretched hand. Joint clenched between his pearly white teeth, he shakes the girls’ hands.
“Sirius.”
“Josie, this is Beth.” The girl with the brown hair juts her thumb out in the direction of her friend.
Beth looks shy, a half step behind Josie she has wide blue eyes framed with sandy blonde hair that’s feathered around her face.
Josie looks at him expectantly and he realises he needs to introduce himself as well.
“Oh uh, I’m Remus.” He knows his hand is sweaty when she shakes it. Sirius is right up against him now, passing him the joint and he takes it gratefully.
Crossing his arms, he hopes it looks casual and isn’t just an excuse to lean away from them. Josie is eyeing him, scrutinising gaze assessing his well-worn jeans, flannel and the coat with the hole in the elbow.
It may already be mid-March but there was frost on the ground in Boston this morning and Remus hasn’t parted with his jacket yet. Sirius on the other hand, tossed his on a chair the second they walked in. The leather is in a heap somewhere and Remus hopes he has his wallet in his pants pocket.
“Not from around here are you?” Josie asks, tilting her head as her eyes dart to Sirius. She’s evaluating the two of them. It’s cat-like, the way she’s assessing him and Sirius plays right into it.
“Nah, we’re from a small town in Pennsylvania. We’re just here for the night.” Sirius says and Remus is still holding the joint, using it to occupy his hands. He rolls it between his index finger and thumb. Casually glancing in Pete’s direction, he’s still chatting with the bartender. James is talking to the man with the keys and there’s no one to butt in and save him from this encounter.
He envies Sirius, absolutely loathes how easily he can talk to people, at times it makes Remus’s blood boil. He can strike up a conversation, find common ground and just keep going.
Whereas Remus struggles. The second he’s caught off guard, the moment he’s taken by surprise, it’s like every thought in his head spills from his ears and lands on the floor.
Beth is rooting around in her purse, the sound of makeup compacts clacking together forcing his attention back to the group. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and takes one out with her teeth. Remus has watched Sirius do this millions of times, but seeing a girl do it feels confusing. The little knot in his stomach that’s taken up permanent residence tightens.
Elbowing him, sharp and to the ribs, Remus holds in a yelp. Sirius is trying to get his attention, miming the motion of a lighter and flicking his eyes in Beth’s direction.
A lighter…
The thought is slow and Remus knows the beer and weed are starting to hit him. With a clumsy hand in his pocket, he produces a lighter and hands it over to Beth.
She plucks it from his fingers, staring at him with a confused look.
It’s at this moment that he registers that he should have lit the cigarette for her. That’s what men do right? They light cigarettes for women, they talk to them and woo them and charm them.
They don’t loom around like a ghoul with blank looks on their faces.
Beth hands the lighter back and he shoves it into his pocket, unable to meet her eyes anymore.
“Only a night, hmm? How come?” Josie leans in. She narrows her eyes, locked on Sirius, “Are you a fugitive on the run?”
Sirius scoffs at her, mocking modesty, “Are you directing that at me specifically?” His eyes flick up and down. It’s quick, sizing her up, deciding.
“I don’t think this straight arrow over here would cross the law.” Josie juts a thumb in his direction and if he wasn’t so high he’d probably take offence to it.
“Nah, Remus is a good boy.” Sirius smirks when he says it, clapping him on the back and looking at Remus with those stupid blue eyes of his. Remus has to move back, taking a step away from them and leaning against the pool table next to theirs. Still close, but removing himself from the line of fire.
“How sweet.” Beth says quietly between gentle drags from her menthol. Her nails are painted a rich red, pink lip gloss staining the filter of her cigarette. Remus is reminded of Emmeline Vance and her sticky cherry flavoured lips. He has to contain the automatic recoil of his face.
Sirius’s lips look dry, but soft—
He stops the thought, puts a hard stop to it. Gripping the table, he focuses on the feel of the wood under his finger tips.
Watching Sirius flirt is like seeing a predator catch prey. It’s precise, he knows just what to say, knows exactly what to do. How to touch, how to woo.
Remus takes another long drag, not bothering to pass the joint back to Sirius and wishing Pete would hurry the fuck up with their beer.
“We’re actually in a band.” Sirius always uses this, knows girls love guys in bands.
Beth lights up immediately, throwing a sideways glance to Josie whose eyes have not left Sirius’s. It’s like a fight for power, who will give up first.
A hum of approval and Josie tilts her head, tucking her braid behind her ear, sizing up this new information. Sirius doubles down, leaning in with his hand on the pool table and the silver of one of his rings catches the light.
“Bet you can’t guess what we do in the band.” he says, challenging. Beth looks over at Remus now, no longer bothering with Sirius. Her hip is popped, nails drumming on the wood of the pool table.
“You’re real shy aren’t you?” she asks suddenly and he doesn’t know if he should nod or not. He doesn’t feel shy, he just doesn’t really want to talk to strangers. So Remus just shrugs.
The girls turn to one another, deliberating about Sirius’s challenge and Remus can see Pete walking across the hall, beers in hand. His saving grace carrying pints.
“I think you’re the drummer.” Beth sounds confident when she says it right to Remus’s face. Already within earshot, Pete comes around the side of the table, plunking down the glasses with a gentle slosh on the green velvet.
“Nah that’s me.” Pete says, passing one of the beers to Sirius, “Pete, nice to meet you.” He gives one of the beers to Beth and another to Josie, taking the last for himself. Remus lets out a long breath, distaste brewing in his chest but he’s doing his best not to let it fester.
“So you’re the guitar player?” Josie directs her question right at Remus, sipping her beer and Remus shakes his head.
“No, bass.” he says flatly. He’s done, doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore, doesn’t even really want to be here anymore.
James is on his way over with the guy he’s been talking to, about to break into the cigarette machine but Remus is already brushing past everyone to get to the bar.
Maybe this was a bad idea, being in such close quarters for an extended period of time with them. They aren’t teenagers anymore, they aren’t in high school, all living in the same dead small town.
Maybe they’re all too different, no longer the same hooligans they were as teens. Maybe everything changed the night of the accident.
Maybe Remus was sent careening off course while everyone else stayed on.
Maybe if the accident never happened, things would have been okay.
Remus slides onto a stool, slapping his wallet on the counter and nods when the bartender acknowledges his presence. He snuffs out the joint, not really caring when it burns the tips of his fingers and orders a shot of whiskey.
He can just barely hear Sirius’s voice, just over the hum people, still talking. Still charming those girls. Pete’s in on it now, laughing along with them and the knot in his stomach really isn’t going away.
It’s twisting, moving to his chest and his heart feels tight behind his ribs.
Someone’s fiddling with the Jukebox in the corner and it’s getting late. The crowd is shifting, turning from groups to couples looking for a night out. Remus notices a few people pairing off as he slugs back the shot, ordering a beer and paying for both with whatever cash he has left in his wallet.
Glancing over to their corner, Josie is sliding her hand into Sirius’s, pulling him into the open space turned dance floor. Beth has Pete by the wrist, tugging him after her friend. Remus can see Pete’s blush from the other side of the room as something slow comes on.
“Fuck me.” Remus grits out through his teeth, rubbing his face and hunching over the bar. He’s tempted to ask James for the keys so he can sit in the van and wait until they have to leave for the venue.
I'm not in love
So don't forget it
“Not a fan of ballads?” Remus tries to wipe the anger off his face before answering the bartender.
“Just don’t really care for the slow ones.” He takes a quick sip from his beer, forearms on the bar top, he peels up the corner of the label on his beer.
“Aren’t they all slow?” She’s smiling at him now and Remus can feel his shoulders relax as he looks at her.
James slides onto the stool next to him before he gets a chance to answer. His fresh pack of cigarettes sits on the counter, tempting him and before Remus can think better of it, he’s cracking them open.
“Feeling okay?” James asks, his back is to the jukebox, attention trained on Remus. He takes a smoke out of the pack for himself and tucks the rest into his shirt pocket.
Remus shrugs, “Kinda feel like I’m gonna puke, you?” He can see Sirius over James’s shoulder, Josie’s arms flung around his neck and he’s leaning in to talk to her.
“You’re not already drunk right?” James leans into Remus’s view, brows coming together.
“No, no, just nervous.”
James lets out a breath, all the tension leaving his face.
“Oh thank fuck. I was worried I’d have to wrangle those two idiots alone. We have to leave soon, load in is in an hour and doors are at—” James is still talking, he’s still prattling on about load in time and Moody’s map and how long it takes to set up, but Remus isn’t listening.
Instead, he’s focused on a spot just above James’s left shoulder. Sirius is brushing hair off of Josie’s face, letting his hand settle on her cheek while the other comes to rest on her waist.
They’re turning, lazy circles round and round. The back of Sirius’s head and Josie’s eyes gazing up at him, then the back of Josie’s head and Sirius looking down at her. They’re a little off beat, inching closer, noses brushing.
Be quiet, big boys don't cry
Sirius closes the gap and kisses her.
That knot tightens again, the feeling of it gnawing at him, rearing its ugly head. Palms sweating, he tears his eyes away, looking at James and willing himself not to throw up.
After the show, they drive around looking for somewhere to stay. Down the vacant backroads lit by nothing but street lamps. When they turn a corner, it opens up to a field and Remus sucks in a sharp breath.
They used to drive around Lancaster in Effie’s station wagon. Him and Pete crammed in the back seat with James driving and Sirius riding shotgun. They’d pass joints and cans around to one another, talking and listening to whatever was on the radio.
Sometimes they’d end up at the edge of town, park as close as they could to the Drive-in and listen to the movies playing. Lying on the still warm hood of the car, doors open, radio turned up as high as it would go. Remus would be in the grass, staring up at the stars, listening to whatever was playing.
He’s still never actually seen Jaws, only ever listened to it through the radio of Effie’s 1973 Chevrolet Caprice.
After some deliberation, James decides they’re going to find somewhere to park and just sleep in the van for the night.
Sirius complains immediately stating he has to piss and Pete laments about wanting to brush his teeth but James ignores the two of them.
He pulls into the parking lot of a vacant restaurant far enough away from the main drag that they won’t be bothered during the night.
The headlights are on, pointing at the trees and before James can put the van in park, Sirius is leaping out the door and running for the treeline. It’s near pitch black outside, no streetlights in this area, it’s only the light from the moon.
Remus climbs out and Pete follows. They brush their teeth leaning on the back doors of the van and rinsing their mouths out with warm beer. He comes around, watching as James settles himself into the passenger seat. He’s reclined it back as far as it can go, pulling a sleeping bag right up to his chin.
Remus digs through his backpack, leaning in through the side door and Pete brushes past. He drops the backrest of the bench, folding it flat so he can lie down.
That leaves the back of the van. Remus closes the side door, going around and opening the back. He makes room, moving everything around so there’s enough space for him if he curls up. Remus’s eyes drift to James in his sleeping bag, then Pete with his knit blanket and he curses.
“Marls gave us a couple of blankets.” Sirius is next to him now, shoulder to shoulder looking in with the back doors open. He nods and Sirius climbs in, digging through the pile Remus had just organised.
He tosses something over his shoulder, a beat up quilt, before plopping down on the edge of the van to work on his boots. Sirius pulls one of them off, shoving it into the corner near the door, before yanking on the other.
The two of them strip down quietly, back to back under the light of the moon. They’re left in nothing but their undershirts and underwear and Sirius lies down first. He presses himself against one side of the van, balling up his leather jacket and settling into it like a pillow.
That can’t be comfortable.
But Remus doesn’t have anything better either, so he wads up his coat and wraps his red flannel around it, hoping it’ll make the duck canvas softer. He lies down, following Sirius’s lead and pressing himself as close to the other side as he can manage.
Crunched up against the wall, his back is hunched, legs pulled tight to his chest and without the heat on it’s already getting cold.
It’s like limbo, the in-between of seasons. Not quite cold enough to be considered winter, not quite warm enough to be considered spring. It’s likely that there will be frost on the windshield in the morning.
He hates that he knows that, remembers his dad being at the kitchen table every morning pouring over weather reports. He’d complain and take notes, trying to figure out when to break ground and plant. Remus seems to have retained some of this information, he let it soak in without even realising. It’s in his blood, always nagging in the back of his mind and he can’t seem to rid himself of it.
The quiet voice of his father, whispering, even as he moves farther away from where he’s from.
It’s dark, the moon streaming in through the back windows and where the light touches it almost feels like burning. He’s antsy, squirrely, skin too tight for his body and his mom used to say he was full of beans when he got like this.
Remus closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but every time he does he’s met with the image of Sirius kissing Josie in the pool hall.
Pete and Sirius had invited Beth and Josie to the show. They rode in the van, hung around the venue while the rest of them unloaded their shit. There was a moment where the two girls were giggling amongst themselves, wandering around near the stage and getting in the way.
Remus had told them to sit at the bar and stay there and when he did, he heard his father’s stern tone tumble from his lips. It mortified him.
Now, back in the quiet of the van, filled with nothing but James’s even breathing and Pete’s snoring, it’s all he can think of.
His father’s tone, the same sternness he had when he found Remus kissing Emmeline Vance. Not angry, it would have been easier if he had been angry, but instead it bordered disappointment.
A little part inside of him wonders what his dad would have thought if he caught Remus with a boy. What that would have done to his tone.
He doesn’t count the kiss with Emmeline as his first. Her hurried hands tugging on the hem of his t-shirt like she knew what she was doing. Fingers slipping below the hem, but there was naïvity in her touch, nerves hiding behind her cherry flavoured lip gloss.
Remus’s first kiss was in a disco bathroom after a pretty guy with blue eyes bought him a beer.
He had stumbled back from the club just as the sun was rising over the East River. Lily and Marlene clinging to him, hanging on for dear life as they trudged along, giggling.
They piled into the apartment, Marlene and Remus falling onto the rug in the living room and Remus rolled onto his back, willing the room to stop spinning.
“How was it?” Marlene’s voice, close to his right side, nothing but a whisper as Lily was banging around in the kitchen.
“I liked it.” He had responded and Marlene grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“The first time I kissed a girl, I knew it was meant to be.” Marlene had a dreamy air to her tone and he felt the same way. Like it was meant to be, as if something had slotted into place when it happened. A little piece he knew he had been missing, suddenly found.
Not broken and fixed, but discovered.
Remus thinks he must have dozed off, finally drifted into sleep, but a damp chill setting on the van wakes him. Pulling the quilt tighter, it just barely covers him.
He cracks open an eye, rolling onto his side, his hip stiff from laying on it and after a moment of his eyes adjusting, he can see Sirius’s lumpy outline. The back of his head, dark hair falling everywhere, blanket pulled up around his shoulders but his feet are sticking out the end. He’s shaking.
“Hey.” Remus’s voice is barely above a whisper and he can see his breath. At first he thinks Sirius didn’t hear him, but for a few seconds the shivering stops. Remus says it again, a touch louder and Sirius can’t contain his shivering any longer, teeth chattering.
Sticking his foot out across the space between them, Remus presses his toe into Sirius’s back. Jolting, Sirius rolls over and Remus is startled by his expression. Black brows framing blue eyes and pearl white skin. In the moonlight he looks ethereal, a mythical being sent to Earth for the soul purpose of making Remus’s life hell.
They stare at each other for a moment before Sirius’s face relaxes. Jaw unclenching, brows returning to their normal position and when they do, Remus lifts the edge of his quilt.
“C’mere.” he says, beckoning Sirius closer like he would a scared animal.
“What?” There’s a flash of something familiar in Sirius’s eyes, something Remus has seen before but can’t quite place.
“I can see you shivering.” Remus motions again, voice soft and Sirius’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something but Remus speaks before he can, “You’re shaking the whole fucking van. I feel like I’m on the old tractor with the broken suspension.”
Sirius closes his mouth, red painting the high plains of his cheeks before sliding closer. He situates himself so they’re close but not quite touching.
Remus’s nose is buried right in the back of Sirius’s head as he curls up again. He pulls over his makeshift pillow, positioning it next to Remus’s. With a sense of drudgery, Remus realises that he doesn’t know where to put his hands now.
He hesitates, tempted to put his hand on Sirius’s waist, right where his hip bone meets the curve of his middle. But he stops, fingers balling into a fist before they come to rest close to his own chest, creating space between them.
His other hand is under his head, and Sirius begins to shift around, no doubt trying to get comfortable. He presses his butt against Remus’s crotch, wiggling for a second.
“You’re hogging all the fucking covers.” Sirius grumbles, pulling the corner of the quilt, still squirming and Remus can feel the blood rush. He bites his lip, hard, hoping the pain will stop the semi in its tracks.
“Fuck.” Remus mutters it before he can even think, the taste of blood in his mouth from his tooth puncturing his lip and he chokes back the groan forming.
Steadying Sirius, Remus places a firm hand on his hip, stopping the movement. Sirius shivers, skin no as longer cold.
He smells like someone else’s perfume—musky and sweet—mixed with Parliaments and Coors Banquet. Remus takes another steadying breath, careful not to inhale too deep and press them further together.
The last thing he needs right now is for the semi to get worse, so he shuts his eyes, squeezing them so tight he can see stars. He keeps his hand on Sirius’s hip for a second longer, feeling him relax. The temperature between them is coming up, he can feel it through the fabric of their undershirts and he finally removes his hand.
He brings it back to his chest, palm over his heart and the back of his hand is pressed against Sirius’s spine.
“Thanks Moons.” Sirius whispers. It sounds tired, like he’s already drifting into sleep. He stays where he is, once again almost touching one another but keeping the unspoken space between them.
Remus is resisting the urge to wrap his arm around Sirius’s middle and just pull him in. To press them together until there’s no space left between. Bury his face in Sirius’s neck and get past the fact that he smells like someone else and just take what he can get.
Instead he says, “Anytime.” And lies awake as Sirius drifts into sleep, his slow even breathing punctuated by Pete’s snores.
Chapter 6
Notes:
CW / TW: There’s some internalized homophobia in this chapter that’s generally period accurate mentioning of “wires crossing” and feeling “wrong”.
We get to meet some characters that I had such a great joy in writing in this one! Also I don’t know how many of you have jumped off a 15 foot cliff into water below but let me tell you, it’s exhilarating.
Recommended listening:
Sweet Emotion - Aerosmith
Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues
Wah Wah - George Harrison
Lover Boy - Supertramp
Dark Star - The Grateful Dead
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Part Four: Burlington
March 19, 1979
They’re moving, the hum of the engine vibrating through the floorboard and Sirius pulls his hand out of the heat of the quilt to rub his eyes. He’s warm, stiff from sleeping on a hard surface but generally comfortable as he’s pulled into consciousness.
There’s a heaviness that he’s become accustomed to feeling but it isn’t in his chest this time. Instead, it’s draped across his middle, perhaps his grief has moved.
His head isn’t pounding like he thought it would be. The casual beer or two at the pool hall, turned into shotgunning one in the back of the van on the way to the venue. Josie squealing, thinking he was going to let it spill everywhere, but he knew better. Then he had another beer before the show, and a few too many after.
Groaning, his skin is clammy and the heaviness on his middle moves. A hand flexing before it retreats. Remus is behind him, body curved around his like a moon cradling a star. The skin of his stomach is soft where his undershirt has bunched up. Sirius can feel the blood rushing, migrating down but it stops when he remembers, the van is moving.
Minnie is on and his brain is catching up slowly, dull consciousness as he tries to piece everything together.
“Fuck, the van is being stolen.” The words fall from his mouth before he’s even aware he’s thought of them. Sitting up, he pulls all the blankets with him and there’s a disgruntled noise from Remus.
He stands, both quilts around his shoulders and he’s let all the cold air in, his skin chill without Remus’s body heat.
“Good morning Starshine!” James bellows from the front seat and Sirius smacks his head on the roof with a thud. He grabs at the top of his head, neck craned at an odd angle, blinking in the direction of the front seat. Pete turns, giving him a half assed wave from the passenger seat.
Remus curls into himself, the movement causing Sirius to look down and the blankets fall off his shoulders. They pool around his feet, Remus’s hands groping for them, eyes shut tight against the light streaming in through the windows.
“We got breakfast if you want it.” Pete shouts, voice muffled, clearly eating.
Remus is still rifling around for the blankets, pulling them over, trying to wrap himself up and Sirius remembers taking off his pants but can’t pinpoint where he put them.
He slams down to his knees, Remus groans as he shoves his jacket out of the way.
“What the fuck’re you doing?” He grumbles, attempting to turn but there isn’t enough space. They’re right up against each other again, Sirius on his knees still searching for his pants while the van rattles down a terribly paved road.
He loses his balance, swaying as they hit a pothole, catching himself before he crashes down on top of Remus.
“I’m looking for my pants.” Sirius snaps.
Remus nods, still sleepy but coming to, becoming more useful. He’s blinking, bringing his hands up to rub his face and when he does, Sirius catches a glimpse of his stomach.
Lean, Remus is strong with working muscle and the long gash up his side is visible. Pink against his skin, silver strands weaving the skin together as he moves.
Sirius has to look away to hide his blush but before it can pass, the van lurches to one side as they turn. He’s thrown off balance, tumbling directly into Remus as he tries to sit up. Sprawled across his lap, Sirius smacks the side of his face against the metal wall of the van.
Remus has him by the back of his undershirt as the stereo is turned up. James and Pete are singing along in the front seat as Remus and Sirius get tossed around in the back.
You're calling my name but I gotta make clear
I can't say, baby, where I'll be in a year
Sirius turns in Remus’s lap, looking up at him, “I didn’t leave my pants outside the van when I took them off right?”
A moment of silence passes between them and Sirius can see the question register on Remus’s face.
“Fuck, I hope not.” They’re both on hands and knees now, digging through their bags and piles of things in the back. James has no mercy, belting out Aerosmith as he takes a corner without slowing down. With every movement, every jostle of the van, Sirius slides into Remus. He can feel the heat of his skin as it touches his own, just like he had the night before.
Swallowing down the blooming emotion before it can grow into anything, Sirius’s hand catches a familiar rough fabric and he pulls his pants out from under a case.
“Thank fucking Jesus!” he exclaims triumphantly, on his back immediately pulling his pants on. He struggles with the buttons for a moment and lets out a sigh of relief.
“You do have another pair of pants right?” Remus asks, brow raised.
Sirius can’t meet his gaze, turning away and yanking a shirt over his head. It’s Pete’s, still vaguely his size but stretched out around the collar from him pulling on it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Remus getting dressed and climbs over the back bench seat.
“Glad you could—hey, that’s mine!” Pete yells and Sirius waves him off. He’s looking out the window, trying to gauge where they are as Pete twists in the seat.
“How long have we been on the road?” Remus asks, joining Sirius on the bench in the back. Pete hands Remus a paper McDonald’s bag and tosses one last glare in Sirius’s direction.
“Mmmmmm about an hour? We still have another…” James turns to Pete who shrugs, “...maybe three more hours until we hit Burlington?”
“Are we gonna find a motel or something tonight?” Remus’s voice holds something in it. Sirius is watching him, elbow deep in the paper bag.
“Yeah, I’m stiff as hell from sleeping on that bench.” Pete says and Remus snorts, pulling out a McMuffin.
“I’m stiff from sleeping on the bench.” He parrots, lifting the English muffin on the top, pulling out the slice of ham and wordlessly passing it to Sirius.
He takes it, adding it to his own sandwich. Remus leans back against the seat, taking a bite of his breakfast. He has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, long gash from the nail silvery in the sunshine. Slouching, he has one leg stretched out so it touches the console between the two front seats.
He looks uncomfortable, he looks tired.
Sirius is digging in the McDonald’s bag again, looking for hasbrowns.
“I am! Jamie and I didn’t get to fucking sleep in either.” Pete’s lighting a joint as he says it. Sirius tosses his head back against the seat, barking out a laugh before turning to look at Remus.
“Hear that? They’re jealous of us sleeping in.” He raises his brows, pitching his tone in a mocking way and Remus practically chokes on his food. “Next time we’re stuck sleeping in here, I want to pick where I end up.”
“Don’t run off when we’re setting up then.”
“I had to piss!” Sirius sinks into the seat, crossing his arms with a grunt.
Sirius is looking out the window, elbow on the edge of it, staring as the scenery changes. The drab freeway views remind him of Lancaster. Driving around for hours, no destination, just a feeling.
Effie’s station wagon, the radio turned up so loud it crackles, the announcers smooth voice coming through the speakers. Windows down, summer breeze wafting in as they rip down the back country roads.
Sirius’s feet tossed on the dash, speeding down an unnamed road in the middle of the night. Cool air and the smell of rain. Fields of corn surrounding them, hundreds and hundreds of rows of it. Tall and green, swaying in the breeze making the whole town smell sweet.
One of the last times the four of them were all together had been a hot and sticky night in the middle of August. They had been wandering around aimlessly, trying to decide if they wanted to crash Emmeline’s party or find somewhere else.
Turning down another winding dirt road, Sirius had recognized it. He had been here once before with a few of his cousins. The summer before, loaded in Andy’s purple Volkswagen Beetle; Bella in the passenger seat with him, Reggie and Cissy pressed up tight together in the back.
It was one of the last good memories he had with Reg, it only seemed fitting that this was one of the last good ones where they were all together.
Sirius leads them through brambles and trees for half a mile with the promise of something great. Similar to the excursion with his cousins, this one is full of whining.
“I’m fucking tired Sirius, you don’t know where we’re going.” Pete moans, piled high with blankets and bags. Sirius and James are lugging a backpack and cooler full of beer while Remus carries the radio.
“I promise I know where I’m going.” Sirius says, head on a swivel, looking for the opening.
Finally, after half a mile of stumbling through the wooded area, a path opens up revealing a grassy ledge. Bounding forward, Sirius stops just before the edge, peering down at the cool water below. The lake is still in the night air, full moon reflecting like a dinner plate on the calm surface.
Not a ripple forming, barely a breath of a breeze as Sirius stares into the dark black depths. He can see his reflection at the top of the cliff, small and insignificant, nothing but a pale head illuminated by the moon.
They park themselves there, all along the edge and lie down under the stars, drinking warm beer.
Remus is puffing away at his cigarettes, finishing one right down to the filter and lifghting the next before snuffing the last out. His movements are stiff, laboured and Sirius can see him wince every now and then. Once he’s gotten half through the pack, Sirius sees him pull out a joint, hidden amongst the smokes and lights it up.
After a while, Pete starts passing down a little fifth of whiskey he nicked from his dads stash. The radio transitions into slower songs as the night wears on, ballads and lots of songs about love.
The radio DJ introduces the next song and Sirius knows it—heard it for the first time on a late night variety show—when he was still trapped under Walburga’s thumb and up way past his curfew.
Lying on the carpet in their living room as close to the television as he could, volume turned down so low he could barely hear it.
Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
He’s sweating, skin slick and the stars are twinkling, out in full force against the pitch black darkness of the sky. The whiskey is harsh going down as he takes small sips of it, but the warmth that’s spreading from the centre of his chest is worth it. The way it flows through him, the tension in his shoulders releasing.
Sometimes, when he looks up, Sirius avoids certain parts of the sky, not wanting the blatant reminder of where he comes from.
“Fuck is the moon ever bright tonight.” Remus mutters with an air of reverence. Sirius turns at the sound, looking at the side of Remus’s face. He’s high, seems like he has been ever since the accident, green eyes always glassy and red.
Sirius is just looking at him, the profile of his face and the whiskey is beginning to make his stomach turn. He’s staring at the bump on Remus’s nose from where it was broken and healed over. The scars on his face, fresh and deep and pink against his sun tanned skin. They’re unfreckled, a stark contrast compared to the rest of his face.
Licking his lips, that churning feeling in his gut isn’t letting up and he’s fighting the urge to do something. A little part of him wishes he could say something, tell Remus that everything is going to be alright. That they’re all going to be okay.
But looking at him, and seeing the marks on his face, so deep and angry. Sirius doesn’t feel so sure that a world like this could be so cruel to him—could take so much from him—and then turn around and be kind.
He turns away, back to the sky and it’s stars and the moon. So bright and full that it lights up the sky so it feels like dusk. The ground beneath the blanket is harsh, sharp rocks digging into his back, but the more he swigs from the bottle of whiskey, the less he feels them.
Loose, his head is swimming as a hush falls amongst them, nothing but the sound of their breathing punctuated by the cicadas and spring peepers. Sirius closes his eyes, soaking it in and feeling the spins start to take hold. Gentle sway as he lays his palms flat against the wool blanket, allowing the whiskey rock him gently.
Remus’s hand is next to his, their pinkies touching. The heat of his skin the sound of his sharp breath he takes before a long drag from his cigarette. Sirius wants nothing more than to roll over and curl towards him. Thinks he’d like the feel of it, the smell of Winstons and beer, right up close.
“I think I see Sirius.” Pete’s voice comes from the other side of the blanket.
James snorts, the sound sharp, “Of course you do, he’s right here.” His arm flies out, smacking Sirius in the gut, winding him. He coughs, hauling himself upright and grabbing the bottle from the ground.
“That’s not Sirius,”—Remus’s voice, quiet behind him and Sirius braces himself for another pun—“It’s Venus.” He says it so casually, like he’s studied the stars in all the spare time he can muster.
Sirius looks at him over his shoulder. Remus is lying on his back, cigarette in his mouth, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other draped on his stomach.
“Sirius is closer to,” He continues but stops, clearing his throat. “Orion, he-it’s kind of below the belt.”
Orion.
Remus had hesitated when he said it, name staining his lips and sending a shiver right to the base of Sirius’s spine. Always overshadowed, tucked under his family’s thumb.
“But we won’t see it until morning.” he says, tilting his head and meeting Sirius’s gaze. “He-it’s behind the sun, so it’ll appear around dawn, near the horizon.” Eyes glassy and half lidded, he tilts his head back lazily.
Sirius bites the inside of his cheek, taking another sip of the whiskey, wondering why Remus knows so much about the stars. Does he look up at them and see the moon and feel a little less alone? Like he can take some form of solace in their presence instead of being reminded of his lineage, of the guilt of bearing such a name.
He can feel his skin begin to crawl, the thought of Orion unnerving him. It gets into his bones and gnaws at the marrow, leaving nothing but the brittle ends.
Hollow.
A black hole nestles amongst his ribs, hiding behind his heart.
He chugs the rest of the whiskey, getting up. Swaying on his feet he takes a deep breath, light headed, Sirius waits for the wave of vertigo to subside. Pulling off his shirt, he fumbles with his belt.
“Woah, dude, what the hell are you doing?” Pete shouts.
“Going for a swim.” Sirius responds, tossing a look over his shoulder and grinning.
He’s done it before, back when he came here with his cousins and he can remember the freeness of it. Sirius just needs to get to the edge, to feel the drop, the rush of the water as it hits his skin—cool and clear and cleansing.
He kicks off his jeans, ripping off his socks next, leaving his clothes in a pile on the blanket before he starts to run. The gravel is sharp on the soles of his feet, harsh pressure points but he keeps going. Running as fast as he can until the rocks aren’t there anymore. The sharpness, the hollowness, the emptiness, is replaced by a rush.
His hearts pounding now, suspended above the lake before his stomach hits his throat and he’s falling. Crashing towards the water in a fight of limbs before he breaks the surface feet first. Everything is quiet when his head goes under, the still nothingness and it’s pitch black.
Surfacing, all he can hear is splashing, his own struggle for air as he sucks in a breath and Jame’s voice from above.
“FUCK SIRIUS, JESUS CHRIST!” Shrill, it echoes through the quarry, carried out for miles and he just huffs a laugh. Filling his lungs with air, Sirius leans back and floats, looking up at the moon and wishing the stars weren’t there.
There’s more commotion from the cliff as a flail of limbs comes into view, eclipsing the moon. Remus lands with a splash a few feet away, coming up for air and letting out a strangled noise.
“Colder than I thought it would be.” he mutters, closer than Sirius expected him to be, the tips of his fingers brush against Remus’s bicep, slick in the water. Remus hums, sputtering, still acclimatising to the water.
Flipping, Sirius treads water and they’re facing one another, toes brushing. Remus’s lips have lost some of their colour, hair dark and flat on his head.
“I never realised how much you know about the stars.” he says suddenly.
Remus shrugs, “More dad than me, gotta know when the seasons are shifting. I’ve just caught on to a few things.”
“What do you remember about Sirius? Other than where it is.” He holds Remus’s gaze, letting the whiskey take the reins a little more.
“Brightest star in the sky, brings on the hottest part of the year, that’s why it’s called the dog days of sumer.”
“So Sirius is the reason you got sunstroke last year while out working in the fields?” he laughs, licking his lips and Remus’s eyes dart down at the movement. “I make you sweat?”
Remus’s mouth opens for a second, a blush forming across his nose. He regains himself, looking away and splashing Sirius.
“God you make me,” he stops and the sweet look on his face from a moment ago vanishes. “How do we get back up there anyways?”
Sirius ignores the question, letting out a long noise stuck between a hum and a growl as he leans back to float.
“You have no idea.”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“If I so much as look at another Twinkie, I think I may vomit.” Pete moans from the backseat, everyone had shuffled back to their normal seating arrangements after a hurried pit stop along the side of the road.
Sirius has his feet on the dash—hole in his sock—with his boots discarded in the wheel well. He’s flipping through tapes like they’re a deck of cards ready to tell him his future.
“We should stop and get food somewhere.” Remus says. Sirius can feel him getting antsy. He has his knee pressed against the back of the passenger seat, moving around and attempting to stretch out. Always too tall to get comfortable.
“No way, we’re making good time.” James has the same tone Effie does when she’s done with their shit, quipped and flat. He’s hunched over the steering wheel, eyes trained dead ahead, unmoving.
“Jamie, I’m famished.” Sirius can see Pete throw his head back from the corner of his eye, obviously fed up.
Pete and Remus have been playing cards on the bench for the last hour, neither of them competitive enough to care who’s been winning. They’re sharing a joint, passing it between them, a paper coffee cup from this morning perched on the side, a makeshift aftray already half full of Winston’s smoked right down to the filer.
He shuffles through the tapes one more time, no longer looking at Remus from the corner of his eye. Sirius pops a tape out of its case, leaning over the console and slips it into the slot. The second it starts playing, James cuts him a glare.
“Hey?! You said no Beatles in the van?”
Sirius sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “George Harrison doesn’t count.” he scoffs and James grips the wheel tighter.
Wah-wah
You've given me a wah-wah
“He was a Beatle?!”
“Was being the key term here.” Sirius lights a cigarette, tossing the pack onto the dash.
And I'm thinking of you
And all the things that we used to do
“Fine, we’re putting on John Lennon next.” James grits out resolutely, tearing his eyes away and focusing on the road again.
“Nope.” Sirius says, extra emphasis on the word, popping the P and Pete snickers from the back.
“But by your logic, he isn’t a Beatle!” James’s voice is raising, turning shrill.
“Technically, none of them are Beatles anymore, but John is definitely the worst of the four.” Sirius stays calm, his breathing even as James sets his jaw.
“I’m seriously questioning out friendship right now. I might make you walk to the next show.”
Sirius shrugs, lolling his head to the side and taking a long drag from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out in James’s direction.
“Make me walk, I don’t care, I’ll die on this hill. George Harrison is the best Beatle.”
“That is a bold claim from someone who won’t even listen to them.” James forces out through clenched teeth.
Sirius shrugs again, relishing in how much he’s riled James up and the silence that stretches through the van, George Harrison still singing in the background.
He takes a deep breath before looking at Sirius, “Okay, what about Paul?”
“Wings or nothing.”
James clenches, mouth a tight line and Sirius can hear his molars grinding over the stereo.
They pull into a gas station a few miles outside of Burlington and pile out. James had allowed Sirius to keep George Harrison on until the end of the tape but they switched to the radio after that.
Sirius stretches, standing next to the van and leaning into it. His knees are stiff, neck sore and he’s massaging a spot in his shoulder. Remus and Pete are already halfway across the lot, headed straight for the store to refill on beer and cigarettes and hopefully a few food items that aren’t snack cakes.
The gas station is a small-time operation with only two pumps and a tiny store at the back of the lot. The windows are cluttered with signs of ongoing deals, big red numbers with yellow bursts behind them. Two for one, seventy percent off, live worms sold here.
Sirius is about to follow them in, when James grabs his elbow.
“I’m worried about the van dude.” he says, stepping away and fiddling with the gas cap.
Sirius tilts his head, mouth pulling to one side. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear her this morning when I turned her on.” James isn’t looking at Sirius when he says it, instead he’s focused on the gas cap. “It took a while for the starter to kick on.”
“She’s just tired, it was cold this morning too, right? I’m tired when I’m cold. Besides, remember Remus’s dads old pickup? It would take a second to turn over in the winter, it’s probably the same.” Sirius is dismissive, shrugging when he responds.
“It’s not winter though, it’s practically spring.” James bites back, finally looking up at him. “I’m worried we’re going to have to take her in.”
Sirius clenches his hand at his side, nails digging into his palms and looks around quickly.
“Can we afford that?” he asks in a low voice, like it matters if other people overhear.
James runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, “I think if we sleep in the van it’ll be fine. I don’t think motels are in the budget if we have to get the van fixed.” Sirius nods, biting the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood. He stops and licks his lips.
“I’m tired, I’m gonna lie down.” Sirius mumbles, climbing through the side door and slamming it closed. There’s a rattling sound that comes from somewhere in the van and he lies back on the bench for a moment.
Staring at the ceiling, he runs his tongue along his teeth.
They bought a dud. Sirius shouldn’t have gone with James to the car lot it should have been Remus. He would have known what to look for, how to tell if they bought the right van. If they’re stuck sleeping in here for the next ten days, Sirius can’t be in the back with Remus again. Anyone but Remus.
He had been too comfortable this morning, liked the feeling of waking up beside him too much. Remus’s hand on his waist, pulling him in so they’re flush against each other, the feel of him curled around Sirius protectively. He could always let himself enjoy it if it happens again, allow the simple small pleasure while they’re in confined quarters.
But what would happen when they inevitable split, when they’re forced apart to their separate cities. Sirius returning to the Potter’s in Lancaster, Remus to his aunt’s in Connecticut. Would it just go back to normal? Would things slip back into place like they always did? Is that what he wants?
The beer from last night and the McMuffin from this morning are sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. He pushes the thought aside, placing it in a box that he will deal with later.
He can’t remember the last time he brushed his teeth, hasn’t showered since Boston and can feel the dried sweat on his skin. It itches, making him feel tight and he wants to peel it off as the antsiness starts to take hold.
Grabbing his backpack, the tapes clattering together at the bottom, Sirius hopes his toothbrush is shoved in there somewhere. Pulling on the side door, he’s met with resistance. He stares at it for a moment, pulling again, but there’s nothing. Not a click, no movement what so ever.
“Fuck.” He throws his weight into it and again, nothing happens. Checking to see if it’s locked, running his hand along the side to see if there’s some hidden button he’s accidentally pressed.
Not locked, no hidden button, add this to the list of things currently going wrong.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” he grumbles. Climbing over the bench seat and navigating the dumping ground the trunk has become, Sirius tries the rear door. Thankfully, it swings open with zero resistance.
James is no longer standing by the gas tank, Sirius can just barely see him through all the signs standing at the cash. Pete and Remus are no doubt still shopping around trying to find something that isn’t from a package. Sirius can almost hear Remus arguing with Pete, ‘Ding Dongs are way better than Honeybuns’.
Sirius hates them both, but he would eat a Ding Dong if Remus asked.
Closing the back door, Sirius is careful not to slam it, walking around to the truck stop bathrooms around the back of the building.
The bathroom is small, a few stalls along one side, sinks along the other and everything is wet. Not from condensation, it’s too late in the day for that, almost as if someone had tried to clean it by tossing a bucket of water in through the door.
He stands in front of the mirror, backpack on his knee, pressed against the counter in an attempt to rifle through it without putting it on the floor. The mirror is covered in graffiti, so much so that Sirius can barely see his own reflection.
Clapton is GOD
Pen is was here
Call 867 5309 ask for Jenny
In black marker, big drips from spray paint bleeding into each other, all different colours. Sirius brushes his teeth with the last of his toothpaste, splashing water on his face and changing his shirt. He feels better, not cleaner but at least he’s washed the taste of old beer from his mouth.
He takes another second, the quiet of the bathroom a nice reprieve compared to the close confines of the van. Leaning on the counter, he hangs his head, closing his eyes. He wants to shower but knows that won’t happen since they’ll be in the van again tonight.
Instead, he takes a breath before slipping on his jacket, hiking his bag onto his shoulder and leaving the bathroom. The sun hits him and he shields his eyes while turning the corner, walking over to the pumps and finding nothing.
Sirius stops in his tracks, stomach dropping as he turns in a circle, glancing at the rest of the empty parking lot.
“There’s no fucking way.” He stomps to the other side of the building, stomach plummeting further when there’s nothing there.
Nothing in the parking lot save for a rusted out Buick missing a tire.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” he says, louder now, starting to feel the bubbling of anger surface. He walks around the other side of the building, back to the bathrooms in hopes that they parked somewhere he didn’t see.
Still nothing.
Stomping through the front door of the shop, he gets right up to the counter, “Those morons that were just in here, how long ago did they leave?” He’s trying to control it, the rage that’s building, threatening to break through. He has the need to yell, but enough sense to know to keep it tamped down.
The man behind the counter is looking at him with a blank stare. Leaned back in a stool, he’s got his feet on the counter.
Sirius rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sound, “They were just in here. Blond guy in a green jacket and a tall dude he had a Zeppelin shirt on. James—fuck—guy with dark black hair, jean jacket, looked like he just rolled out of bed.”
The man finally nods and when he speads Sirius can see the wad of chew shoved along his gums. “Just pulled away, paid for their shit and asked how far it is to Burlington.” He spits into a mug and Sirius’s lip lifts into a snarl.
“And how far is it to Burlington?”
“Driving or walking?”
Sirius has the sneaking suspicion that this man is delighting in his misery. “Both.” he barks out quickly.
“Bout an hour or so driving, but walking,” The man looks him up and down, taking in his cracked boots and snickering.
“Fuck.” Sirius grits out through his teeth, bringing his hands up to rub his face. The man snickers and Sirius takes a loop around the store, clenching his fists.
He settles on waiting, knowing he would never be able to walk all the way there. They have to realise they’ve left him behind. James will turn around and they’ll come back and it’ll all be fine.
Sirius takes another loop around the store, stopping in front of the coolers and seeing a six pack of Old Style.
He buys the beer, another pack of Parliaments since his were on the dashboard and chucks in a magazine for something to read.
Taking his purchases, Sirius hauls himself up to sit on the trunk of the old rusty Buick. Putting the six pack beside him, he lights a cigarette and leans back against the windshield.
“Alright Playboy, lets see what you got.” The beer is cold, sun warming him enough that he has to unzip his jacket as he flips through the magazine. He skims the articles, stopping every once and a while when something catches his interest.
A review on a new sci-fi book, an article about American men and an entire photoshoot dedicated to cheerleaders.
He flips through the rest, no longer interested in reading when something catches his eye. Near the back, big and glossy, is an ad for Marlboro cigarettes. A man on a horse, roping cows and Sirius blushed at the fact that he recognizes the jeans the man is wearing. They’re the same as Remus’s.
Heat creeps up his neck, across his cheeks. Something is stirring deep in his gut, a churning he always gets when he thinks too much about this feeling. Licking his lips, he looks at the picture but he’s thinking about Remus, fixated on him.
Sirius flips to the centrefold, the same sweet looking blonde from the cover staring back at him with a coy expression. There it is, that same churning feeling, his heart beating a little faster.
But he doesn’t know anything about this girl, there’s no connection to him in any way shape or form. She isn’t wearing something he recognises. Sirius imagines she smells sweet, like Josie from last night, her lips glossy and tasting like bubblegum.
He flips back, the Marlboro man staring back at him but all he can see is Remus’s green eyes. Maybe the wires are crossed somewhere, that has to be it.
A pull from the can and the Old Style isn’t going down as well as it was when it was cold. Sirius is confused, the building feelings conflicting and he sets the magazine aside, bringing his hands to his face.
Remus doesn’t look like a girl—far from it—with his strong nose and the constant furrow in his brows. He’s long and lean with slim hips and nice hands that Sirius knows are callused. He knows they’re rough, knows the feel of them against his waist.
Sirius swallows, face still in his hands, eyes squeezed shut.
So why does he get the same twinge in his chest from thinking of Remus’s hands as he does when he thinks about kissing Josie. The same fluttering in his heart, the cool tingle across his skin.
But it’s not really the same.
Kissing Josie the night before had been fine, but it didn’t really give him the same feeling as waking up with Remus curled around him this morning.
“Fuck me.” Sirius growls out, finishing his beer before opening another.
Your strength lies in your feelings but beware of letting your emotions rule your actions.
Remus is sitting in the passenger seat as they rattle down the highway. He’s reading and Thompson has just gotten to the part where he’s in a hotel suite in Vegas with his attorney ordering enough room service to feed eight.
“It’s quiet?” James says suddenly and Remus looks over at him.
It is quiet.
He glances at Pete on the bench with a deck of cards on the other seat, playing solitaire and smoking a joint. Sirius hasn’t made a sound from the back in at least thirty minutes.
Remus closes his book, “He’s back there right?”
James snorts, “Of course he is. He said he was tired, climbed into the van and curled up.”
“And you saw him do it?” James opens his mouth but Remus cuts him off, “You saw Sirius curl up in the back right?”
“I mean—”
Remus inhales deeply, throwing his hands in the air. “Fuck! We left Sirius at the gas station.” Pete’s already fumbling, leaning over the back seat and tossing things around. His ass is in the air, feet lifting as he leans and Remus levels a look at James that makes him wince.
“No, there’s absolutely no—”
“James, he’s not that sound of a sleeper. No listen to me, James, Sirius isn’t in this fucking van.” Remus spits out through his teeth. “He’s not here because if he was, he would be moaning the second you put on Rubber Soul.”
James is shrinking, shoulders slumping, jaw almost quivering as he chokes out, “But—”
“He’s not here dude.” Pete’s leaning between the two front seats now, all eyes on James.
“Turn the van around.” Remus is doing his best to stay calm.
“He’s going to murder me.” James whispers, quiet and Remus shrugs, tossing his book on the dash and pulling out Sirius’s map.
“He might.” Remus deadpans, tracing his finger along the freeway.
“You’re all complicit in this.” James tries and Remus is shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence.
“You're the band leader.”
“Fucking Christ I am.”
“He’s got his bag at least.” Pete says, handing Remus a beer from the case they just purchased. He cracks it open.
It’s warm and a little flat, tasting vaguely like vomit. Remus hates warm beer but he knows Sirius is going to be livid when they finally get back to the gas station. This beer is going to be nothing more than a band aid so he doesn’t throttle James himself.
“Do you think he’s started walking?” James whispers as they pull off the freeway. The exit ramp takes them through a tiny one stoplight town. He’s looking around, trying to find a good place to turn.
“Walking? Where? Along the highway?” Pete scoffs from the back seat, setting up his cards to play another round.
“Yeah, I mean he knows where we’re going,” James shrugs, looking around again before pulling a U-turn to get back on the freeway, “what’re the odds of him starting to—”
“There is absolutely no fucking way on God’s green Earth that Sirius Orion Black is walking to Burlington.” Remus cuts him off. He’s looking out the window, taking a sip from the piss warm beer and refraining from making a face. Running his hand along the map again, Remus is reading the street names, looking at the signs, and trying to figure out where they are.
Rubber Soul is still playing quietly in the background, Remus should have known the moment James put it on that Sirius wasn’t in the van. They made it all the way to Girl. He’ll never admit it outloud, too much of a peacekeeper to rock the boat, but Remus hates The Beatles.
He gives it until the end of the album, humouring James because he’s already beating himself up over leaving Sirius behind. Every once and a while Remus catches James’s brows coming together, his jaw clenching as they rip along the highway back to the gas station.
The tape ends and Remus flicks on the FM before James can switch to another tape. They’re making good time on their way back, Remus recognises the scenery as they pass and he picks up on something else. The van isn’t running as smoothly as it was when they left Boston. Slow on the shifts from gear to gear, but he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he drinks the rest of his beer.
Leaning forward as they pull into the gas station, he’s squinting out the windshield. There’s an orange Volkswagen camper parked next to the rusted out Buick. The doors are open on the side of the camper and Remus rolls the window down.
The second he does, he can hear Sirius’s laugh.
“He’s still here.” Remus says.
James is throwing the parking brake on, taking the keys out of the ignition and Remus is already half out the door. He walks towards the camper, noticing a half empty six pack of old style and a Playboy on the trunk.
Sirius is still laughing, the sound carrying as Remus approaches the orange camper.
“Sirius?” he calls and out pops Sirius’s head from around the door. He’s smiling, all teeth, eyes glassy and a joint dangling from his hand.
“You fuckers left me!”
James pushes past him, reaching out and taking Sirius’s face in his hands. “Fuck, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep in the back, I didn’t know you went inside and I—”
Sirius shrugs him off, smile faltering, taking a puff from his joint. He rolls it between his fingers, looking at his feet before backing up. Remus sees it, the flicker in his eyes, the twitch of his lip, the fear.
Nights spent whispering back and forth when they were kids. Sirius admitting he was afraid of being left alone, abandoned, forgotten. Remus admitting he doesn’t know where he wants to go, what he wants to do. Directionless. Heart clenching, the look of hurt on Sirius’s face dissipates. Disappearing as if it was never there.
“Nah, nah, don’t worry about it, I have good news.” He claps James on the shoulder, glancing around to the rest of them. “I found us a place to stay. We’re gonna crash with Xen and Pands while we’re in Burlington.”
He’s swaying, rocking gently on his heels, back and forth back and forth. Remus notices the case of beer on the trunk, sees how empty it is. Five out of six cans gone.
Two for whoever the fuck Xen and Panda are, three gone in the span of just under an hour.
Sirius has a way of smiling when he’s half in the bag and it shows all of his perfect white teeth. A little crooked, one side of his mouth not quite pulling as high as the other and he’s doing it now but James hasn’t caught on yet. James is wrapped up, caught on the fact that Sirius is still here and not walking alone on the highway. Clenching his hands together, Remus can sense the wariness in James.
“Alright, and where are Xen and Panda?”Remus asks, leaning forward to peek into the camper. Everything is orange, the shag rug, vinyl seats, even the wood panelling has been painted orange.
All the same shade, meticulously matched, everything the same colour. Like a fucking creamsicle. He grimaces, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans before he directs his attention back to the group.
Pete’s grabbing the joint from Sirius’s loose fingers, reclining against the Buick. He takes a long drag like they’re all hanging out in the Potter’s basement and Remus is thirty seconds away from scolding the three of them.
The frustration is coming up, tearing his way through him, that deep seeded anger he always seems to be carrying around. Like an old coat, Remus finds himself slipping into it when it suits him, wearing it around because it fits him so well.
He’s ready to blow a gasket, blinking and clenching his fingers because they left Sirius behind and he seems to be the only one who cares about it. He seems to be the only one who notices how much it hurt Sirius.
Remus swallows, brows coming together, about to lay into Pete, when two of the most beautiful people he’s ever laid eyes upon shift into view.
They’re tall, willowy, all arms and legs. Remus doesn’t have to crane his neck down to look them in the eye and it’s a shock at first. His jaw goes slack, hoping his slow brain will catch up and process. He feels like he’s come face to face with the elves Tolkein was talking about in Lord of the Rings.
“You must be the rest of Sirius’s band.” The woman speaks first and Remus has to remind himself to close his mouth.
They introduce themselves, Pete reaching forward to shake their hands then James and Remus falls in last. He wipes his hand on his pants before he lets them touch it.
Pandora is her full name, but she prefers Panda and when she smiles at them it calms the white hot anger he felt only a moment ago. Like a puff of smoke, it’s blown away.
She smells like sandalwood, her yellow dress rustling as she moves. It’s mended in a few spots with different coloured fabric and thread. A crocheted cardigan hangs from her elbows, the same colour yellow with big sunflowers along the bottom. Her hair, white blonde, falls in wild curls down her back and when she turns, it catches the sun.
“Sirius said you need a place to stay while you’re here. We have more than enough space.” The man, Xen, puts his arm around Panda’s shoulders. Equally striking, similar white blond hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of his neck, accentuating his strong jaw.
He glances casually between them, dark blue eyes settling on Remus for a moment longer than the rest. Remus feels his cheeks heat.
Xen has his hands in the pockets of his linen pants and Remus notices neither of them are wearing shoes.
“You’d be willing to take us in?” Pete says quizzically, waiting for the catch.
“Of course! You all seem kind enough.” Panda says with a tilt of her head, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“We’re on our way back to the house now, you can follow us.” Xen motions to the camper with his head before adding, “Molly’s probably cooking up a feast.” He smiles again and Remus feels like he’s being lulled into a calm.
He doesn’t quite trust it.
Before anyone can say anything else, Sirius is climbing into the back of the orange van and Remus has him by the scruff before he disappears through the door.
“Hold up, I’m coming with you.” He throws a look over his shoulder, catching James’s eyes who nods discreetly. The last thing they need is a drunk Sirius being carted off into the woods by two people they don’t even know.
He lets Sirius go, swiping the Playboy off the trunk and pocketing the las beer before climbing into the camper.
The orange isn’t as offensive now that he’s inside. Far more cramped than Minnie, he finds himself knees to chest along the back bench. Stuck behind the kitchenette, Sirius sprawls on the other side, head tilted back against the window exposing the column of his throat.
Panda’s getting into the driver’s seat, flicking her crochet sweater out from under her as she turns the key. Remus swallows, leg bouncing as the engine revs. There’s little white flowers painted on the panelling, their vines tangling around one another. Glass beads, also orange, partition the front seat from the back.
An uneasiness settles over Remus as they pull out of the lot, his leg bouncing against the cabinet. He isn’t one to just hop in the back of a vehicle with people he doesn’t know. It took time for him to even get in a car with James again. His heart pounds behind his ribs as he swallows down the panic rising in his chest.
Xen has his hand on the back of Panda’s head and they’re talking but Remus can’t hear over the roar of the engine and whatever’s playing on the radio.
Dark star crashes, pouring its light into ashes
Reason tatters, the forces tear loose from the axis
Searchlight casting for faults in the clouds of delusion
They rattle down the freeway, the same way James took earlier and it sets Remus at ease, if only a little bit. He peers out the back window periodically, ensuring that James and Pete are
trailing behind and they haven’t lost them.
“James does feel bad.” Remus says, chancing a glance over in Sirius’s direction. He looks over from the corner of his eye and Remus sees it again. Same look as earlier, same scared glint in his eye. The fear of abandonment surfacing.
Sirius clears his throat, turning to face ahead, “I’m sure he does.” he bristles, crossing his
arms and slouching into the seat.
He wishes Marlene had come along with them so he could talk to her. About the little changes he’s been seeing, the glimpses beyond the door he thought had been closed. He wants to tell her about the things he’s been feeling, the sensations rolling through him because he fears that she would be the only person to understand.
Remus takes a long breath, attempting to stretch his legs out and cracks open the beer in his pocket.
Xen is singing along, his voice high and clear above the radio and when Remus hears it something clicks.
“Shall we go, you and I while we can…Through the transitive nightfall of diamonds…”
It sounds like a poem. The lyrics are digging deep and pulling something out, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a while. A little spark.
Sirius may be able to play something by ear, feel things in the way they sound, but lyrics have always been the thing that pulls Remus in. He tilts his head back, resting it against the back door and sipping his beer.
Another breath and he focuses, picks apart the poem, letting it pull him in with hopes that it’ll take the edge off as Panda speeds down the freeway.
They turn off the freeway just before Burlington proper, taking the off ramp far too quickly. From the corner of his eye, he can see Remus white knuckling the can of Old Style, his jaw clenched so tight there’s a vein in his temple.
The exit meanders through a little one stoplight town and Xen is singing along to something on the radio. Panda’s swaying with the music like she feels it in her very bones.
Sirius catches bits of it, his voice as it drifts through the space and the words permeate through his thick skull. They settle in and he tucks them away for later, too busy keeping one eye on Remus for the words to hit.
Pulling into a hidden driveway that meanders through lush trees a little blue house comes into view. James parks behind the camper and they trudge to the front door as Panda throws it open.
“Molly darling, we’ve brought back a few strays!” she calls, turning and beckoning for the rest of them to follow.
Molly appears at the end of the long hall. A sweet looking redhead, the apples of her cheeks tinged pink and she’s smiling.
“Excellent, I’ve made far too much food for just the three of us.” She bustles about, disappearing back down the hall. Remus waits for Pete and James at the door, but Sirius follows Molly.
The house is a single floor, one long hallway with rooms jutting off on either side. The walls have all been painted, covered in flowers, animals and concentric lines. Bursts of colours spanning across whole rooms. Big floral motifs connecting one side to the other, woven in and out of one another like a web.
At the end of the hall, it opens up to a larger space with the kitchen on one side and a sitting area on the other. In the kitchen, one of the walls is painted with a field of wheat. Hundreds of little yellow marks taking up every inch of space. If there’s a gust of wind they would move and sway in the breeze.
Almost immediately he’s thinking of running through the fields on the Lupin’s farm. The smell of rain in his nose, sweet hints of hay and earth. He can almost hear the whinny of the old mare Lyall insisted on keeping.
Closing his eyes, he orients himself, reminds himself that he’s not there, he’s here. It doesn’t settle the turning in his stomach, the uncomfortable homesickness that’s coming forth and edging into his consciousness.
“You can have a seat if you’d like.” Molly gestures to a round table next to the sitting room and he nods.
Everyone else joins him, coming around the table and finding their spots. There’s an open chair next to him. Pete sits next to James who sits next to Sirius. Xen and Panda are with Molly in the kitchen bringing out food in deep serving dishes.
Big bowls of fried greenery, deep serving dishes with something covered in a sauce and a little bucket of beer.
Molly’s dishing everything out, mothering them with extra rolls shoved on the sides of their plates and James sits up suddenly.
“Oh wait! Remus doesn’t eat meat, there’s no meat in this right?” he says quickly, eyes settling across the table and Sirius looks between the two of them.
“Neither do we.” Panda says with a smile, her hand coming to rest on Remus’s shoulder.
Xen snorts from the sitting room, kneeling next to their record collection and selecting one. He puts it on before coming back to the table.
“What’s your band name again baby? I don’t think we ever asked.” Panda settles in next to Remus, her plate already made by Molly.
“Oh you play in a band!” Molly’s voice comes from the kitchen.
“We’re called The Dark Stars.” he answers and Remus is looking at him, green eyes glittering in the candles Molly has lit.
Sirius wishes he wouldn’t look at him like that.
“Oh! Like the Dead song?” Xen perks up, immediately intrigued.
“Oh uh, no” —Sirius rubs the back of his neck—“we were just The Dark Stars but when we were signed Moody wanted us to have a front man. You know, like Iggy Pop and The Stooges. I don’t actually know who the Dead are.” He can feel the blush on his face as he takes another sip from his beer.
“The Dead, you don’t know who the Dead are! God they’re The Grateful Dead! Only the greatest band of all time!” Xen is talking, suddenly excited and his hands are moving. Everyone’s looking at him as he continues and Sirius slumps in the hard wooden chair.
Sit up straight Sirius.
“Wait,” Remus’s voice from next to him, “Is that who was playing in the van earlier?” he asks. He’s got his elbows on the table, leaning in, the candlelight catching the scars on his face.
He rolls his shoulders back taking a deep breath, letting the conversation flow around him.
“Of course! Panda and I saw them on New Year’s Eve.” Xen has a joint in his hand, taking a puff from it before he starts speaking again. “Fate sometimes acts in weird ways, bringing people together for reasons unknown to us.” He tilts his head back, talking to the ceiling. “You know, we were meant to pick you up today. Sirius Black and The Dark Stars…” he whispers the last part and there's a twang deep in Sirius’s chest.
Sirius shifts in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable on the wood as he picks at the food. He’s brought back to the horoscope buried deep in his pocket. Not usually one to subscribe to that kind of stuff, it’s becoming abundantly clear that the universe has a different path chosen for him.
“So, what do you do?” James starts and Xen raises a thin eyebrow. “Like for a job?” He clarifies and Xen nods.
“We sell our wares man,” He takes a long drag from the joint, putting his arm around Panda next to him. “We do that and follow the band around and live.” He sounds calm.
“I don’t understand? You work for this, this band?” It’s Pete’s turn to ask something, he’s still got his fork in his hand at the other end of the table. Molly scoops another helping of something on his plate with a coy smile.
“No way, we don’t work for anyone but ourselves. In the summer, we load up the camper and tour across the country. Show to show and set up camp and dance with our fellow man.” He’s stroking the back of Panda’s head as he says it, a dreamy look in his dark blue eyes. “Molly holds down the fort for us here, she tends to the chickens and the gardens and once it’s cold again we come back.”
Pete puts his fork down and it clatters on the plate, bright red he says, “you drive around the country following a band?”
“We don’t just drive around. We meet people, we experience things, we live.” Panda stands up from the table, long limbs moving and she’s dancing through the room, turning the stereo up louder. Xen gets up next, grabbing hold of her hands and it’s the same song as in the van, but something’s different.
It feels different, the melodies the same but the arrangement is a little off. It’s been changed, deconstructed and put back together to make something new. But the lyrics are the same.
Sirius is focused on his plate, everyone else staring as Xen and Panda dance.
Dark star crashes, pouring it's light into ashes
Reason tatters, the forces tear loose from the axis
Dark Star.
Sirius feels like a dark star, sees himself as one. A black hole or something more cosmic, something more destructive. An entity that, if left unchecked, will devour all the light. No matter how beautiful it may be, it’s born of destruction and will cause nothing but desolation.
No matter where he goes, he will engulf moons and stars. He’s already consumed one, allowing it to be snuffed out even though he tried to save it.
Your strength lies in your feelings but beware of letting your emotions rule your actions.
Haunting him, his grief, his anger.
The horoscope, no longer in his pocket but tucked between receipts in his wallet, feels like a weight.
He takes another pull from his beer, realises it’s empty and grabs one from the bucket. Remus’s eyes on him as he does it.
Sometimes the alcohol hits him like this, the pendulum swinging from happy go lucky to an overwhelming sadness. The black hole surfaces, threatening to pull him in.
It’s just the four of them left at the table. Xen and Panda in their own world and Molly pulling something from the kitchen. Pete’s helping himself to more food, in his own world or ignoring them, Sirius can’t tell.
James is staring at him, a look in his eye like he’s about to apologise again, but Sirius doesn’t want him to, doesn’t care. He just wants to be alone, to curl up and sleep it off, because if he doesn’t he’s going to spill his guts and that’s the last thing he wants.
Letting it fester, he turns away, back towards the table to watch Xen and Panda in the sitting area. Panda dances like the music moves through her, like she is the conduit of some god that’s trying to awaken.
He can still feel James’s stare when Molly returns, putting a tray of brownies in the middle of the table.
There’s a chorus of excitement—mostly from Pete—and Sirius takes one, eating it slowly.
Remus is sitting at the table, observing, steering clear of the carnage in the living room. He’s stretched out, legs splayed under the table beer resting on his stomach.
Xen and Panda are dancing, moving along with whatever is playing, in their own world. They whisper to each other, Panda’s face so close her lips brush Xen’s cheek. It’s like they were made for each other.
Sirius is lying on the carpet, hasn’t moved in a bit and Remus is worried he’s melted to the spot. His eyes are closed, hands flat on the rug, fingers spread as if he can feel the music through the carpet. Remus throws a look at the brownies in the centre of the table.
“Do you need anything darling? Are you doing alright?” Molly asks. She’s taken the spot next to him, setting up a box on the table.
“No, no, I’m alright thank you.”
“Are you sure? I know this can be a lot.” She gestures to the living room before opening the box. It’s filled with papers and a big pouch of weed.
“I mean, we only have to deal with it for a finite amount of time. It’s uh, it’s a welcome change.” Remus snorts, letting his voice trail.
Molly pushes her auburn hair out of her face as she rolls her joint with practiced hands.She’s dressed like Lily, big bell bottoms and a crocheted top that matches Panda’s cardigan. The apron she had on earlier is discarded on the back of a chair and covered in flour. When she had it on earlier she almost looked matronly, scooping out servings to everyone like they were her children.
“It is a nice change isn’t it.” Molly says cheerily, licking and twisting her joint closed before lighting it. “Panda and Xen are groovy aren’t they? They just let the world take them where it may.” She pulls one of her legs onto the chair, placing her cheek on her knee.
Remus fiddles with the tab on his beer, glancing over at her before asking “Do you really just hang out here while they’re driving around the country?”
Molly purses her lips in thought for a second before shrugging.
“Kinda, there’s a garden out back like Xen said so I spend most of the time just tending that.” She takes a puff from her joint, still deep in thought. “I dunno if you’ve ever kept chickens before but those fuckers have a death wish. I spend a lot of time keeping them alive. Oh God I hope you don’t mind a rooster waking you up at the crack of dawn.” She says the last part with wide eyes.
Remus smiles, “I won’t mind,”—he motions to Sirius still on the rug—“he might though. Pete will sleep right through it, lucky ass.”
James and Pete are on the couch, sprawled out and talking in hushed tones. They keep glancing at Sirius on the floor, James’s brows furrowed together. He bites his lip, taking a drag from his cigarette before rolling it nervously between his fingers.
“How did they find you?” Molly asks and the tone in her voice is reverent and quiet.
“What do you mean?” He lolls his head to the side to look at her, neck craned at an odd angle because of the back of the chair.
“You’re such a quiet soul you know?”
His face heats, “I’m not always quiet.” he responds quickly and she just smiles.
“You’re just…” She lets her voice trail, looking for the words and Remus braces for it. “You’re different from them.”
Remus’s mouth forms a hard line and he bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating what he could possibly say to that before he settles on, “Guess I am a little.”
He’s always been different from the rest of them, absorbed into the group out of necessity. James and Sirius had already been friends while Remus and Pete were a package deal. He had known Pete because their mom’s worked together. Hauled to picnics put on by the nursing home for their staff, sat together so Hope and Patty could talk.
Maybe the outsider feeling is something that will never go away. No matter how old he gets, or how many friends he makes, he’ll always be just a little different.
They sit like that, silence between them as Remus ruminates, fiddling with the can in his hands and observing the sitting room.
Panda stumbles over to the table, her cardigan draped around her arms and she trips over it as she walks. The hem of her skirt is hiked up and tied in a knot at her waist, still flowing around her long legs and Xen grasps onto her hand tightly.
“You know,” She starts, one hand flat on the table as she leans in, “I can see the bonds between you.” Her long hair falls over her shoulder, eyes gazing into his in such an intense way it causes a shiver to run down Remus’s spine.
She tilts his head, breaking eye contact before looking back at Sirius on the floor, swaying into Xen’s touch.
Molly snuffs out her joint on a plate, slipping it into her pocket before getting up.
“Remus, you’re all welcome to make yourselves at home. There’s an extra bed in Xen’s art room if you’d like.” Molly’s slipping under Panda’s other arm, taking her weight as she continues to chatter away.
“A bond that ties…is something inevitable…like a gravitational pull baby…”
“Thanks, we’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”
Molly stops at the doorway to the hall, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Nonsense! Stay in my hair! Stay as long as you’d like!” She turns away before he gets a chance to respond, helping Xen shuffle Panda off to bed.
Remus is tempted to take the extra bed in the other room, just to try and escape for a while. To stop the ever present pull he feels in the centre of his chest. But he doesn’t, instead he and James share a look across the living room.
“Do you and Sirius want the bed?” he asks and Sirius lifts his head from his spot on the floor.
“Me and who?” Sirius asks.
“You and Remus, since you two were in the back of the van last night.”
They decide the bed isn’t big enough for two people, barely a twin, the little cot is shoved in the corner of a room that reeks of chemicals from paint supplies. Pete decides he’s fine on the couch. Sirius is too dizzy to stand, and Remus is too tall for it, so James takes the cot.
Once again, Remus finds himself sleeping next to Sirius.
Lying on the floor, he rolls onto his back and scrubs his face with his hands. Sirius is fidgeting beside him, trying to get comfortable. He rolls around, kicking like a dog under one of the blankets Pete tossed down to them.
“I can’t sleep…with my fucking pants on.” he mumbles and Remus turns his head to look at him. Wriggling his hips, lifting them off the floor, he finally frees himself, tossing his jeans over his shoulder. He lets out a long sigh of relief, lying there for a second.
It’s dark, all the lights switched off and Pete’s breathing is evening out. He’s drifting to sleep on the couch a few feet from them and Remus hopes he stays on his stomach so he won’t snore.
Sirius is staring at him, eyes wide and his expression is soft. So different from the furrowed brow from earlier today.
“Did you eat one of the brownies?” he whispers.
“Yeah, some…did you?” Remus can feel himself start to melt and crack a smile as Sirius nods, “You’re really fucking high aren’t you?” Sirius’s eyes are half lidded and glassy and he nods again.
Face to face, noses almost touching and Remus is still in all his clothes. Not quite ready to settle in yet. The floor is unforgiving even with the thick wool rug and neither of them have pillows.
Sirius licks his lips, the movement drawing Remus’s attention to them.
“Tell me a secret.” His voice, barely above a whisper and Remus’s chest tightens, a vice grip around his ribs.
“I don’t have any more secrets.”
“Everyone’s got more secrets.”
“I don’t have any more secrets.” Remus breaths with a harshness to his words that echo Lyall. “You’ve been with me almost every waking minute for the past week.” The vice grip squeezes when the silence falls between them. Just looking at each other and Sirius is biting his lips.
“Is there a girl?”
Remus’s stomach drops, heart stuttering to a stop as he says the first thing that pops into his brain, “What?” Cold tingling down his spine as Sirius’s intense gaze stays locked on him.
“In Connecticut.”
“What do you mean?” Quick, all hard edges as Remus’s heart kickstarts again.
“A girl, a girlfriend. Is that why you got all weird when Beth was trying to hit on you.”
He thinks about telling Sirius. For a split second he entertains the idea of doing so, and can feel the words on the tip of his tongue. How they would sound in his own ears when he says them aloud.
Remus clears his throat, the words disappearing before he even gets a chance to say them.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” the air is thick between them, stagnant and Sirius is still close. “Why would that be a secret?”
Blinking slowly, it looks like Sirius is fighting something back, “I dunno.” he says in a somber tone, voice distant. “Seems like something you would do, keep your love life a secret.”
More clenching, twisting that riddles its way through him, spreading out from the centre as he sucks in a breath. “Sirius, there is no girl.” and he doesn’t mean for it to sound as intimate as it does.
“You can tell me…if there is…” He has that soft look again, blue eyes of his holding something deep and Remus knows he’s barely scratched the surface. Sirius is holding onto something, a secret he’s harbouring and refuses to tell.
“Beth just wasn’t my type.” Remus responds plainly, watching Sirius’s eyes change, trying to read between the lines they always draw but never cross.
Sirius nods, opening his mouth like he’s going to speak again and Remus cuts him off.
“Go to sleep,” he says quickly, “Just, go to sleep. You’re drunk” and before Sirius has a chance to retort, Remus rolls away.
Chapter 7
Summary:
The venue I picked is period accurate! Nectars is on the main strip of Burlington and still exists today. APPARENTLY they have really great gravy fries but as a Canadian I have to say they don’t because poutine exists and is most definitely better. I also know the drive between Burlington and Montréal is one of my favourites. It’s short and quiet and driving along the open fields on the backroads reminds me of home. I also mention Molly working at a farmers market which would have existed at the time this is taking place and it still exists today!! Burlington Vermont is one of my fave places I've visited and I'm really lucky I got to go so often while living in Montréal.
Notes:
Recommended Listening:
NIB - Black Sabbath
Ripple - The Grateful Dead
Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying - Labi Siffre
What’d I Say - Rare Earth
Easy Does It - Supertramp
Chapter Text
March 20, 1979
The rooster crows, a shrill cry that rips Remus from sleep. He wakes with his heart pounding, thundering behind his ribcage. Skin clammy and a cool chill coursing through him. He lies there for a moment, attempting to orient himself, reminding himself where he is.
All the driving is making him antsy, even if he’s just in the back keeping busy it’s still dredging up feelings. Thoughts of the accident sitting in the back of his mind like a stone, always there, always lurking.
Pete’s on the couch, snoring but not as loud as the last few days when the rooster calls again. He rolls over onto his side, giving himself a second to adjust. Back sore, knees stiff, his hip is aching and the metal plates fusing it all together is making itself known.
Remus groans a little, hoping it’ll make himself feel better, but it doesn’t. Struggling to sit up he sweeps the room. Sirius’s clothing is in a pile next to his head, packed up tight, his knees are practically touching his chest and the blanket is barely covering him.
Hair falling in waves around his face, it’s sleep mussed and sticking to his cheek. Mouth parted, there’s a furrow in his brow, his breath coming out in puffs. Remus is tempted to wake him, he’s obviously dreaming of something worrisome, but the rooster crows again. He stirs, still asleep but his forehead smooths, breathing evening out.
“Definitely thought the rooster would wake you.” Remus mutters, climbing to his feet with effort. He stretches, rolling his shoulders and moving his hip and the muscles tighten.
He limps through the house, finding his shoes and lighting up a joint as he exits. The property is surrounded by trees, thousands of them, so tall they almost block out the sky. When they pulled in yesterday the sun was already dipping below the horizon by the time they were making their way through the little town.
It smells like pine, but not the shitty air fresheners James always has in the car. He takes a long drag, hoping it’ll take the edge off the pain and closes his eyes. The air is cool this morning, a gentle breeze rustling up the fresh buds in the canopy above.
The rooster crows once more and he opens his eyes, looking around to see where the coop could possibly be.
Molly is already up and outside, tending to the garden a couple hundred feet away from the house. Remus can just barely see the top of her head. Her hair is piled high, contained by a scrunchy, bobbing around as she moves.
The garden is much larger than he expected, sectioned off by raised beds built out of two by fours filled with rich black soil. Between the raised beds are even more rows and he can see the beginnings of things sprouting. The chickens are roaming free, their coop off in the corner of the yard and further still is a group of goats behind a fence.
They are cautious of him as he approaches, looking up with intrigue but sticking close to Molly. They cluck, ruffling their feathers and Molly turns at the disturbance.
“No, no way! I don’t need your help, go back inside!” she calls out and Remus can see a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Standing above her, the chickens all crowd behind her.
“What’re you planting?” he asks, kneeling down next to her and offering up the joint. She sighs, taking it from him.
“I’m fighting these weeds more than anything.” Molly says on an exhale, frustration laced in her tone. Her hands are full of soil, a basket next to her full of debris and leaves. The early morning sun is just starting to peek over the tops of the trees.
Remus fiddles with the hem of his shirt, rolling the edge along his fingers and looking at the garden beds. They’re all full of yellow winding vines and weeds, dried up from last season, trying to choke out what’s growing in the fresh soil.
“My uh,” he starts, clearing his throat before he continues. “My mom used to mix up salt, vinegar and dish soap in an old spray bottle. She’d spritz it on the weeds as she pulled them.” The joint is starting to hit him, calm blanket of a buzz spreading through him. He starts pulling, careful fingers tugging at the roots before tossing them into her basket.
“You used to garden with your mom?” Molly is still puffing on the joint, leaning back on the grass as he takes over. A few of the chickens cluck at her, crowding around and begging for attention.
“A little,” he shrugs, a deep sigh to his words and he stays focused on his hands, “it’s hard to get a teenage boy to do anything with his mom.” He swallows the lump in his throat after he says it.
“You seem like the type to be a sweet teen.” she says with a smile that Remus catches from the corner of his eye. “Your mom is so lucky to have you.”
They continue to work together in a comfortable silence. The chickens make their rounds greeting him now that he’s been deemed safe. Remus finds out that Molly is particularly fond of a light brown hen whom she calls Plucky. She strokes her little feathered head and lets her eat feed out of her palm.
Plucky cuddles up to Molly any chance she gets, cat-like in her demeanor, squawking for attention. After a while of being ignored, she toddles over to Remus cautiously.
“Did you grow up with animals?” Molly asks. Plucky is standing defiantly in front of him as he tries to pick the weeds around her. She’s bobbing her head in an attempt to catch the tips of his fingers
“We had a stubborn old mare for a while—my dad called her Honeyduke—and there were a few cats that wandered onto the property, but nothing indoors.”
Molly lets out a quick snort when Plucky finally gets him. Her sharp beak grazes his hand and when he pulls away she uses the opportunity to leap into his lap. Remus concedes with a sigh, stroking the chicken's head.
“You sound like you grew up on a farm.”
Plucky’s feathers are soft, her black eyes staring up at him. “I did.” he answers, glancing over to where Molly is reclined.
“Did all you boys grow up together?”
“Yeah.”
Molly’s brows furrow together, her brown eyes tinted a little red, “I can’t imagine Sirius and James on farms.”
Remus huffs a laugh and Plucky nibbles at the tips of his fingers, looking for food.
“They grew up on one side of town, and Pete and I grew up on the other.” She nods in a knowing sort of way, rooting around in her overall pocket and passing a handful of seed to him.
Everyone who’s anyone can see that Sirius and James are different from him and Pete. Cut from a different cloth, given a different lot in life. Keyword here being given.
Remus and Sirius may share a lot in common when it comes to shit they’re been dealt. But some parts of him remain just for him. His burden to carry, his cross to bear.
“Where are you from?” Remus asks, deflecting and Plucky tilts her head into his touch, pecking at the seeds in his hand.
“Here.” Molly flicks the spent roach into a pile of compost close to her. “Well, a couple of miles in the other direction. Little place called Winooski.”
He hums a response, nodding. “Do you like living where you grew up? Must be nice to be around all these trees all the time.”
She shrugs, “I like being where my roots are and knowing everyone around here, although going into town always takes much longer than I anticipate.” She’s running her palm along the grass, chuckling. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to do what Xen and Panda do. Cooped up in that van for months driving around.”
“Are you here alone when they go?”
“Oh God no, Arthur comes and stays with me.” Remus raises a brow and she answers before he can even ask. “My boyfriend, he works for the mayor over in Burlington and Xen hates it. Says he works for the man, which isn’t a lie.” She huffs a laugh, adopting Xen’s tone.
“I’m guessing Xen and Panda aren’t from around here?”
“No way! Those cool cats? They’re from California, up in the Bay Area. Lived in San Francisco for a long while in one of those beautiful painted houses on a steep hill.” Molly looks over at him, brown eyes wide and Plucky has made her way into his lap. She’s settled herself into the hollow of his crossed legs.
“You’ve made a friend.” Molly says with a smile, leaning over and scratching under the hens chin.
“What brought them all the way out here? California is a long way away.”
“I think they stayed for me honestly, I was selling veggies down in the farmers market and we got to talking and we just,” Molly lets out a sigh, “we fell for one another. Sometimes you just get caught up and you don’t wanna ever part.” Plucky is making cooing noises, her eyes closing as Remus continues to pet her head.
“So, they just stayed?”
Molly nods, “Remus, when I met them it felt like we had been tied together our whole lives.” Her voice has taken on a reverent tone. “Have you ever had someone in your life like that?”
Remus bites his lip, nodding curtly.
You know I can see the bonds between you. Panda’s voice, ringing through his skull, the ravings of someone he doesn’t even know but it’s struck such a chord.
“Well I mean, you have the band, I guess it’s probably the same between you four.” Molly tacks on quickly as Plucky starts to cluck loudly. All of the hens around her take up her song and Molly starts to laugh. “Oh she really likes you!”
After a while, Plucky lets out a satisfied squawk, leaping up and flapping her wings before stumbling away. A few of the other chickens follow and Remus is left with an egg in his lap. He picks it up carefully, still warm.
“You’ve been chosen.” Molly leans over, plucking the egg from his hand and popping it into her overall pocket. “How about I cook this special, just for you?” She’s getting up off the ground now, rolling her shoulders back and offering him a hand.
Remus stands to his full height, hip no longer as stiff as it was before the joint. His back still aches and it’s a few paces before he falls in line with Molly as they walk back to the house.
He misses the slow mornings on the farm. Finding his mom at the kitchen table, reading while the radio plays in the corner. Sometimes he would catch her singing along with some of the older songs.
They enter through the back patio door and Sirius is no longer curled up on the living room floor. Instead he’s sitting at the kitchen table, record on in the corner, playing quietly, speakers crackling.
He’s hunched over something on the table, hair wet and sticking to the side of his face and it looks downright domestic. The collar of his shirt is soaked through, white and it’s gone see through.
“Morning Sirius!” Molly sing songs and he looks up. Blue eyes so bright in the morning light it’s almost like they’re absent of colour, taking on the warmth of the sunshine.
“Morning Molly.” Remus catches it from the corner of his eye, what Sirius is hunched over. The book he let him borrow and when their eyes meet again, something passes over his gaze, like clouds in the blue summer sky.
Sirius dreamt of Hope’s funeral.
The church springs up around him as he sits shoulder to shoulder with the Potter’s in the church pew, Patty and David just next to them. Michelle and Pete sitting behind him, Pete’s clammy hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into his collarbone like that would ground the two of them.
They had been a united front, they were all there for Remus and Lyall.
Remus had hobbled around on crutches, barely healed from his own injuries. The scar he has on his face had been so deep, when Sirius saw it for the first time it took everything in him not to cry.
The dream took him through it all, the entire service, like penance for forgetting and the edible had just served it up to him. Unearthed something he’s been trying to repress. It leaves a heaviness in his chest, a hollowness in his bones that he just wants to shake.
Now, Sirius is sitting in the living room as everyone else mills around. He has the book in his hands, the one that Remus let him borrow. It’s crisp and new, the cover still stiff, spine unbroken. Sirius thinks Remus hasn’t even looked at it yet.
Flipping it open, he rifles through the pages, something catching his eye. On the first page, in blue pen is a paragraph of tight cursive.
Rem,
I know you hate gifts but this doesn’t count. Happy birthday darling can’t wait to go out dancing.
xx
Marls
I want to know your thoughts on the relationship between Basil and Dorian!
Sirius’s brows come together, I thought Marlene bought him a record…He stares at the note for a while, it’s nothing special, just a few lines. Remus said she had given it to him, but Sirius didn’t realise it was for his birthday.
There’s something opening in his chest, a little crack forming. Remus is friends with Marlene and Lily, he’s close with them, goes out with them when the rest of the guys aren’t around. He’s seen them whispering to one another, sharing bits and pieces with each other that Sirius will never get to see.
Ever since Remus left, Sirius has felt the rift. At first, he assumed it was just getting older, growing up and realising they were no longer boys in a small town. He thought he would have to come to terms with the fact that their proximity may have been the glue holding them together.
The house is quiet, the deafening silence after a rowdy night and Sirius hates being alone with his own thoughts.
He’s still staring at the book when Xen comes into the living room, a splotch of white paint smeared on his cheek. Pete and James are out in the backyard now, Sirius can hear them through the open patio door.
He’s been nibbling on a brownie, hoping it’ll calm his nerves enough, washing it down with a beer stolen from the fridge.
“Your aura man,” Xen is towering over him, waving a hand around in his general vicinity.
Sirius tilts his head from his spot on the floor, Xen is in a breezy linen outfit, pants the colour of sage and a matching button down that’s misbuttoned.
“You’re harbouring something deep.”
“I always get nervous before shows.” he mumbles back and Xen shakes his head, coming down to sit on the floor in front of him.
“It’s more than that, something happened.”
The blood drains from Sirius’s face and he has to turn away, rubbing the back of his neck. He uses the opportunity to sit up, unable to fully meet Xen’s intense gaze.
“Nah, nothing’s happened.”
“Not last night, something big.” Xen’s voice trails, eyes still boring into Sirius who swallows and doesn’t answer for a breath.
“I uh, my,” Sirius licks his lips, swallowing again, palms sweating as he starts again. “I don’t think I can, I don’t want to talk about it.” he says finally.
“Sounds like whatever’s going on, you haven’t processed it my dude.”
“Guess I haven’t.”
Xen gets up, standing with ease from his sitting position and taking long strides to the kitchen. He’s back, holding a mason jar stuffed full of mushrooms, handing it over to Sirius who takes them with cautious fingers.
“This could help.” he says, but he isn’t sitting down. “Panda and I do them when we’re feeling like we need to reconnect with each other. There’s nothing better than sitting with your thoughts and talking them out with someone you love.”
Sirius turns the jar over in his hands for a minute before looking up and saying, “I don’t really have anyone to talk to…about this.” He looks out through the patio door. Remus is lying on the grass in the sun with James and Pete around him.
“You do though, you’d be surprised who you can lean on.”
Sirius just nods, not really knowing what to say to that. He’s not wrong, Sirius should be able to open up to them. After Regulus’s funeral, James had tried.
Walburga and Orion had dropped him back at the Potter’s, tossing him out when they were done with him. He dragged himself up the stairs, into his bedroom and lay there, trying to figure out what to do next. James had knocked on his bedroom door and he just stayed there, unable to move, unable to speak, and waited for him to leave.
“I’ve got something to show you.” Xen says with a smile, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts and he stands up. Following Xen down the hall, his bare feet padding across the hardwood and he turns into the room James slept in the night before.
Like last night, it smells heavily of chemicals. Small, the room is mostly taken up by the cot and a drawing desk. A stack of something resembling canvases sits in the corner and the walls are plastered in posters. Sirius doesn’t remember coming in here last night, only the smell and when he looks up he can’t help the awe in his voice.
“Did you make all these?”
They’re all colourful, rich pops and swirls with magical looking things. Bears dancing in swirling circles, skeletons grinning and wearing tophats. Caricatures of people with instruments alongside bubble letters reading The Grateful Dead.
“Pretty cool huh? Some of the things we sell when we’re on the road.” Xen steps over a stack of papers on the floor. In front of the window is a clothesline with a few white t-shirts strung up. He pulls one down before turning to Sirius.
On the shirt, in big black letters and a few lopsided stars reads, SIRIUS BLACK AND THE DARK STARS. Sirius’s voice is caught up in his throat, he reaches out, touching the sleeve carefully.
Sirius bites his cheek, Black. Sirius Black. Even after all this time it makes him feel sick. Makes him feel nauseous when he sees it. He wonders if other people get the same visceral reaction to their family name. Not his name, his family's name.
When he told Pandora in the parking lot of the gas station what his name was she reached out and touched his face.
“Wow, named for a star.” she said it with a dream-like expression passing over her eyes and it made Sirius’s guts twist. “I think it’s beautiful when someone can take pride in something they were given, like a name.”
But pride is the last thing he feels. Gift is the last word he would ever use for it.
“Every band needs merch, my friend.” He’s smiling, eyes soft and Sirius takes the shirt from him, holding it in his own hands.
“You, you made this? For me?” Sirius is still staring at it, reading it over and over again in his mind.
“Of course! Look there’s more.” He’s pulling down more shirts from the clothesline. Different colours of ink on different shirts and Sirius can’t take it all in. He shakes his head, stepping back.
“We—I—Xen, we can’t pay you for this.” Sirius stammers out, heart pounding, torn.
“I don’t want your money man, just get your music out there. Let the crowd feel what you wanna do.”
Sirius is still holding the shirt, eyes dancing across the letters before glancing over to the other colours. It doesn’t feel real, nothing feels real, like he’s been swallowed up and spit out somewhere else.
This is an accomplishment, a milestone. Real bands have merch, real bands tour, and play shows and do more than covers.
“Can—” he stops as Xen steps in closer to him, “Can you make one that just says The Dark Stars?”
“Of course.”
Remus is sitting on the edge of the stage, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling. He has a joint dangling from his mouth—weed that was given to them by Xen and Panda—and it’s stronger than what he’s used to. The edges of the high already beginning to creep up on him.
This stage is definitely shallower than what they’re used to, longer on the wings so they’ll be forced to play in a line. Remus can already sense it’s going to be a problem.
Sirius is pacing, back and forth down the length of the stage. He steps over Remus’s hands, leaning down as he passes by and plucking the joint from Remus’s mouth. Taking a long drag, he’s muttering to himself, sticking it in the headstock of his guitar. Stomping back again, his boots making a hollow sound across the stage. He’s anxious, everyone can see it, the energy palpable in the empty bar.
Moving forward, Sirius is right at the edge of the stage, looking down, calculating. It’s not a far drop and Remus knows the gears are turning, thoughts forming in that thick skull of his. He steps back, all the weight on his opposite foot, leading with his hips and starts to play something. Sirius leans in as if he’s singing into a mic, foot dangerously close to the edge now.
“Watch it.” Remus barks out, motioning to the toe of Sirius’s boot hanging off the lip of the stage. Sirius cuts him a look, blue eyes steely even in the dim light and a shiver shoots right up Remus’s spine. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of a look like that from Sirius.
For an instant, Remus can see nothing but the sour face of Walburga Black. The snarl she would get when something didn’t go her way. It worries Remus that Sirius could possibly see Lyall in him.
He just shrugs, rolling his eyes as he looks away and hopes Sirius will stop pinning him with that glare. Pulling himself into a proper sitting position, Remus readies an ‘I told you so’ for when he topples off the stage later tonight.
They have some time, and hopefully Sirius has enough sense in him to learn his limits now and not when they’re playing in front of people.
But Remus doesn’t think so.
That’s the way that Sirius operates, he never looks before he leaps.
Sirius is still fiddling around on the stage, trying to work through what he’s going to do tonight and Remus is glad they rolled in early. He’s been feeling rusty, fingers tired and hip hurting by the time they finish their set. He can’t tell if it’s all the beer he’s been drinking, the twinkies he’s been eating or the general lack of sleep.
Remus watches him from the corner of his eye. He’s calmed down some, and isn't as frustrated as he was a few moments ago. His hair is falling all over the place, haphazardly pulled back with some sort of hair tie but the front is still escaping. He’s stolen one of Remus’s flannels, practically swimming in it, with the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows but they’re still slipping down.
Scrubbing his face, Remus rubs his eyes and lets out a low groan as the tension builds in his chest. The day off in Montréal cannot come fast enough. Deciding on the spot, he needs a day away from Sirius and his stupid gravitational pull.
He closes his eyes, Sirius is no longer stomping around, and lays back on the stage. Settling in, Sirius starts to actually play something, his guitar plugged into the amp but turned down low. Remus can hear the beginning of something new, not a cover, not something they’ve already written, but a song he’s coming up with off the cuff.
Sirius is muttering to himself, Remus only catching every few words as he plays.
“Baby baby…” Remus opens his eyes, turning his head to face Sirius. He’s plucking the stolen joint from the headstock where it was burning and takes a long drag. “...take me home…it’s been so long…” His voice carries the edges of the smoke as he sings quietly.
Remus is staring, transfixed on watching as Sirius’s lips move. Dark brows furrowed together, fingers moving deftly across the fretboard.
Sirius is carrying an air to him that Remus is still getting used to, the tinge of sadness that grief tends to bring around.
But even in the dim light of this shitty bar, he’s still so pretty. Hair falling in his face, the tie fighting to hold it back and the bags under his eyes. Remus almost lets out a groan, the fluttering in his chest intensifying with the threat of turning into something more.
Sirius looks over, catching him staring and his eyes are bright. Raising a brow, he scrunches his nose, joint clenched between his teeth. He rubs his cheek with the back of his hand, plucking the joint from his mouth.
“Is there something on my face?” he says, starting to laugh, still rubbing at his cheek. “Do I have ash on my face again?”
Remus just shakes his head slowly and looks away.
Sirius and James disappear together while Remus and Pete stay close to the stage.
Remus sitting on the edge like he had been all afternoon and Pete at his kit. Together, they work through a few kinks in the set and for the first time in days, Remus is feeling calm. Like his skin isn’t itching anymore, sitting on his bones normally and not grinding away underneath it.
He thinks tonight is going to be good, the show will be great. The town seems to be buzzing with excitement at the thought of a new band playing. Although Nectars is nothing like the other venues they’ve played before, that doesn’t matter because Remus feels good.
The little hiccup from earlier is forgotten and when Molly walks into the bar he feels even better. She’s cleaned up since this morning wearing a long skirt with big wooden buttons down the front and a crochet cropped shirt. Her wild red hair falling around her in a halo of curls. The second she sees them in the forming crowd, her whole face lights up.
Xen and Panda are in tow, gliding through the room, practically glowing in the dim light. Xen still has paint on his pale cheek, smudged like he was rubbing it, trying to get it off. Panda’s wearing another yellow dress, her hair pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Both of them are wearing sandals and Remus is a little surprised at this.
They all hang around the bar as the crowd grows, killing time. Molly yaps with Pete for a while and Remus sees her pull a brownie out of her purse, breaking it in half so they can split it.
The four of them leave to set up and the crowd starts to whisper. Remus is fixing the mic stand, looking out when he sees a clean cut looking man start to approach Molly. Tall, he’s got an uncomfortable air about him but when Molly sees him she squeals.
High pitched, it cuts right through the chatter of the crowd.
Arthur.
She throws her hands around his neck and Xen’s posture changes, closing off he turns, focusing on Panda. There’s a dull poke in his side, whipping his head around, Pete is prodding Remus with his drumstick.
He mouths ‘who’s that’ motioning over to Arthur with his head.
“Molly’s boyfriend, Arthur.” Remus says, busying himself with tuning, “Xen isn’t a big fan of Arthur, works for the mayor.” He turns away, getting a better look at the two of them.
He can see why Xen isn’t a fan. Arthur stands with his hands in the pocket of his ill fitting suit, his tie sitting askew on his neck like he had loosened it before coming in. He’s an odd sight next to the rest of them, but Molly’s face is alight, grinning up at him and Remus decides Arthur probably isn’t that bad.
The show starts soon after that, Remus turning in to watch Pete as he plays, the crowd to his back as he locks into focus. They work their way through the set and for the first time since they hit the road, Remus can feel himself getting lost in the sound, falling into the rhythm.
When they get to the cover at the end, he isn’t nervous, hands feeling sure as he plays the opening of NIB. The shuffle of the crowd, the quiet comments of excitement are all fading away as his breathing evens out.
They’re half way through, Sirius moving around like the stage is bigger than it is and Remus catches a glimpse of his boot hanging over the edge. But Remus stays put, eyes trained on the drums because they keep time best like that, holding things down, making sure Sirius doesn’t get too excited and speed through things.
“My name is Lucifer, please take my ha—” The drop off, Sirius’s voice loud before falling into nothing and slamming into the floor. Remus’s head snaps over, whipping around and Sirius is gone.
Pete stands, drumsticks in one hand, peering over his kit and James is struggling to pull his guitar over his head. Remus gets there first, bass tossed around his back peering down at Sirius.
He’s hunched over, collecting himself before rolling onto his back, clutching his face. James is on crowd control, all the girls close to the front trying to get his attention and Sirius is moaning. It’s loud, the chatter of the mass of people starting to reach its peak.
Climbing down, Remus hoists Sirius up so he’s sitting, assessing the damage. There’s a hole in the knee of his jeans, another poking around the side, the threadbare fabric no longer able to hold on.
Rubbing his eye, he’s blinking rapidly and Remus puts his fingers under Sirius’s chin, tilting his head in the light. Molly is over his shoulder immediately, on his bad side talking a mile a minute and he can’t quite hear what she’s saying.
“—the shiner—you some ice—when we’re home—” Every other word and there’s feedback from the mics, crackling through the speakers. Remus still has his fingers under Sirius’s chin, touch soft as he squints back through an already swollen lid.
“Clipped someone’s shoulder on the way down.” Sirius says and Remus can feel him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing close to where he’s holding.
“I can see that.” Remus whispers back.
“Worse than a right hook from my dad let me tell you that.” He huffs a laugh, pulling his chin out of Remus’s grasp and tossing an affirming look to Molly. He pats her shoulder, a quick I’m alright as he stands.
He hops back onto the stage, checking his guitar quickly and stepping up to the mic.
“Sorry about that folks, got a little too rowdy up here.” He leans in when he talks, squinting out into the audience. Now that he’s standing, Remus can see the full damage. Pants ripped on the knee, another hole reaching around from the back pocket to the front.
The lights hit him and his skin is so pale against the fabric of his pants. The crowd murmurs wearily before clapping and Sirius is tuning, getting back into it. The rest of them clamber back onto the stage, Remus taking up his position at the back and turning away.
For the rest of the show, all he can see is Sirius’s bare skin from the corner of his eye. The way the light hits it and he’s swallowing down whatever feeling is threatening to come back up.
After the show, when they’re packing up their gear and getting ready to go back to the house, Remus is chatting with Molly. She’s introducing him to Arthur, beaming up at him as she talks, her hand on Arthur’s chest.
The girl that Sirius fell on is talking to him, smiling at him, apologising and she hesitates before reaching out and touching his face. He can see it just over Molly’s shoulder, the entire exchange. Watching as Sirius laughs with her, leans into her touch before brushing it off gently.
Panda’s words bubble back, coming to him like a force and he was so far gone in his stupor the night before it didn’t really click until now.
You and Sirius have a bond…
But do they? Is it a bond, or is it just a frustrating crush that’s threatening to consume him.
Remus nods at what Molly is saying, not listening as his eyes drift back to Sirius and the girl. She seems sweet, her fingers grazing Sirius’s cheek again and Remus has to remind himself that it’s fine. That this will happen, because Sirius doesn’t know.
She’s saying something to him, obviously too far away to hear, and reaching into her purse. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a pen, she rips off a bit of cardboard from the front before scribbling something down.
A phone number, probably followed by an ‘I’ll make it up to you’ and Sirius takes it. He tucks the scrap of paper in his pocket, a little collection of names and phone numbers and Remus wonders if he ever calls them.
When they get back to the house, Sirius finally has a chance to assess the damage. Eye socket throbbing, knee skinned and the hole in his pants all adding up to a night of bullshit.
He’s sitting on the floor of the living room with his pants off, a blanket wrapped around his middle, and he has his head in his hands, trying to think. His elbows are on his knees, eyes closed.
Everyone’s busy around him, there’s a record on as Xen and Panda lounge on the couch. Pete is at their feet, teaching Panda a simple card trick. He’s shuffling the deck, soft swish and slap before laying them out and explaining.
His words are slow, the edible Molly gave him before the show is still in his system but Sirius has heard him explain this a thousand times.
He’s still staring, still thinking.
He could always live with it, just wear them until they get into Montréal tomorrow and buy a new pair. But do they have enough money for that? He groans again, sound low and in the back of his throat.
“Pretty big hole.” James remarks and Sirius lifts his head. Sitting in one of the chairs across from Sirius, James is spread out, beer in his hand. He lifts the pants up again and James lets out a whistle.
“Damn, we’re fucking lucky you were wearing underwear.” he says when Sirius doesn’t acknowledge him, wiggling his brows. Sirius glares over the top of the waistband. He can see Remus visibly stiffen from his spot in the corner. Standing close to the door, leaning against the jamb, Remus is peeling the sticker off his beer bottle.
“What’re you gonna do?” Pete asks, still shuffling.
Sirius scrubs his face, wincing at the pressure around his eye, looking at his pants again. The rip is right under the back pocket, precisely where his ass meets his leg. The fabric is already paper thin from wear, white strings struggling to hold the last little bit. He pulls at them, watching the tear open further.
“Just toss them.” James says with a shrug and Remus barks a laugh from the doorway. Sirius’s face heats and he can feel James’s eyes on him. “What? Sirius, why do you have that look?”
“I don’t have another pair.” he mumbles, avoiding James still.
“You, you what? You only brought one pair of pants?!” His tone is condescending, sitting across the room, staring Sirius down. He’s got the same look Effie does when she’s trying to decide how to say something neither of them want to hear. Sirius finally looks up and James’s mouth is clamped shut, lips a thin line.
Sirius rolls his eyes, “Man, we’re only gone for two weeks. Why would I bring more than one pair?”
“What were you going to do when we did laundry?!” James tosses a hand in the air, looking over at Remus in the doorway. Sirius shrugs quickly, he isn’t in the mood for James’s mothering.
Picking up the pants again he sighs, “I guess I’ll just have to sew them and hope they hold until we get to Montréal.” He sticks his hand through the hole.
“Oh sweetheart, you need a patch for that.” Panda chimes in. Xen leans back, pulling something off the back of the couch and tossing it to him on the floor.
“Use this.”
Sirius takes the shirt off the floor, holding it in his hands for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t cut up one of the shirts you made. I can just use one of mine.”
Xen waves him off quickly, “Nonsense, I’ll make more. Just use it.”
He bites his lip, unfurling the t-shirt and looking at it again.
Sirius Black and the Dark Stars.
His name, his band.
“You’re not gonna use the part with your name on it are you?” Remus’s voice, soft from above him as he raises a brow. Sitting down across from him, Remus crosses his legs, leaning in.
Remus is holding the neck of his beer, long fingers clasping it, he brings it to his lips taking a deep swig. Sirius watches the motion, watches him swallow before looking away, back at the t-shirt, back to his jeans.
“I was thinking about it, but now I’m self conscious.” He shoots back and Remus reclines back, putting some space between them. He’s looking at Sirius with calm green eyes and they flick over his face quickly. Checking in, looking at the swelling, seeing if it’s gotten worse, a careful sweep and inventory.
Sirius knows that look, recognises it well.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” he says quietly, feeling Remus’s lingering gaze, watching the subtle nod.
“I have a few notions in here darling.” Molly roots through a blue tin before passing it to him, Remus intercepting it.
“I can do it, you deal with your eye.” Remus says, sitting up and holding out a hand, motioning for him to pass everything over. Sirius looks between him and Molly. She catches his face in her hands gently, tilting his chin in the light just like Remus had.
“God this is going to be a big bruise.” Molly mutters and he just shrugs, doesn’t want to say that this isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to him. She presses ice wrapped in a kitchen towel against the bruise gently. He winces, sucking a breath through his teeth.
“Who taught you how to sew like that?” she says with surprise.
Remus is in his own world, hunched over making little stitches in Sirius’s pants. He looks up at her with a look of shock, pink colouring his cheeks and he focuses back on his stitches.
“My mum did,” he says quietly, just above the din of the music. “She used to mend all our things while watching The Ed Sullivan Show. She’d sit quietly and work through the pile, and sometimes I’d sit with her.
“Your mum sounds like a treasure, teaching you to garden and mend.” Molly is beaming, nudging Remus’s foot with her own.
“Yeah…she really was…” there’s a silence that falls between the three of them, Molly’s smile turning as the realisation crosses her. Brown eyes welling for a moment, she touches Remus’s shoulder quietly.
“You’re going to make a really good husband one day.”
And he just nods, continuing to stitch, brows furrowed, eyes focused.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Montréal has a vibe like no other, mix of European and North American with this weird art school undertone. Montréal has always been a free spirited city with lots of quirks and I just hope I can capture that. There’s literally nothing I love more than turning a corner in the dead of night and seeing the cross on the mountain all lit up (not to be mistaken for the massive fucking cellphone tower next to it.). I’m not a religious person but Montréal makes me feel things so deeply. You get five feet of snow every winter and trudge around in the dead of night looking for an old warehouse near the tracks someone told you about because it has underground punk shows or another one that has all night raves. The mix of “bonjour hi, mais non I don’t know what you’re looking for” or “je veux prends a coffee please, and a donut, non deux s’il vous plaît.” I grew up with a lot of the culture and spent many winters there and there’s nothing more beautiful than walking down a street with the quiet snow on either side, so cold your nose hairs freeze if you breathe in too quickly.
Little note about crossing the border from the US to Canada in 1979. You only needed a driver’s license up until the early 2000s and you did not need a passport to come into Canada. THAT BEING SAID, if you didn’t have a driver’s licence (cough Sirius who can’t drive) you’d need another piece of identification. So this may not seem like a big deal but it potentially is.
TW: Drugs (Shrooms), vomiting,
Recommended Listening:
Harmonium - Harmonium (RIP Serge Fiori)
Le fou de roi - Les Sinners
Lundi lundi - Richard Anthony
Je Suivivrai - Michéle Richard
J’entends frapper - Michel Pagliaro
Chapter Text
Part Five: Montréal
March 21, 1979
Sirius is curled in the front seat, leg pulled to his chest. He’s taken his boot off, discarded somewhere in the wheel well and he’s picking at the skin around his thumb. Coffee thrumming in his veins, he’s tempted to crack a beer to chase away the hangover brewing.
It’s already well past noon, late start means late arrival, but the drive from Burlington to Montréal isn’t as far as the other cities. They were all slow moving this morning, still a little stoned from staying up until sunrise. Sirius had curled up on the living room floor just as the rooster started crowing, only to be woken up a handful of hours later.
James is fighting his way through the hangover, looking a little green as they motor down the highway.
Sirius is looking out the window, picking at his skin, peeling at it, digging into the side of his nail and it stings. Glancing down, he realises he’s bleeding.
“Fuck.” he mutters, wiping his thumb on his pants. They’ve got the radio on, turned up louder than normal in an attempt to keep James more alert.
“Alright my dudes!” James leans over, turning the stereo down and directing his attention to the back seat. “We’re crossing into Canada soon so we gotta hide all the weed.”
They pull onto the shoulder of the highway, cars whipping past, and start digging around for spots to hide their stash. Pete’s pulling at the panelling on the doors, looking for an opening as Sirius wrenches on the handle of the glove compartment.
“That’s too obvious dude.” James huffs to him and after a few minutes they’ve all given up. Defeated, James has his forehead against the steering wheel. Pete lights a joint.
“It’s just pot Jamie, I don’t think they’ll be that strict about it.” he says on an exhale, waving his hand to dissipate the smoke. Hands flexing on the steering wheel, Sirius can already feel the anxiety rolling off of James. The arch of his back and curve of his shoulders, he’s trying to keep his cool.
“Why don’t we just shove it in Pete’s kit?” Sirius turns at the sound of Remus’s voice, “We can hide it in the pillow in the bass drum.” They’re all silent for a moment, looking amongst each other. James is the first to move, out of the driver's side and coming around the back. Sirius opens the sliding door and they’re all shoulder to shoulder with the rear doors open.
Pete pulls his case forward, knocking Sirius’s bag over. A few tapes spill out, a wad of clothing and the mason jar of mushrooms Xen gave him. He leans over, trying to shove it back into his bag while Pete’s sticking baggies of pot in the open spaces of his drum kit.
“You look guilty, why do you look guilty?” James has Sirius by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to turn. On reflex, his hand flies up to the back of his neck rubbing it. James lets go when Sirius meets his gaze.
“We have uh, I may have,” James makes a frustrated sound and Sirius clears his throat. “Xen gave me mushrooms and I was hoping we cou—”
James’s head is in his hands, a long groan coming from the back of his throat.
“Xen gave you what?! You can’t be, you have to be fucking kidding me,” He looks up, “You can’t be serious, what the actual fuck! We’re going to hit the border and you were just going to bring shrooms with us?”
Sirius shrugs, “Well, I don’t just want to chuck them, I feel like they’re good. Xen suggested we take them all together, you know, to help with our bond.”
No one says anything, Pete still tucking their weed in places before finishing up and clicking the case closed. He slides it back amongst their things and there’s another few moments of silence before one of them clears their throat.
Sirius turns, expecting Pete to say something, to tell James to chill the fuck out man, but it’s Remus who speaks.
“Why don’t we just take them then?” It’s nonchalant, like he should have already thought of it and Sirius turns to look at him.
“You wanna do shrooms with me?” he says and before he can stop himself he adds, “We can strengthen our bond?” Remus is to the right of him, leaning against the open back door. He licks his lips, eyes darting to James before settling back on Sirius.
“Yeah, why not.”
“What! You’re supposed to be on my side!” James barks out suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger in Remus’s direction before turning all his wrath on Pete.
Pete holds out a pacifying hand, “Nah, none for me. I’m all set with this.” He brandishes a joint, slipping it into his shirt pocket.
“Alright then, you two are in the back.”
Sirius scoffs, hand in his bag, grabbing the mason jar. “Why? Don’t trust me to read directions?”
“No actually, I don’t.” James mutters, rubbing his face until it’s red, pressing the heels of his hands in his eyes and Sirius’s chest clenches. Vice grip right around his ribs, it doesn’t stop, the twisting.
He doesn’t trust you.
Little voice in the back of his head, nagging, itching. The beginning of the end.
James drops his hands suddenly, eyes wide staring right through Sirius. “You didn’t bring your birth certificate did you?” A question that he already knows the answer to.
Sirius swallows, gripping the jar tight with both hands and steps back, away from the van, away from the three of them. James turns, pinning Sirius with a dark expression and his jaw clenches because he knows what Sirius is about to say.
“No.”
If James is going to be disappointed, he might as well be angry too.
His mouth contorts, no longer a thin line, hackles raising and Sirius braces. Holding his breath, he waits for the yelling to start. He’s already building up the wall, the calm before the storm, preparing for the worst. But the anger in James’s face is fleeting, nothing but a passing storm as he takes a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he says something worse than a yell.
“Sirius—” His name, all harsh consonants, falls from James’s lips like a curse. He’s disappointed James, he’s fucked up. Sirius should have brought it up earlier, they could have figured it out together.
They’ve known about the tour for months, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to go home. Not when Reggie wouldn’t be there.
The lump in his throat is growing, tears stinging high in his nose and he swallows roughly. They’re all looking at him now and he just holds James’s gaze.
“What the fuck was I supposed to do huh?” He bites, gripping the jar so tight his knuckles turn white. “Hi Walburge, Hi Orion,” His voice is edged with tears, talking through his teeth he leans into it, refusing to back down, twisting the knife. “Your son is here. Oh no not the perfect one who’s dead, the fuck up who’s very much alive. What’s that you say? Oh my, you wish I was dead, well then.”
James winces and whispers, “Stop.”
But he keeps going, voice growing louder. “You want me to come inside because the neighbours are talking? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly come in, I’m just here to collect fucking paperwork. Why am I doing that? So I can cross the fucking border, with my fucking band that you fucking hate!” His breath is heaving, snapping his jaw shut, his hands are shaking. Pushing past the three of them, Sirius climbs through the back doors and into the van.
It’s still bubbling, still reeling through him. The rage, the grief, all of the emotions that are trying to break through the surface. Settling just below and waiting, fighting all at once to come up.
The rest of them give him a second before getting in quietly. An air of unease settling in the confined space. No one looks at him, avoiding his gaze like a riotous dog poised to bite.
Pete’s taken up his spot in the front seat, readying the map in his lap, glancing around sheepishly as Sirius unscrews the lid of the mason jar.
Filled tight, there’s a note taped to the side. Xen’s tight handwriting in blue ink—how to brew tea—Sirius stops reading. He squeezes his fingers into the opening of the jar, pinching out a few of the mushrooms and shoving them into his mouth roughly.
They taste like dirt, a handful of earth with a bitter aftertaste and it takes every ounce of strength in him not to gag. Stomach already churning, Sirius forces himself to swallow. He doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this.
Remus’s hand comes into view, reaching for the jar and plucking out a few of the mushrooms. He follows suit, shovelling them into his mouth. They’re chewing in the back seat, Sirius close to the window and the whole van is silent, not even the roar of the engine to cut the tension.
From the corner of his eye, Sirius can see Remus’s face contort. He sticks out his tongue, eyes and nose scrunching together.
“This is disgusting.” He chokes out but doesn’t slow down, he just keeps shoving them into his mouth, just keeps chewing.
When the jar is empty, Sirius leans over him to toss it out the still open door. Leaning down, he rifles through the pile of shit scattered around the van, finding a beer and cracking it open. After a generous sip, he swishes it around in his mouth, attempting to wash the taste out. It’s almost worse than the shrooms. A steadying breath as the wave of nausea hits him and he passes the can to Remus anyways.
They go sip for sip, handing the can back and forth wordlessly. Remus looks a little green, any colour he had in his face starting to drain, the dark circles under his eyes a shock against his freckled skin. He seems hollow but Sirius just chalks it up to the bad taste and waits for the drugs to take hold.
James finally looks at him through the rearview, his brown eyes soft, gold rimmed glasses smudged. He’s fidgeting in the driver’s seat, chewing his lip and Sirius hates it when he gets like this. Can’t stand the remorse, the look of pity the second Sirius says anything about home or family.
James almost becomes afraid, worried he’s going to set Sirius off in some way because he doesn’t understand.
He will never understand.
Clearing his throat, James says, “Are there any more drugs in this van that I need to know about?”
A wave of headshaking across all of them and Sirius cracks another beer. He doesn’t offer any of this one to Remus, instead, he sips it slowly and hopes it will calm the slow anger coursing through him.
They drive along in silence for some time, none of them daring to break it. Pete keeps glancing at the back seat from the corner of his eye like a worried animal. Two wolves in the back threatening to pounce.
The beer isn’t calming Sirius’s stomach like he had hoped, heart fluttering against his ribs he swallows roughly, another wave of nausea threatening to overcome him.
The motion of the van, the whooshing of the scenery, makes him all the more nauseous and when he closes his eyes it feels like he’s floating.
Remus has his eyes closed, arms crossed, leaning against the back of the bench seat and he’s pale. Mouth a hard line, his jaw is clenched when his eyes snap open.
“Fuck pull over.” He leans across, wrenching at the door handle, tossing it open before James has a chance to veer onto the shoulder. He throws himself out the open door, heaving out all the contents of his stomach. It hits the gravel and Sirius holds his breath as another wave hits him.
He doesn’t want to throw up, doesn’t want to lose this high.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!” James shouts and Sirius’s breathing is shallow, eyes trained on the floor.
Remus is standing on the shoulder, doubled over, hand on the door of the van and he lets out a long groan. Taking a second he composes himself, deep breath through his nose before climbing into the back. He settles on his knees, Pete reaching back to slam the door shut, and puts his head right next to Sirius’s lap.
He moans a little, face contorted and Sirius is preoccupied with his own will to not throw up. Stretching out, Remus curses, hauling himself back onto the seat and tilting his head to the ceiling.
“I’m fine, I'm fine. Let’s just keep going I don’t want to be in this fucking van anymore.”
Sirius glances at the clock on the dashboard, trying to figure out how much time has passed. His heart is thundering in his ears, blood rushing and it’s trapped behind his ribs. He wishes they would crack open, put him out of his misery.
That’s when it starts, right in the pit of his stomach, a little flicker. Something changing, shifting, like everything’s been tilted on its side and it’s all trying to slip back into place.
“Get in the back.” James’s voice is stern and Sirius is slow to respond. He narrows his eyes, everything a little off, the colours are brighter and wobbling slightly. Sirius is starting to feel it, the beginning of the high, a fuzzy blanket starting to envelop his mind.
“I’m already in the back?” he says, tilting his head, dog-like. The flame in him is growing, velvet upholstery soft and he’s rubbing his palm on it, feeling of it sending shocks up his arm.
There’s a sign up ahead, through the windshield, big and green, Crossing into Canada 3 miles. He blinks and everything is shifting, vibrating ever so slightly.
“Fuck.” A whisper, Remus’s hand next to his on the seat and he turns.
“I’m being fucking serious! Get in the trunk!” James's voice is desperate, words slow as they filter in to Sirius’s attention and he knows immediately, this is the come up.
He nods, blinks and shuffles past Remus. The nervous energy in the van is so palpable it makes his skin prickle.
Climbing over the back bench, falling into the pile of their belongings, Sirius pushes them around to try and make some room. Pete’s duffle back, drum cases, guitar cases, and Remus’s knapsack—he moves them to one side before settling amongst them.
He sways, ass hitting the floor and those hazy edges of the high are starting to blur. Sirius has the uncontrollable urge to giggle. It bubbles up from his centre, moving through him with such a force he lets out a sharp bark of a laugh.
Sirius is beginning to think this is a bad idea.
Lolling his head to the side, he catches sight of one of Marlene’s quilts. Yanking it over, he’s making a futile attempt to cover himself with it when suddenly, Remus is above him. The urge to laugh is back and trying to consume him. He’s focused, Remus’s brows coming together as he shoves Sirius down.
The little wrinkle that sits between Remus’s brows looks more prominent, the scars on his face deeper and Sirius finds himself wanting to touch them. To feel them under the tips of his fingers because he knows they’re going to feel different.
Sirius has never touched Remus like that before.
He lets out a laugh, another sharp sound and Remus’s finger is on his lips, his eyes steely.
“Cover your mouth.” he whispers, hand moving to the middle of Sirius’s chest and pushing him down before covering him with the quilt. “Don’t say a word.”
Lying on his back, the thrum of the motor beneath him and it’s different than before. No longer a smooth purr but a staccato hum.
The patterns of the fabric that make up the quilt are vibrating, moving against one another and he has to focus on his breathing. Sirius rolls onto his side, careful not to make too much noise, and curls around himself.
The van has stopped moving, still idling, they’ve parked, waiting. Sirius’s palms are sweating, fighting off the last bit before the rest of the drugs take hold.
Eyes squeezed shut he’s drifting, falling and this is what it must feel like to be unzipped. Guts spilling out for all to see, heart still beating as his ribs puncture it. His breathing is shallow, trying not to move in case there are people looking in and he thinks about what Xen had said.
There’s nothing better than sitting with your thoughts and talking them out with someone you love.
But he isn’t, instead he’s sequestered away in the back, hiding under a pile of blankets with no clear way of getting up or even through whatever this feeling is. The anxiety, the grief, whatever sick melancholy he’s been shrouded in.
All he can think of is his black hole centre, the edges of it getting bigger, tearing into other parts of him. Devouring him piece by piece from the inside out, one chunk at a time. It gnaws at his bones, spitting out the parts of him that will be left untouched.
The anger, the sadness, the Black family madness.
Those things can stay. The bitter ends to the beginnings that once looked hopeful, that once felt like lightness around him.
Murmuring and then the blankets move, palm directly to his face, plucking it off and Remus looking down at him again. He tosses it amongst the pile of everything else and they’re moving again.
James is speaking, muttering from the front seat but the radio is so loud. Everything around him is painted in a hazy glow. Remus hauls him up over the back seat, fingers gripping his wrist causing his heart to flutter and the previous tightness ebbs.
Like a balloon has popped, it flows, rushes out of him all at once. Any of the residual anger that has been building, any of the bile trying to work its way through him, is gone. Dissipated like smoke as Remus manoeuvres him to sit in the back seat.
He’s looking over, watching and Remus has his hand on his knee, elbow on the door, looking out the window now. Sirius is fixated, staring at the back of Remus’s hand as he swears the scars start to move. Not a large amount, but just enough to look off. Almost inviting. Almost.
It’s slow, Sirius reaching his hand out, creeping across the space between the two of them. Like a film stuttering, a record skipping, Sirius runs the tips of tentative fingers over Remus’s scarred knuckles.
He turns immediately, startled and Sirius gazes up at him. He’s moved his hand, gazes locked together, unmoving. Two dogs dancing around, waiting for one of them to bite.
Remus’s lip twitches, his eyes softening before he smiles.
“You’re real fucking high aren’t you?”
He nods, blinking real slow, fingertips moving absently along the velvet of the seat. Not as soft as Remus’s hand.
He’s second guessing it all while Remus stares at him. Why he took the drugs, why he even thought this would be a good idea. Those thoughts circle back to the warmth of Remus’s hand.
Sirius glances at the clock, an hour has passed since he last looked but it only feels like a minute. He moves, putting space between the two of them, worried he’s going to do something stupid and Remus’s shoulders relax, tension easing in a quiet whoosh of breath.
The scenery is changing, slow ebb of farmland as they cruise along a two lane highway that looks too much like Lancaster.
It’s all fields, miles and miles of them, the midday sun hitting the Earth and turning them gold. Throwing colour all over the wheat, bright yellows and oranges intensified by the high. There’s little dilapidated houses set in the middle of them, far back from the road and it looks like they’re breathing, growing bigger as they pass. They’re painted white, crumbling barns and old equipment dotted through the rest of the fields, hundred year old trees and Sirius gets a flash of home.
What should be home.
There’s rolling hills, rows upon rows of tilled soil, rich earth meant for growing and Sirius can almost smell it. As they move through time and he looks out the window, the land changes, morphs into something else and when they turn, there’s a suburb.
Long driveways with space between the houses, lawns so green they make his eyes hurt. All manicured and kept with big uniform flower beds in front. Sirius’s palms start to sweat, tears pricking in his eyes and a lump growing in his throat. Bile rises as he struggles to swallow it down, panic coursing through him as the wave of anxiety hits.
He can’t go back, there’s nothing for him there, nothing he wants to face. No home, a dead brother, no job. Nothing but empty fields followed up by dead ends.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he wants to derail his thoughts, bring up something else. He curls up, letting his mind drift to something else, letting the drugs take hold further.
He remembers spending the afternoon at the fair, cool autumn breeze ripping through the grounds. Euphemia had dropped off him and James, looking at them with a sad expression before saying it would be good that they got out of the house after everything that had happened.
Everyone had been going through the motions, doing what they always did and no one dared to talk about it. Remus’s mother had died, he was in the car when it happened and Sirius wanted to talk to him about it. Wanted to tell Remus that everything would be alright and he had tried. But the words always got stuck in his throat, squeezing too tight before he could finish saying them.
Pete and Remus join them much later in the evening and by the time they roll in it’s already dark. Sun dipping below the horizon and painting the sky in deep shades of pink and orange. The midway is just beginning to light up, neon glow adding in to the warm tones, throwing colours across the sky like the Northern Lights.
Sirius finds it calming walking amongst the crowds, the cacophony of screams filling the air. Crowds of people all around, not paying attention to him as he passes through. He’s been nursing a beer for the better part of the night, pouring it into an empty soda cup to stay inconspicuous. But as the sun sets, the familiar Old Style cans start to pop up.
The whole town has been buzzing about the demo derby happening later in the night. Sirius had overheard conversations about it all week as he stocked shelves at the local grocer. Emmeline Vance’s older brother is one of the drivers and she came in to see if he would be coming.
She had asked him while applying lip gloss, looking at herself in a little pink compact, clicking it closed and batting her lashes. Sirius was fixated on her lips, wondering if that was the cherry gloss Remus was talking about. A familiar knot forming in his chest, doing his best to push it away.
Sirius nods at her as the four of them climb the bleachers. She’s sitting with her parents, the three of them close to the trach so they can see. The excitement in the air is palpable as they settle into a spot close to the top. They’re crammed between a young couple and a family of five. Up close to the top they have a view of almost the entire arena, and a view of Emmeline.
She keeps turning around and smiling, tilting her head in what should be a charming way. Sirius can’t tell if she’s looking at him, or Remus next to him.
The air is getting colder, the sun is no longer there to warm them and the breeze from earlier is turning into a gust. Sirius pulls the wool blanket higher in his lap, fabric itchy and he’s fidgeting. He finished his beer earlier than anticipated, discarding the cup behind the bleachers in hope that the alcohol would warm him.
Pete’s rolling a joint, eyes trained on his hands as he fills them in on all the gossip from the day. His cheeks are ruddy from the sun, worn out ballcap perched on his head and the tops of his ears are pink. He’s partway through a story about old Poppy Pomfrey as the noise around them builds. The stands fill in with people and a few of them come by to chat with James.
They swap pleasantries, asking about his parents and Emmeline keeps looking back.
She keeps turning in her seat, licking her lips and smiling and Remus’s leg is bouncing next to his. Their knees are touching and he can’t sit still, adjusting often. Remus rolls his neck, eyes closed and shifts his hips so they’re pressed even tighter against one another.
Soon, the smell of diesel fills the air, revving of engines breaking through the sound of the crowd as an announcer speaks over the PA. Pete starts to clap, lighting the joint and taking a drag before passing it on to James.
Remus stiffens next to him. Sirius can feel the tension building in his body, pulled tight like the string of a bow, his leg no longer bouncing. His hand is on his knee, clenched into a fist, the fresh pink scars flexing across his knuckles.
Sirius’s eyes trace over the marks, like stars across the back of his hand where they hit the shattered windshield. His gaze sweeps down to the dirt arena where the cars are filing in, a slow procession of beat to shit cars, tires screeching, engines roaring.
Chest heaving, Remus’s breathing quickens, back so straight it makes Sirius feel small. His eyes are trained on his boots, fist still clenched on his knee and his ears are turning red. Suddenly, he gets up.
Remus tosses the blanket aside, shuffling down the aisle as fast as he can. He stumbles down the metal steps, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest.
Sirius recognises the motion, the stiffness in his walk, the same wild far out look in his eyes from when he took Remus to Pete’s after the hayloft incident.
Emmeline is looking back at them again, her head sweeping in Remus’s direction before she turns back and looks right at him. She bats her lashes, standing like she’s going to make her way up to them but Sirius is already up.
He’s gone, tripping down the stairs, practically running after Remus. Rounding the back of the stands, out towards the parking lot and away from the midway Sirius is trailing. Huffing and struggling to keep up without breaking into a sprint.
Remus is ahead, slowing down and limping. He’s favouring the now healed broken leg, body stiff.
Metal on metal, crunching, screeching all around them. Remus has his hands over his ears, shoulders shaking, hunching forward, curling up like it will protect him. He’s almost at one of the outbuildings near the edge of the parking lot.
At the edge of the fairgrounds, the grey concrete and blue aluminum towers over them. The second Remus gets close enough he buries his face in the side. Nose almost flush against the concrete.
“I’m fine, it’s fine. I’m—” Remus is shouting, muffled against all the noise. Sirius approaches with caution, hoping Remus won’t be able to smell the beer on his breath.
“Hey—”
“I’m fine! It’s fine.” The edges of his voice are tinged with the same panic Sirius heard in the car. It makes his chest clench, the tips of his fingers tingling as he reaches out, stopping when he catches the wild look in Remus’s eyes. His shoulders shake as he struggles to suck in air.
“The accident.” Sirius says it and the second he does he wishes he hadn’t. But Remus just nods, arms wrapping around himself in a juvenile way. He looks like a boy again, a boy who doesn’t know how to come to terms with what's happened.
“It’s the,” He motions towards his ear, the same one he’s been having trouble with lately, and closes his eyes. “It’s the sound, it’s the-the same.” he stutters out, fingers flexing on his hips, arms wrapping tighter around his body like it would protect him from the noise.
“Look at me.” Sirius says, voice steady enough though he doesn’t feel it. “You’re not there okay, you’re here—you’re here with me.”
Maybe it’s the Old Style he’s been drinking, or maybe it’s the night air itself, thick with something, but Sirius reaches out, pulling Remus into a tight embrace. They’ve never been this kind of friends, the ones that seek out one another’s touch. The ones that pull each other in and let the world melt away.
Sirius holds him, hand on the back of Remus’s head, pulling it down into his shoulder even though he’s a whole head taller. His other hand is firm between Remus’s shoulder blades, putting pressure on him, trying to ground him. To bring him back to where they are.
He had seen Patty doing this during the funeral, watched the way she pulled Remus in and just held him there. Sirius remembers wishing he could do the same, and now here he is, holding Remus so close he can feel him breathing. Can feel the warmth rolling off his skin, his soft curls gripped in his hand.
A little bit of him wonders if Remus wishes Pete was here instead of him, if he wanted James here hugging him, or Patty or that girl Dora from their homeroom. Fuck Sirius wondered if Remus wished Emmeline was the one here.
Maybe the only reason he’s hugging Sirius back is because he’s the closest body, the only one there in the parking lot.
His breathing is coming out smoother, easier, no longer stuttering but a steady flow. He’s taking deep breaths, holding them for a second and letting them out. It tickles the skin of Sirius’s neck, goosebumps blooming where his breath hits.
Remus pulls him in tighter, grabbing fistfuls of the back of Sirius’s t-shirt and he turns, burying his nose deeper into Sirius’s neck.
Sirius’s heart stops, breath catches in his throat and he stills. Stagnant, not daring to move, terrified to even breathe and break the spell they’re under when he feels it. The rush.
Remus’s body relaxes under his touch, shoulders coming down and hands unclenching and it causes a little pit in Sirius’s chest to open. A little flicker he thought he fanned out, one he doesn’t like to think about for more than a few seconds.
Sometimes the little pit sparks when they’re playing music together. Sometimes it does when their hands brush when Remus lights his cigarettes. The little flicker of a flame, growing, festering for some time now, though Sirius is loath to acknowledge it.
Now, with the drugs thrumming through his veins, he lets it burn and compound.
That thing inside of him that he thought was a black hole, turned out to be a wildfire.
So when Remus looks over at him with calm eyes, he wonders if this is what it felt like. The roles reversed with Sirius approaching him in the quiet of the night, reaching out and holding him tight. Only this time it’s in the back of a van and not a fairgrounds parking lot.
The rock of the van, motion of it with the music in the background and he times his breaths with Remus’s. In and out and in and out.
Maybe this is it, maybe they really are connected and this is what Panda had been talking about. Black hole to black hole, wildfire to wildfire. Orbits intertwining, interlacing and becoming one, the tether that holds them together.
Him and Remus, Remus and Sirius.
Just the two of them, deeper than anything else because this tie feels different, has always felt different. Tighter.
A moon and its star, stuck in each other's orbit.
Remus smirks the corner of his lip turning up, the one with the scar at the edge and it’s grounding. He lifts his hand, letting it settle on Sirius’s forehead, making sure he’s okay, checking in on him.
“Are you doing okay there, space cadet?”
He nods.
They’re always bandaging each other’s wounds. Licking up the blood like dogs.
But Sirius’s wounds are on the inside, he harbours them close to his heart. Little holes hanging there that don’t seem to want to close.
He thinks Remus can see it, the wounds, and knows he isn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. He pats Sirius’s cheek, sending little sparks through him and Sirius closes his eyes, leaning back and letting the high wash over him.
Remus lights a cigarette, shielding the flame against the wind with his hand. He rolls his neck, stiff and aching and pockets his lighter. He’s always sore now, had been limping as he got out of the van and when the cold air hit him it made him groan.
Taking a drag he shoves his other hand deep in his pocket trying to keep it warm. He’s got a keen eye on Sirius, watching him close as he becomes mesmerized by the grey clouds. Head tilted back at an odd angle he has a serene look on his face, like he’s never seen something so beautiful before. Looking over in Remus’s direction, he’s got a smile cracked over his face.
The drugs must have hit him pretty hard…
Remus is a little jealous, bitter taste in his mouth, leftover from the bile and he forces it back down, not wanting it to ruin the mood.
He’s never done shrooms before, never really been one to just take a drug and now he feels like he’s been robbed of the perfect opportunity. So he just basks in Sirius’s high, letting whatever remnants are left in his system take them where they may.
The city of Montréal has a wet chill to it, the kind that settles deep in the marrow of bones, but Sirius is smiling. He isn’t looking at the clouds anymore, teeth chattering, he’s looking at his hand. Fingers spread he passes it slowly in front of his face, a wide grin plastered right across his face.
There’s still the remnants of snow on the ground, piles of it on stretches of sidewalk, little mountains shoved into corners near traffic lights. He walks behind Sirius, still smoking, letting him lead the way.
Remus catches Sirius looking at the snow, transfixed, toes of his boots on the edge of the pile, about to stick his whole hand in the ice and rocks when he catches his wrist.
“Dude, don’t do that.”
Sirius twists in his grasp, turning with wide eyes. His pupils are dilated, so big they almost swallow all the icy blue and it sends a chill through Remus. He’s never seen Sirius this high before, never seen him this kind of high before.
His black eye is settling in, the subtle redness and swelling from yesterday turning a deep shade of crimson against the starkness of his skin. In the grey light it looks even more striking.
Turning, shaking out of Remus’s grasp he’s trudging down the street again, Remus following close behind. He keeps looking up at the signs, enthralled with them for a moment before looking away.
Remus is beginning to rethink splitting with James and Pete. They’re supposed to be looking for a place to stay, some sort of cheap motel while James and Pete fill the van with gas and eat something. After puking his guts up on the side of the road, Remus wasn’t feeling very hungry so they split.
Now, Remus is second guessing that.
Sirius’s teeth are chattering, he can hear them even from a couple of steps behind. His shoulders are shaking, hands pushing deeper into his pockets. Just like the back of the van and there’s a little piece of Remus that wants to reach forward and pull him in. To hold him against his chest and get a little whispered thanks Moons.
He wants to hear the breathiness of his voice, the softness of his skin under the tips of his fingers. He wants to kiss Sirius’s temple, run his hands through his hair and just pull him in, nice and close.
“You’re cold.” Remus says, a flat statement and his lips are tingling, stinging from the wind. Sirius turns, stopping in his path and Remus slams into him. Holding him steady, he’s got Sirius by the shoulders but he isn’t paying attention, eyes trained somewhere over Remus’s shoulder. His brows are furrowed in careful concentration, trying to focus on whatever’s over there and Remus turns.
Across the street sits a movie theatre advertising Hair in big bold letters across the marquee. The red letters on the white background are shifting ever so slightly and Remus can’t tell if it’s whatever remnants of shrooms are left in his system or something else.
He blinks, shaking his head and lifting a brow in Sirius’s direction.
“You wanna go inside?” Sirius asks next to him.
“Didn’t think you liked musicals.”
His face looks different. Not bad or scary, just different. Calmer than when they were in the back of the van, more relaxed, like he’s softer. Come to some great realisation on these weird psychedelic drugs.
“I hate musicals.” Sirius spits back putting extra emphasis on it and he’s still wearing that soft look on his face as they stare at each other on the sidewalk.
“But you wanna go inside and see this one?” Remus asks, taking the last drag of his cigarette and tossing the butt.
“No, why would I want to see a musical?” Sirius scoffs.
Remus motions with his hands still in his pockets, “You’re cold, you’re shivering, we gotta warm up somehow.”
“Okay, let's go inside.” Sirius motions across the street, looking at Remus like he’s stupid. Maybe he is stupid. Maybe splitting up was a stupid idea.
Remus lets out a long and exasperated sigh, scrubbing his hand over his face roughly, he tilts his head back before saying “Alright fine, you wanna go see Hair? Surely there has to be a better—”
“What, no?” Sirius forces his way in front of Remus, looking across the street in confusion, following his line of sight. He backs up, butt directly into Remus’s groin before turning to look up at him. “Look, there’s a buffet.”
Heat crawls over his skin, causing his ears to turn red and Remus backs up, putting some space between them. His heart races at the contact and Sirius is pointing across the street. His feet are teetering on the edge of the curb arm windmilling as he catches his balance.
Another sigh, longer this time as Remus sees what he has been staring at this whole time.
“Sirius, that’s a strip club.”
Next to the Palace movie theatre, sits a long building and Remus can only get the gist of what the words on the front say.
Club Supersexe. Danseuses. Strip-Tease. Go-Go. Nues. The D is cleverly cut off by a window casing.
Before Remus can even have the thought of reaching out to grab him, Sirius is gone.
“Fuck me.” he mumbles, chasing after Sirius across the bustling street. Someone honks and he turns glaring, a man in a truck leaning out the window to shout something at him.
“Ostie d'épais à marde!”
Remus doesn’t let Sirius get far, eyes trained on the back of his head, catching up and slipping in the building behind him. Directly through the front doors sits a little entrance with a salt stained red carpet and another set of doors.
Sirius already has his hand on the handle, looking over his shoulder as he does it, like they’re in on some secret together and this isn’t just Remus attempting to stop him from doing something stupid.
He swallows, not sure what to expect but they’re stopped by a rough looking man. He glares at the two of them, his hand planted firmly on Sirius’s chest and the first thing that hits him is the music.
Loud, and it’s a song that Remus recognizes, but it’s different. He can picture Lily and Marlene singing in the apartment, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs as the record plays. But it’s not the same, the lyrics are different, they’re in French.
Sirius is pushed back so he and Remus are shoulder to shoulder, nestled right beside his elbow. He’s squirming under the man’s touch, leaning forward like he’s about to bite but Remus grabs his arm, shooting a glare from the corner of his eye.
Focusing, Remus is wrangling up the courage to say something as Sirius struggles against his hold. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Taking his hand off of Sirius’s chest, his cold gaze sweeps over the two of them and he opens his mouth in a snarl.
Before he can bark anything out, a short older woman pushes past and snaps at him.
“Jean,” His name comes out like a curse and the bouncer backs away, still glaring at them before sitting in a chair next to the door and taking his cigarette from the ashtray. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Sirius.
Remus lets go, fingers tingling from gripping Sirius’s arm so tight. He wants to leave immediately, at the bare minimum hide and get out of sight, but there’s nowhere to run to.
The room is open, tall booths around the outside with smaller tables in clusters surrounding a stage in the centre.
Someone’s on the stage, a few dancers crowding around her, lounging on their sides and talking. The whole place is hazy, blue grey tinted smoke with the heavy scent of menthols surrounding him.
His mother used to smoke menthols, she’d keep extra packs of Newports in the cupboard with the teacups so she would never run out. The smell of mint and tobacco is so strong he can practically smell her perfume. It makes his eyes water and he has to blink a few times for the feeling to go away.
“Come in, come in,” The older woman beckons them to step out of the doorway, away from the chill and Sirius is already moving. He takes the comfort with him when he steps inside, the closeness that Remus was finding strength in.
There’s coloured lights sweeping around, moving in time with the music and it finally hits him. It’s a cover of I Will Survive in French. He had noticed it on their way in, the French and English. All the signs, all the people talking on the street. Surrounded with it, flowing seamlessly back and forth.
The woman stands with her hand on her hip, poignant gaze directed right at him. It softens a little, like she’s fighting with herself, trying to be hard on them, showing them she means business.
He knows that neither of them look their best right now. Unshowered, Sirius has a whisper of stubble starting on his cheeks, a dark stain on his white shirt from something spilled and they’re in desperate need of a laundromat.
Their well-worn clothing, Sirius’s mended pants and the fact that they’re severely underdressed for the weather are all hallmarks of men who are here for nothing but trouble.
Then there’s the scars. He knows she’s looking at them, it’s the way her brows come together as her eyes sweep his face. Sirius is no better with his black eye but at least he’s smiling.
She clears her throat.
“The bar technically isn’t open yet,” She starts and Remus nods slowly, “The buffet is though, you can get a hot meal and if you’re nice to the girls and tip them well,”—she looks at Sirius in particular—“I can let you drink for free.”
Sirius’s head snaps up, turning to Remus with an expression of worry. When he does, the elastic that’s been holding his hair back comes loose, strands falling out around his face.
“I don’t have any of my money. It’s in the van.” he whispers, a little too loud.
Remus lets out a long breath rubbing his face. He digs around in his pocket, pulling out his wallet and before he can say anything, Sirius has snatched it from him.
“I’ll get you next time!” he calls over his shoulder, slipping away to the buffet.
The woman lets out a sigh, mumbling, “He’d better not get handsy.” and Remus chooses to ignore it.
He shifts his weight, now stuck here until Sirius deems it’s time to go and he’s already uncomfortable. The girls on the stage perk up, surveying the newcomers with interest. A couple of them approach Sirius at the buffet and he’s too locked on to the food to notice at first.
One of the girls, tall already and her shoes only making her taller, puts her hand on his shoulder and when he turns to look at her he smiles. That Sirius smile of his, all soft edges and kindness and Remus clears his throat, forcing himself to look away.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks and he shakes his head.
“No uh, we aren’t.” He’s watching over her shoulder as the girl leans into Sirius, tucking one of the errant strands of his hair behind his ear. “What gave it away?” He swallows, touching the back of his neck and it feels like Portland all over again.
She gives him a tight lipped smile like it should be obvious before trying to pry deeper.
“Are you here for a while, are you staying somewhere…close?”
“Just a few nights, we’re actually looking for a place now.”
Her makeup is smudged around her eyes, lipstick settling in the fine lines of her mouth and this close he can see the bits of grey in her hair. Wisps of it peppered throughout her dark brown hair.
She seems older than the rest of the girls who are now crowding around Sirius, no longer lounging on the stage.
Remus doesn’t want to spend the next few nights in the van, it’s colder up here than it was in Burlington and he doesn’t know if he can take another night of feeling Sirius curled against him. His breathing, the softness of his skin where his shirt has ridden up, the sound of him just sleeping. Everything about that night had felt too intimate to him.
“Remus! Come get food!” Sirius calls over to him, that ridiculous grin of his now pointed directly at Remus. Before he gets a chance to move, the woman grabs his wrist, squeezing it with more force than he expects.
“You’re not in trouble are you?” She whispers, voice low and Remus shakes his head quickly. “Your friend with the black eye, does he owe money to anyone? He isn’t in cahoots with Satan’s Choice right? Or Popeyes?”
Remus furrows her brows at her, mouth falling open in confusion before he bursts into laughter.
“Sirius?!” He can’t stop the surprise from seeping into his voice, collecting himself before stuttering out, “No, fuck no. He fell off stage, we were playing down in Burlington, you know Nectar’s down there? He fell off stage, caught someone’s shoulder on the way down.”
The immediate realisation that crosses her expression, the look of relief, causes Remus to relax a little more.
“Off stage? Are you,”—her head flicks over to Sirius, back to him—“are you musicians?” Remus nods and she lets go of him. “You don’t have anywhere to stay do you? Câline de crisse, hold on, I might be able to set you up with something.”
She’s gone before he can protest, turning on her heel and stomping away, disappearing into a door hidden in one of the booths. Remus is left alone, still close to the door he’s tempted to slip out and wait on the sidewalk. Sirius is still over by the buffet, no longer paying any attention to him.
He’s got a plate in hand, talking to one of the girls intently and the music has switched, no longer disco but it’s loud. The lights are dim, coloured and every once and a while they’ll catch the rhinestones on some of the girls outfits, throwing off colours in all directions.
Deciding he should stick close, Remus fishes around in his inside jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes. There’s only three left in the pack and his heart sinks. Taking one out with his teeth, he lights it, eyes sweeping the large room like he’s looking for an ashtray but he’s really looking for another exit.
Somewhere to perch while Sirius does his thing. Something to occupy him so he won’t have to talk to anyone.
Steadying himself, he checks his watch. They’re supposed to meet James and Pete in forty-five minutes at the same street corner they were dropped off at. Remus is already having trouble remembering which way they came in, anxious about having to find his way back.
“Rosie’s taken a liking to you.”
Remus stiffens, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. She has her hand on his elbow, touch soft through his jacket. Her eyelids are covered in glitter, opalescent like an oil slick and she’s blinking at him slowly, smiling coyly. The colours are moving, like water as the lights hit them and when she smiles there’s a gap between her two front teeth.
Her white blonde hair is styled in long waves that fall to her shoulders, nails painted scarlet, lipstick to match.
“That’s unfortunate.” He says under his breath, an answer to her question after too long of a pause but she just keeps smiling at him. Another girl taking pity on him while Sirius charms everyone else in the room.
This is how it always is, how it will always be.
“It can be a good thing!” she says with a playful tone, holding out her hand and he just looks at her for a second. “You gonna offer me a cigarette?”
“Oh, uh—” Remus pats down his pockets like he didn’t just put them away, pulling out the pack. He shakes one free, hiding the fact that he only has two left and she takes it, fingers brushing his.
“You got a light too? I don’t really have anywhere to keep one in this outfit.” She laughs when she says it, an attempt to lighten the mood and motioning down. Remus has been avoiding it, keeping his eyes locked on hers, only catching glimpses of all the exposed skin.
She’s naked except for a pair of emerald green satin panties that barely cover her ass. Her platforms, also green, have rhinestone straps around her ankles. Even with the added height she’s still much shorter than him, barely coming up to his shoulder.
He’s going pink, can feel the blood rush to his cheeks, even his ears turn a shade of scarlet as he turns away and plops the lighter into her outstretched palm.
Remus has decided at this moment, he isn’t a fan of strip clubs.
“You should accept it,” she says around the cigarette, the familiar click of his lighter that she puts back into his hand. He’s still turned away from her, shoving his hand in his pocket. “The kindness I mean, your friend looks a little worse for wear over there.”
Remus risks a glance in Sirius’s direction. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage now, plate next to him and talking.
“Listen, I don’t have a lot of money, you don’t have to talk to me or anything you ca—”
She cuts him off with a laugh, hand on his elbow again, smiling in a way that’s supposed to seem sweet but Remus doesn’t think it feels that way. His smoke is burning away in his fingers, and he looks at her sheepishly, staring at the sparkles on her eyelids.
“That’s fine, you can always pay me later.” She takes her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest and winking at him.
“I don’t,” he stiffens, glancing at his boots again and swallowing. “I’m not, uh—” He can’t bear to finish the sentence. Doesn’t want to have to explain or tell her he’s not interested.
“Oh fuck! No, no! You’re fine, it’s dead in here.” She reassures and she’s laughing, the first genuine smile he’s seen from her. He’s biting his lip, almost hard enough to bleed when she touches his elbow again, squeezing it. “I don’t care if you don’t have money, you can keep talking to me.”
“Am I, can I ask your name? I feel weird that I don’t know it but I’ve seen this much of you.”
“It’s Rita.” She tilts her head, keeping her arms crossed and Remus finds it easier to talk to her now that she’s not as exposed.
“Remus.”
“Like the myth?”
“Yeah, like the myth.”
“Is his name Romulus?” She smirks at her own joke, motioning in Sirius’s direction.
“Nah, that’s Sirius.”
Rita snorts, “Does everyone in your band have fantastical sounding names?”
“Nah, other guys are normal. Pete and James.”
“So it’s just you two, bonded by canine myths.”
Remus nods curtly, watching Sirius tuck a lock of hair behind a pretty girl's ear and feeling his chest clench.
Rita doesn’t know how right she is.
“So these girls, the strippers, they’re gonna let us stay with them while we’re here?” Pete sounds skeptical when he asks, leaning against the back of the wooden bench. They’re in a laundromat down the street from the address given to them, waiting for their clothes in the machines.
Sirius smirks when Pete puts a two of diamonds down between them, slamming a five of clubs and swiping the pair off to the side.
“Yeah, apparently Remus sweet talked his way into it while I was busy at the buffet.” Sirius waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “You know how Rem is, always surrounded by women.” He says it in jest but can’t help the feeling it brings up. The clenching in his chest that just seems to hang around him at the thought of Remus.
Reaching down, Sirius picks up the bottle of whiskey tucked under the bench and takes a long swig. It’s sweet, nothing like he’s ever tasted before, a mix of maple syrup and the sweet burn of alcohol and Sirius hates how he misses the way the shrooms had felt.
The shrooms had worn off, the world falling back into place slowly and it was almost like someone was shouting from another room. Words he couldn’t quite place but he felt better because he could hear them. He misses the focus, the little vibrations and aspects of the world he could see while he was high.
All of the anxieties he was holding on to, all of the wildfire that had been brewing has been snuffed out and now, he’s numb.
Remus and James are focused, timers going off on washers and the sound is grating, loud in the cavernous space. James struggles with the quilts and the sleeping bags, heaving them from one machine to another, using one of the wire baskets on wheels and they’re dripping all over the floor.
Over Pete’s shoulder, Remus is awkwardly reaching into a washer, pulling out all the socks stuck to the bottom. He’s in his undershirt, arms bare and it’s ridden up so there’s a stretch of skin and all Sirius can think about is how he knows how it feels.
Sirius wonders if Remus is as cold as he is, he didn’t think about how cold the laundromat would be when he took his shirt off, tossing it in the washer with the rest of the clothes. He has his jacket draped over him but it isn’t helping the frigid air seeping in through the large window. His socks are still wet, boots soaked through from trudging around in the remnants of the snow.
Pete puts down another card, winning the hand and swiping it away. He plucks the bottle from Sirius’s hand and motions out the window.
“Didn’t think they’d still have snow up here.” he says and Sirius nods.
“Same, or I would have packed better.”
“That’s a lie.” James says quickly, sitting behind him and flicking the back of his head. He leans forward, taking the bottle from Pete and for a brief moment he’s caged in James’s embrace. Sirius’s heart doesn’t race, his palms don’t sweat and nothing happens when he can feel James’s breathing on the back of his neck.
He swallows thickly, so it’s only Remus…Something he’s never really thought about, never allowed himself to truly ponder.
Remus sidles up next to him, close but not touching, towering over the three of them on the bench. It’s his turn with the whiskey, not much left in the bottle he drains it easily and Sirius can feel the warmth from him, heat rolling off of Remus in ways and that little itch in the back of his brain wants to burrow in and pull him close.
He’s always been warm, always running hot even in the dead of winter. The old farmhouse that Remus grew up in had a wood burning stove in the kitchen and that was it. A little bit of Sirius thinks he runs so hot because he has to, built to withstand the hostile winters.
Sirius remembers hitching a ride out to the edge of town to see him, walking up the winding driveway in the snow. Peeling off his boots and socks and laying them out in front of the fire. Sitting in front of it for hours as they talked. Hope bringing them tea that was always a little bit too strong.
He tries not to think about it, Hope and her sweetness. How his mother should have been the one to die. He blinks away the misty tears forming at the thought alone, Remus still close to him, brushing up against his side as he shifts his weight.
When the dryer chimes it’s a terrible noise. Pete’s flipping his cards faster now, determined that he can win and Sirius is matching each one. The whiskey’s gone, a few more cans of beer consumed and Sirius passes a joint back to Pete after taking a drag.
“This shits pretty good.” he says, clearing his throat and Pete nods in agreement, flipping another card and taking the pile.
Remus is hauling things out of the dryer while James makes neat little piles. Pairing socks and making comments.
“Pete, these are full of holes?!” James is holding up a pair of briefs in disgust, poking his fingers through the torn fabric.
Pete just snorts, waving James off.
A warm weight is tossed around Sirius, enveloping him and he’s no longer shaking. Remus has draped Sirius in one of the quilts, fresh from the dryer. He does it wordlessly before moving back to the piles.
“Don’t let it touch the fucking wet ground!” He calls over his shoulder with a furrow in his brow and Sirius just nods, pulling it tighter around himself and placing another card down on the bench.
When the laundry is done and shoved back into their bags and Remus has taken the now cold quilt off of Sirius’s shoulders, the four of them pile back into the van.
It’s snowing, a light dusting covering the road as they move deeper into the rows and rows of houses. Different from New York, each house has a steep staircase from the sidewalk to the second storey.
The city feels quieter, no one bustling around out on the streets but there’s lights on in almost every home. The soft yellow glow illuminating the way. The snow is piling up, accumulating on the ground and Sirius is already dreading walking through it.
They park, James finding a spot on the street close enough to their destination and they’re standing on the sidewalk, staring at the building.
Three stories tall with a straight shot of a staircase to the second floor, just like all the others.
Pete lets out a low whistle, lighting a joint before saying, “That’s kind of stupid, having the stairs outside with weather like this.”
“This has to be the right place, it must be up there.” Remus whispers, pulling the slip of paper out of his pocket and when he does Sirius gets a nose full of perfume. He’s looking at it, checking the number against the one on the building.
“It’s the same girl as earlier right? The same blonde you were friendly with?” Sirius asks and notices Remus flush before nodding.
“Yeah, yeah I think so.”
The stairs are slippery, a layer of ice hidden under the fresh snow and Sirius grips the railing, white knuckling as he climbs. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Remus, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open.
Chapter 9
Notes:
The deeper we get the more Sirius is thinking about Reggie.
Recommended Listening:
Mais le matin - Francis Cabrel
Penny Lane - Les Sinners
Un garçon en mini-jupe - Karo
C’est toujours à recommencer - Toulouse
Ayoye - Offenbach
Chapter Text
March 22, 1979
Sirius wakes once again in an unfamiliar living room, his body sore and breath rancid. The lingering effects of the whiskey he had been drinking last night makes itself known by the pounding headache in his temples.
One of the girls—Rita—had given him another fifth after they dropped their shit off in the spare room.
Everyone had settled in the living room, talking and getting to know one another, the awkward first questions.
‘What kind of music do you play?’
‘Where are you from?’
‘What do you do?’
But Rita and Dorcas are experts at making someone feel comfortable. They listen intently, finding interests with each of them, spending time to hear them. They’re good at what they do.
Their apartment smells like incense, leaving the air heavy and warm, adding to the comfort and Sirius feels like he’s being gently lulled into a false sense of security. Coaxed into letting secrets slip he doesn’t wish to share.
It makes him think of church, the thick spicy aroma of whatever they’re burning, the smoke reminding him of Reggie’s funeral. Held in the old chapel in Lancaster with its stale holy water and incense. The wooden pews and stiff backed people all sitting in rows.
Remus had cozied up with Dorcas after a while and as the night went on, Sirius kept looking at them. Sneaking glances from the corner of his eye as him and Pete played cards. As he chatted with Rita and James.
Dorcas with her long braids that sway when she talks, her smooth skin and deep eyes. Sirius had found her attractive even under the coloured lights of the Supersexe strip club. He wanted to talk to her just like Remus was, but he didn’t have an in. He couldn’t compete with Remus as they laughed together.
Near the end of the night, Rita had already gone off to her room, Pete as well and it was just the three of them. Dorcas had gotten up excitedly, disappearing for a moment before reappearing with a well-worn and well-loved paperback.
“You may enjoy this since you like Cohen. It has the original French in the beginning but the English follows." She's speaking quickly, her accent coming out in full force and Remus smiles, taking the book from her.
“I can mail it back to you when I’m done? I can’t just take this from you.”
“Bah! Non, no need to.” She waves him off and Sirius’s heart sinks a little. He picks at his thumb, taking another long swig from the bottle of whiskey and sinking into the couch. Closing his eyes, he can hear Remus’s laugh, a deep rare sound.
Like home.
Sirius had spent most of the night curled on the couch watching.
He stretches now, limbs heavy and sore. His stomach flips when he sits up, neck stiff, muscles aching and his mouth is dry.
Pete is asleep in the spare bedroom and Sirius can still hear him snoring through the closed door. James is in the middle of the bright orange shag carpet in the living room. On his stomach, his head turned to the side, glasses still on his face. One of the nose pads is bent and they sit askew.
Remus is nowhere to be found.
A little part of Sirius wonders if he’s exploring the city. Sick of waiting on them to get up, he’s gone out on his own to get away for a few hours. A logical thing for him to do considering it’s definitely well past noon.
But another little part, the one that threatens to take over, thinks he might be in one of the girls’ bedrooms. Curled around Dorcas like he was with Sirius in the back of the van. His strong hands on her waist, pulling her in, pulling her close.
Sirius can’t blame Remus if he is, after all, they had been lying on the carpet together for most of the night. Almost nose to nose whispering things back and forth.
He wants to throw up. A wave of nausea coursing right through him and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, wincing when he touches the bruise. The sun is streaming in through one of the windows, casting long shadows across the wood floor.
Sirius can’t think of that, instead he thinks of how comfortable it must be to live here. So cosy compared to the van, and he tries to bask in it, to wrap himself in the gentle warmth of it.
Less cluttered than Xen and Panda’s house, the girls’ apartment is a collection of things. Rich rugs, warm woods, posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves. A television, a record player, and stacks and stacks of books taking up all the space.
He can see himself in a place like this. A little apartment similar to Lily and Marlene’s, tucked away in a city that bustles around him. Living alone or with someone but just being anywhere but Lancaster. Anywhere but the place he has to consistently look over his shoulder, worry about what people are telling his parents.
‘We saw Sirius at the pool hall on Friday night drinking’
‘Sirius was down at the old general on Tuesday’
‘James and him were out in the Miller’s parking lot until the wee hours of the morning’
They already have one dead son, why should they worry about the other.
He stretches in an attempt to dislodge the black hole feeling from his chest, the one that’s settled in there and doesn’t seem to move. The ball of grief he’s been carrying around for the last little while.
Sirius thinks that maybe this is just how it will be, with the band, with his life, that he will be a guest wherever he goes. Never settling, never growing roots, never fully opening up.
Pete has roots.
His parent's place in Queens has the same comfort as their house down the lane in Lancaster. Pete’s settling into his factory job, only coming into the city when he has to.
It makes Sirius jealous, the way that Pete can fly under the radar, always just fit in where he goes, happy to be there and along for the ride.
James is similar. He’s comfortable, always relaxed and willing to be pulled into an adventure.
The Potter’s home has been nothing but welcoming. Their white picket fence and perfectly green lawn. The rose bush out front that Effie’s always pruning. The Potter's house always smelled clean. Laundry on a Sunday morning, Pine-Sol after dinner and Murphy’s oil soap.
But even under all that clean, all the welcoming feelings and warmth, it still had that hollow ring for him.
Did Remus feel like this? Like he has nowhere to go? No family home, no resting place.
Sirius feels like he has nothing, like he could disappear from this earth and there would be nothing left of him but his face carved out of family pictures. Yet another black hole, a dark smudge on the family name.
The son who shouldn’t be here.
The sun is warm on his face, coming in through the window as he lies on the floor and there’s a few photos of the girls when they were kids. Little Kodak pictures with stickers on them, trinkets and pieces of art and records. Things they’ve collected over the years, worn in things, things they love.
He thinks of his room, in the Potters’ with its somewhat bare walls. His room in his childhood home that was painted over, his things thrown out the moment it was clear he wasn’t coming back. Sirius knows his mother took his stacks of magazines out into the yard and burned them.
Screaming of heathen garbage and the devil’s music and terrible influences. How her son is going down the wrong path and following those terrible people around him.
When Sirius went back for Reggie’s funeral, and he stayed in his own bedroom, everything was different. Any scrap of personality was gone.
But Reggie’s room was the same.
The door was left ajar during the reception, everyone who went to the funeral all came back to the house and Sirius didn’t want to look in at first. He found himself wandering the upstairs hall, drawn to the room but too scared to push the door open further.
Every corner, every sound, every movement, he expected to turn and see Reg. Sitting on the green wingback chair in the living room. Glaring at him from the other side of the peninsula in the kitchen. His shoes tucked neatly in the front hall.
But he was never there.
Sirius wandered, back and forth, stopping at his door, peering in but not wanting to see what he feared. He was scared, because if he opened the door and Reg was sitting there it would mean he would have to steal him away. To sneak him out without anyone seeing and bring him back to the Potter’s
But if he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t sitting up in his bed reading, or at his desk drawing, Sirius doesn’t think his heart would be able to take it.
The disappointment of this truly being the end, of Reg really being gone. That the boy in the closed casket was really him and he’s underground.
Sirius stayed one night in his parents house, Orion insisted on it. He ate dinner with them after everyone had left. His mother put a record on, something classical, the only type of music she deemed appropriate.
Dinner was cold and he doesn’t remember eating it, can’t even recall what they were having. He just remembers the feel of it, the austerity of the dining room, plush rug under his feet, hard wood of the chair. The way the light had hit the silverware from the chandelier but it’s foggy, like he’s looking at everything under water.
He can’t even remember if he said anything, not a single word. Just the three of them sitting in silence with an empty chair.
When he went to bed that night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling painted white. All the posters are gone. No longer staring at Mick Jagger or Robert Plant or Patti Smith. All the walls had been repainted a light shade of blue.
In fact, his mother had redone the entire room so it matched. Blue coverlet, blue pillows, blue carpet, blue walls. He had felt as if he was being swallowed whole, a great gaping maw opening and devouring him.
Turning over, he faces the bathroom, the one he and Reg used to share and the door was still open. They used to keep the doors open when it wasn’t in use, their little way of checking in. Sirius used to poke his head in, making sure Reg was okay before sneaking out.
But now there’s nothing. No one to check in on, no sounds on the other side. No breathing, just…absence.
The silence was the thing that set him on edge, what made his skin crawl and his blood boil. As if the house were empty, not another living soul within its confines. No rustling of blankets, or kettle whistling because Effie can’t sleep or low rumble of television because Monty is up late watching Johnny Carson.
He thinks he can hear it, on the other side of the bathroom, in Reg’s old room. Snoring, breathing, the low hum of the radio on his nightstand.
Reg isn’t buried in the ground. He’s buried here in this tomb of a house.
“Hey.” Sirius startles, blinking rapidly, tears caught up high in his nose, chest clenching and Remus is standing over him, mug in hand.
He’s looking down, brows furrowed together in that look he gets when something is bothering him but he’ll never talk about it. Like something is eating away at the edges of his chest, making its way towards the centre.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” When Remus says it, he doesn’t know how on the nose he is.
Sitting on the couch beside Sirius, the weight causes it to dip and their knees are touching. Little bit of contact, little bit of warmth as Sirius tries to find his voice.
“I uh,” Sirius starts to say, fidgeting with the ring on his finger, twisting it. Remus is staring, sipping from the mug. “I dreamt about Reggie, and the house, and—” He stops, swallowing thickly, pushing down the uncomfortable itch brewing.
He slept in his clothes, a little too drunk to take off his pants he had passed out in the middle of the living room. Now they sit on his skin with last night's sweat, shifting uncomfortably as he moves.
From the corner of his eye, the mug comes into view, Remus passing it over to him.
“It’s tea, I couldn’t find any coffee in the kitchen.”
Nodding, Sirius takes the mug, their fingers brushing. He sips and the tea is strong, bitter tannins sitting on his tongue. It brings him comfort, the warmth from it.
Just like how Hope made it…
Inhaling deeply, he passes the mug back, pushing his bangs off his face and hitting his eye again. He winces, Remus leaning in to get a better look.
“How bad is my eye?” he asks and for a second, he thinks Remus is going to touch him, to take his face in his hands but he stops. Instead he just leans in further, breath mingling between them.
He smells like strong tea and cigarettes with the hints of someone else’s soap. A different undercurrent to what he usually smells like.
“It’s definitely getting better.” Remus says before pulling away, taking another sip from the mug. He crosses his legs, knees no longer touching and Sirius nods, lingering feelings of loss still sitting heavy on his chest.
Remus gets up in an awkward way, limping for a few steps before striding over to the kitchen. He’s already dressed, hair still wet from a shower, lingering in the doorway for a moment and Sirius is the first to speak.
“Where are you going?”
“Out, I don’t wanna sit around.” The silence that stretches between them is confusing, tense.
“I’ll change and come with you.”
More silence, a pause as Sirius watches Remus’s reaction, waiting for his answer.
“Okay.”
***
They wander through the snow covered city, the light dusting from last night turning into a few inches and everything is white. So different from their quiet reprieve in Burlington, the bellowing of the rooster and bleating of the goats is replaced with honking cars.
Remus loves a city, loves the anonymity of it, being able to blend in and skirt under the radar but he misses the quiet.
They walk in silence, Sirius looking defeated next to him, the bruising under his eyes from more than just a shoulder. His skin is sallow, grey light making it worse and he’s smoking a joint, passing it over as they trudge along. He had stolen a sweater from James’s bag, ill fitting for his slimmer frame, it took him a minute to shove the sleeves through the arms of his jacket.
Sirius isn’t shivering though. He has his hands shoved down deep in his pockets now that he’s passed along the joint.
Remus keeps checking in, making sure everything is alright and he hates it. Hates that he feels he needs to, that he wants to. Even this morning, looking at Sirius’s eye, he had been tempted to touch him. To sweep his fingers over the bruise with a gentle touch and tell him ‘it’ll be alright’.
But he can’t. He won’t.
Today was supposed to be a day away, a day alone to recharge, but here he is, alone with Sirius. Remus had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin this, and wouldn't be the one to cause a rift between them. The rift that’s been building ever since he left home, the feeling he can’t seem to shake.
The pent up anger that’s made a home in his bones, crept through his skin and settled.
Sirius ducks into a bar off the main street, waving him in. Remus sits in one of the booths, close to a window with a good vantage point of the rest of the space. Sirius is already at the counter ordering. He doesn’t even have to ask what Remus wants because he already knows.
Another unspoken bond.
Remus watches, surveying carefully as the bartender smiles at him and it stirs a little something in his gut. The creeping jealousy cementing itself deep. The ache that rolls through him rearing its ugly head once again.
He thought he had shed it, gotten rid of that skin and reburied it, but like the waning of the moon he can feel it building up again. Remus is worried about when the jealousy will become anger, when it becomes too much and bursts into something violent.
For so long he’s just hidden it, used it as protection when things start to get rough and now he’s dancing around the anger he’s holding inside. Fighting it tooth and nail so it won’t surface.
Sirius is coming back from the bar, sliding into the other side of the booth, hands full he presents his bounty. A few shots and a pair of pints that he spills while sliding them across the table.
“She gave us free shots.” he says excitedly, downing his without so much as a flinch and Remus does the same. It’s shitty bar rail whiskey but Remus knows it’ll take the edge off, drowning the anger a little as Sirius throws a look and a smile over his shoulder.
“Well, that’s sweet of her.” Remus grits out and Sirius spreads out, arm around the back of the booth, leg on the seat he leans against the wall and rolls his neck.
The neon signs are painting him in an ethereal glow, throwing colours on his skin and Remus looks away.
There’s a few other people in the bar, no doubt hiding from the snow. They’re in the shadows, sitting in corners, a couple of them head to head. Remus sees the jackets, the scruffy appearances of a few of the guys, the patches on their vests and takes note.
Meanwhile, Sirius is coming alive again, his melancholic veil from this morning lifting after he’s had a couple of drinks. Remus is pacing himself, sipping slowly, being mindful. He wants to stay even, to stay in control. To skirt that line between drunk enough that he isn’t anxious and sober enough that he can keep the jealousy locked away.
“They look like they’re married.” Sirius says, motioning to a couple a few tables away from them. They’re a few years older, a woman with long dark hair and a man in a suit. Odd seeing someone in a suit in a place like this.
Her hands are sitting on the table, reaching for him but he isn’t paying attention. Instead he’s looking at the bartender.
“I don’t think they’re married.” he says absently and Sirius lifts a brow. “I think she’s his mistress.”
Sirius snorts, “What makes you say that?”
“Her hands,” Remus gestures with his beer, a quick motion. “No ring.”
“Astute of you. Think they come here often?”
“This place is kind of seedy for a guy in a suit.”
Sirius leans in, elbows on the table, knuckles brushing and he whispers, “You think he’s gonna break it off?”
Remus leans back in the booth, surveying them before shaking his head. “This would be a shitty place for someone to break up with you.”
Sirius laughs before downing the rest of his beer.
The alcohol is starting to hit him. Sirius is another beer in and Remus is still nursing his first. He’s brought back a few more shots, vodka this time and Remus takes his, making a face he washes it down with a hefty sip and Sirius is still people watching.
He’s coming up with stories, making little comments about the guy with the motorcycle gang patches sewn directly onto his leather jacket. He’s leaning in, crossing his legs and kicking Remus’s shins when he does it. It feels accidental, is probably accidental, but something about the motion stirs up an emotion deep within Remus. No longer wanting to feel it he gets up, muttering something about the jukebox in the corner.
All the songs are in French, he tries to sound a few things out, seeing if he can recognize at least an artist or two.
Harmonium…Charles Aznavour…Les Sinners…Renée Claude…
Digging his hand in his pocket for his change, there’s something crumpled in the bottom. Paper wadded up into a ball that flakes apart when he pulls it out.
The fortune…
Remus reasons as he unfolds it. Barely legible he can remember what it says, the sound of Sirius’s voice as he handed it over in a similar bar, in a similar situation, just a very different city.
Job tension eases as you and that troublesome coworker find common ground.
“Common ground my ass…” he whispers, feeding the machine a dime before selecting something by Richard Anthony. English name probably means an English song and when it starts, he puts his head on the glass, letting out a strangled laugh.
“Of course.”
It feels like a curse, the tightness in his chest as he walks back and the cover plays only this time it isn’t Denny Doherty singing about Monday’s. He sits down in a huff, Sirius eyeing him as he does.
“There’s uh, there’s a lot of French in there…I just picked what sounded the most familiar.”
“Thought you hated the Mamas and the Papas?”
Remus cuts him a glare and a silence settles between them as the song continues to play and Remus wonders if Sirius is thinking the same thing he is. If he’s reliving the moment in the car, the quiet of Pete’s house.
The song ends and Sirius is leaning on the table, he has another beer, another shot and he’s swaying. Little back and forth movements that make Remus feel dizzy if he looks at him for too long. He clears his throat, a look in his eye Remus can’t quite place and someone else is feeding money into the jukebox.
“So you come here often?” Sirius is trying to be funny. His half in the bag persona coming out as he snickers, sloppy half crooked smile, the one that always shows up when he’s drinking. Eyes glassy they’re still bright and he leans in again, signaling he wants an answer.
“Nah, I’m just passing through.” Remus answers him, deadpan, waiting.
Sirius shrugs, a grandiose gesture and leans back in the booth. He’s got his glass in his hand spilling some of its contents as he talks.
“What a coincidence, so am I.”
This conversation feels too familiar for all the wrong reasons. A man coming up to him in one of the clubs, starting with small talk, ‘haven’t seen you around here before’ ‘are you a tourist? Or a resident?’. The easy flags to show what someone is looking for. A bandana in a pocket, an earring, the questions they ask. All code to see what someone is into.
“Staying somewhere close?” Sirius says, tilting his head, licking his lips and Remus closes his eyes for a moment. He swallows face heating, the knot in his stomach pulls tighter.
Sirius has no clue what he’s doing, he’s just being a dick.
“You’re lucky we have tonight off.” he bites back and Sirius snorts.
“Come on.” he taunts. “Play with me a little will you? Have some fun.”
Remus shakes his head and when Sirius reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand, he pulls it away. Sirius doesn’t know, there’s no way he would know, no way he could know. About Remus’s little secret.
Marlene and Lily would never let it slip, he’s been with Sirius non stop since they left, there’s no way he could possibly know.
“Stop fooling around.” He grits out, standing. His hands clench at his sides, looking at Sirius from the corner of his eye, venom in his gaze. “We should go back.”
Sirius’s shoulders droop, face contorting into something before falling blank and he nods.
And it feels like a step back, makes him afraid of his own anger as it melts away and turns to jealousy. Jealousy of how simple it is for Sirius to be whoever he is, how he moves through life with a smile on his face but something else behind his eyes.
The emotions swell within him as they walk back, their elbows brushing and Remus steels himself against the cold. Still fuming, bubbling under his skin when he thinks who could ever love someone with this much anger pent up inside of them?
***
The rest of the evening is spent circling, Remus helping the girls while Sirius stays out of it. He sticks to the living room with James and Pete, playing cards and smoking and lounging. Shuffling through Rita’s records, attempting to read the names and earning a laugh from Dorcas.
He goes through the books on the shelves, asking questions, trying to make the same connection Remus has, but it doesn’t feel the same, it doesn’t look the same.
They’re whispering, him and Dorcas, lying on the floor and Sirius is watching, enviously. Faces close together, Sirius misses his turn while they’re playing war. Pete smacks his knee, chastising him and Remus looks over at them, checking in on the commotion.
“You wanna play?” Sirius asks and Remus shakes his head, turning his attention back to Dorcas.
He feels like he’s being closed off, a door slamming shut. Remus would definitely keep a girlfriend a secret. He could have an entirely new set of friends and they would never know. Remus never allows them to visit his aunts, never calls them unless he’s at Lily’s. Even when they’re all together in New York it’s strained.
Things are different and Sirius doesn’t know how to deal with it. He wonders if this is what it’s like with Lily and Marlene, when it’s just the three of them crammed into the apartment. Lying on Lily’s living room floor, listening to records and talking.
Does Remus open up to them? Confide in them? Does Remus tell them about the girl he’s seeing? Are they even a girl?
Sirius bites his cheek, doesn’t know if that’s worse or better if Remus is with a man. If there’s a possibility that—
He stops.
Hard stop of the thought and he’s missed his turn again, Pete smacking his leg again and he brushes it off. Getting up and going into the kitchen to get another drink, the buzz from the bar wearing off faster than he anticipated and those feelings he pushed aside at the gas station in Burlington are starting to surface.
So he gets another beer, drinking half before sitting on the floor again and giving his cards to James.
Sirius spends the rest of the night watching Remus from the corner of his eye and hating the jealousy it makes him feel.
Chapter 10
Notes:
I think this is my favourite chapter I've ever written.
I’m in my favourite city for the next few days, and as an homage to my love of Montréal, you get the last chapter set here as a treat!
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Drugs. Mystery drug but it’s totally ecstasy even though it was not SUPER popular in the 70s it was used in psychiatry a little. Brief mention of Quaaludes as well. Over consumption of alcohol and some blood, specifically a bloody mouth (wow wouldn’t be our boys without some blood).
Recommended Listening:
Tous Les Palmiers - Beau Dommage
Emmenez-moi - Charles Aznavour
La maudite machine - Octobre
Je reviendrai à Montréal - Robert Charlebois
Je t’aime trop toi - Claude François
Chapter Text
March 23, 1979
When they get back to the apartment after the show it’s filled with people Sirius doesn’t know. Packed tight, shoulder to shoulder and the windows are covered in condensation. Sirius is already feeling claustrophobic. The space is too small, too crowded and it makes his breath catch, his chest shudder like he can’t take a full breath.
The harrowing drive back in the van had made even his stomach turn. Rumbling through the tight corners of the city in James’s nervous way, stopping too quickly, jolting forward when he hits the gas too hard.
The show had been shitty. Not enough people in a space filled with tables, it was like playing to an empty room. Pete was silent the whole drive back, rolling joints and Sirius could see him stewing through the mirror on the door.
His usually bright face turned sour, brows knit together, mouth forming a hard line. Even James had been unusually quiet and Sirius just chalked it up to it being day eight of the tour. They were getting tired, the sleeping situation the night before had been fine, him and Remus on the floor while James and Pete took the bed. Crammed onto a double mattress, Pete snored all night.
Sirius is glad to be back and out of the van, the weather outside taking a turn. Snow and rain mixing together and turning to sleet, the air cold but the apartment is warm.
The girls have candles lit, the lights dimmed and everything is glowing. The record player is on, turned up loud and crackling through the speakers.
When he enters the kitchen, the table is full of food, bottles of wine lined up along the wall like dutiful soldiers waiting their turn. James is already in the fridge, digging around and pulling out a beer. He cracks it open with his keys, levelling Sirius with a stern look when he opens his mouth.
“I have not gotten shit faced once. I think it’s my turn.” Him and Pete are gone, pushing past Sirius and into the adjoining living room.
Remus is hovering on the outskirts, leaning against the door jamb like he needs to be invited in. That string that’s been pulling in the centre of Sirius’s chest is getting tighter by the day and if he isn’t careful they’re going to collide. More like implode.
Sirius goes to the fridge, grabbing a beer and lighting a cigarette and he just wants to be alone for a minute, to hide away and recover from the last few days.
But there’s nowhere to go. The cacophony of voices overwhelms the small space, filling it so there’s nothing but noise. Something is on the stove, a pot boiling away and the back door is cracked letting a bit of the cold air in.
Remus looks calmer than he did in the van, no longer white knuckling in the back. His arms are crossed, clutching his biceps and he looks tired. Deep purple circles under his eyes, his hair messy from running his hands through it.
Sirius had been hoping it would be another quiet night tonight, a moment of quiet after the show, but the girls wanted to do something fun. Rita had been on and off the phone all day, inviting people round, telling people to come back to theirs at the venue and who was he to say no. He finds himself aching for quiet, looking for silence, some sort of reprieve from the van, the shows, the noise.
From Remus.
Remus and his solemn face, his quiet expression and the gentle caress of his fingers when he rolled over the night before. It had only been a moment, a second of contact, almost a repeat of the van. Remus rolled into him as if on instinct, seeking warmth before turning away. Sirius didn’t like how much he craved it, didn’t like the empty feeling that sat in his chest when the touch was gone and he’s curious about what will happen when things are quiet.
When they get back to New York, when they all have to leave, what will happen to him?
Someone’s sliding up next to Remus, one of the girls from the show who came up to them after it was done. She’s close, right up in his space and Sirius can see the way Remus stiffens, uncomfortable. He watches Remus, taking note in the way he grips his biceps, how he nods quickly to anything she’s saying.
He’s leaning down to hear her, face turned away, good ear in her direction and she’s on her tiptoes. She’s so close her lips almost brush the side of Remus’s face and Sirius steps in closer. String pulling, he’s trying to hear what she’s saying, what they’re talking about.
He’s picking at the food on the table, leftovers from the buffet that Dorcas brought home. The bottles of wine lined up along the edge remind him of the fancy dinner parties his parents used to have.
The ones that filled the house with people he didn’t know, all dressed in suits and fancy dresses. He’d come home and his mother would look at him with such distaste.
No one wants to see you with your long hair. You disgrace of a boy, stay in your room until everyone is gone.
He could always hear them laughing, carrying on well into the night with no regard for anyone else inside the house.
Cigarette clenched between his teeth, Sirius settles into a chair, once again on the outskirts. Everyone around him is talking, a mix between French and English, carrying on because they all know each other.
From the corner of his eye, he can see the girl put her hand on Remus’s bicep. So small in comparison, he’s looking down at her, shying away from her touch like he can’t believe she’s talking to him. Sirius rests his smoke on the edge of an ashtray, taking a long pull from his beer.
The can is already empty so he reaches for one of the bottles of wine. Someone’s discarded a mug on the table and he pours a healthy amount into it, swirling it around before turning to get a better view. The alcohol is settling in his stomach and he finally feels warm, finally feels a little more stable. The tingle spreads throughout his limbs as he stares at Remus.
“Why are you always facing away when you play?” He can hear the girl's voice now that he’s closer, shrill above the din of everyone else talking.
Remus just shrugs in response, glancing down at her. He’s fiddling with his lighter, hand in his pocket as he mumbles out an answer that Sirius can’t hear but he knows what Remus is saying. He’s heard it before.
When they first started performing in front of people, Remus would get so nervous he’d throw up. Like clockwork right before the show he’d disappear and come back smoking a joint to calm his nerves. It got to a point where he’d start shaking before settling in.
Back to the audience, eyes trained on Pete as they played the set. Once Sirius had asked him about it and he just said, ‘it’s easier for me that way’.
She lets out a disgruntled sound, hitting Remus’s arm playfully as she sways on her feet. Sirius keeps an eye over his mug as she does it and she lets out a laugh.
“Are you always this serious?” Remus’s eyes flick up, looking into Sirius’s eyes over the top of her head and she turns to see what’s caught his attention.
“He isn’t but I am.”
Tilting her head, brows furrowing together, a look of confusion on her face she asks, “What?”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Sirius.” He holds out a hand and she’s still looking at him with a gobsmacked expression.
“You’re kidding, you’ve got to be joking.”
“Unfortunately he isn’t.” Remus crosses his arms, still in the doorway, regarding the two of them. Sirius can’t read his expression, decides he doesn’t want to and picks up his cigarette. He takes a drag, mixing with the tannin taste from the cheap red wine.
“Oh our friend Remus has a fun streak in him, you just have to figure out how to unlock it.” Sirius says and he isn’t looking at the girl, instead he watches the blush creep up Remus’s neck.
“What are you gonna give me the key or whatever?” She doesn’t seem as enthralled with Sirius as she was with Remus. “How are people supposed to get to know him if he’s not interested in talking?”
“They don’t, but you can get to know me?”
Remus’s eyes narrow, lips forming a thin line as the girl presses herself into Sirius. He slips out of the doorway, and Sirius watches him go.
Remus hates this.
He stares at Sirius for a moment, watching as the smile slips, fades and flickers before returning with a vengeance and it hits him. They’ve been cursed the two of them, two sides of the same coin, a head to a tail, anger and sadness.
You and Sirius have a bond, I can see it.
Remus doesn’t want to think about it anymore, never wants to hear it ever again in the caverns of his own mind. But as he sits across from Sirius in someone else’s living room, he can feel it.
That stupid crush that’s been eating away at him even though he’s tried to bury it. The stupid nagging feeling that’s settling over his bones like it always does and he wishes he could leave. Maybe he should sleep alone in the van tonight…
The girl from earlier is laying her head on Sirius’s shoulder and he reaches up, brushing a few tendrils of hair away from her face with his long practiced fingers. He knows what that feels like, Sirius’s featherlight touch on sensitive skin. Knows that the tips of his fingers are calloused, his knuckles dry but his palms are soft.
She turns, smiling up at Sirius and Remus can’t stop the furrow in his brow. The deep crease he always seems to wear.
Someone sits down next to him on the floor, another girl in the already crowded space. He feels like he should know her, that they’ve been introduced at some point during his short time here. Only he hasn’t been paying enough attention, he doesn’t really care what her name is. He won’t be sticking around long enough to hold a relationship with any of these people.
Setting his jaw, back teeth clenched, muscle twitching as she crosses her legs. He can see her out of the corner of his eye, looking at him with cool blue eyes and dark brown hair. Milk white skin and dark brows framing sharp features but he’s still staring at Sirius.
“You look like you could use some cheering up.” she says and her words are slow, smile bright as it spreads across her face. He turns and she tilts her head coquettishly, batting her lashes at him, pink lips parted and shiny. Remus takes a sip from his beer, now warm, he glances over in Sirius’s direction again.
The girl still has her head on Sirius’s shoulder, gazing up at him with intent green eyes and they’re talking. Whispering to one another, sharing secrets.
Tell me a secret Moony…
The haze of the room is suddenly stifling, hot as it settles around him and everyone is talking. Voices bouncing off the walls of the small living room, laughter doubling and the music in the background is too loud. Remus turns, bad ear to the crowd, looking at the girl with a glare and hoping she will get the hint.
“I think I’m alright.” he says curtly, not wanting to get into it with anyone tonight.
“I dunno man, I have something that can make you feel better.” She’s still smiling, still looking up at him and one of her incisors is crooked, little overlap in her otherwise perfect teeth. Her pupils are dilated, black holes with a ring of blue and they look otherworldly.
She’s in his space, knee to knee, so close he can see the hint of freckles across her nose. She smells sweet, like vanilla and brown sugar with a hint of something minty. She probably smokes menthols…
His gaze flicks over her shoulder, back to Sirius and he’s nervous, scared of what he will see. The little pit in his stomach opening as Sirius leans in, hand on the side of the girl’s face, craning her neck back. Sirius’s hand is knotted in her sandy blonde hair and there’s a twinge in his gut. It’s a twist of a knife when Sirius leans in, lips hitting hers and the air in Remus’s lungs leaves in a whoosh.
A gust as he watches, transfixed on Sirius’s tongue that darts out and she opens so willingly. Her eyes are closed and Sirius’s fingers flex on her hip.
Biting his lip, Remus swallows before he speaks, worried his voice is going to crack. “Alright,” he says plainly, tearing his gaze away from what else is happening.
She scooches closer, shin to shin before reaching into her back pocket. Leaning forward to get into it, her hand slaps clumsily on Remus’s upper thigh to steady herself, thumb dangerously close to his crotch and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Sitting back on her tailbone, she unwraps a square of coloured paper revealing a little white pill. Popping it into her hand, they both look at it.
“What is it?” He’s staring at the pill, heart hammering in his chest and he’s worried it’s going to crack his ribs.
“Just trust me.”
An easy thing to do when saying it to someone else. Sweat is gathering at the base of his spine, nerves mixed with something else and the room is stifling. Last time Remus trusted someone in a situation like this he was left zonked out in a booth at Danceteria. A rich looking guy passed him a pill and they sat there for ages just looking at the lights, he left after a while and the girls were stuck carting his ass back to the apartment.
They giggled the whole walk back, pushing him all the way through Alphabet city and Remus had never felt so giddy. The drugs coursing through his system and he woke up the next morning feeling like a limp noodle.
But this isn’t last time. He isn’t with Marlene and Lily, they aren’t listening to DJs and looking at the lights in New York. He’s in someone’s living room and Sirius is kissing someone else and the room is too hot, the drinks aren’t strong enough and everything is too—
“Okay.” He finds himself saying it before the thought can end, before he has a second to decide otherwise. He was robbed of the high of the shrooms, it only seems fair that he gets a turn.
She puts the pill on her tongue. So white, she lets it sit there for a second and Remus can see it start to dissolve, the edges turning fuzzy as her hands find his thighs. Thumbs close to his crotch again she tilts forward, coming up onto her knees and it takes everything in him not to lean back.
Blood rushing in his ears, he realises she’s trying to kiss him, sticking out her tongue to pass him the pill. Remus sucks on her tongue, taking it into his mouth and his eyes are wide as he does it.
The pill is bitter, sharp and he can feel his face contort into a quick pucker as she pulls away. She opens her eyes to watch, gaze darting all over his face, taking everything in before settling on his nose.
She reaches up a hand, tracing the scar on the bridge of his nose, featherlight fingers as the pill dissolves on his tongue. Her eyes, so blue, are what he’s focusing on, fixated on them as her dark brows knit together like she’s trying to piece together what happened.
He doesn’t know her name, can’t remember if he’s met her before tonight and he’s sucked a pill off her tongue, had it down his throat. That twinge in his gut is back, the knife twisting as she leans in again.
Her hand moves down his cheek, along the scar to cup his chin as she climbs into his lap. Thighs on either side of his hips, she settles into the space between his legs. Her top has ridden up, she rocks forward, grinding down and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Don’t be nervous.” she whispers, breathy before she kisses him again—tongue moving over his lips and he opens—passing the pill back to her. She lets out a noise, soft and he can’t hear it, but he can feel it, her chest pressed right against his.
Remus puts his beer down, hands coming to rest on her hips, skin warm against his fingertips and she kisses him again.
They do that for a while, tonguing the pill back and forth as she moves her hips gently. Rocking into him and his body is starting to respond, to act of its own accord. When there’s nothing left to pass, Remus becomes acutely aware that they’re in a room full of people. The noise builds up again and he pulls away to catch his breath.
He glances around, trying to see if anyone’s noticed, but everyone is busy. No one is watching as she rocks in his lap, no one is paying attention to either of them, too wrapped up in their own worlds.
So he kisses her again, hand on the small of her back, gentle curve right above her butt. He lets her grind down against him and his heart pounds harder, blood rushing. Just like it did in the back of the van in Portland, with Sirius writhing around in front of him, trying to make himself comfortable.
There’s a thrumming through his skin, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle and it’s spreading all the way down to his toes. It’s like static skittering over him and he opens his eyes to find her staring back at him.
Black hole pupils fixated on him as she pulls away to giggle. Remus feels like he’s falling, right into the depths of the blackness, leaning into her touch as she fists the front of his t-shirt.
It’s buzzing where she’s pressing against him, heat rolling off of her in waves as if she’s made of fire. Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding and she’s gripping his shirt, pulling him in, lips first—pressed right against his before he even gets a chance to catch his breath.
He doesn’t close his eyes, too shocked to register he should before he starts to feel it. Her soft lips against his, moving slowly, pressing her tongue along the seam of his mouth. She moans, lifting his shirt and he’s getting warm, palms sweating because he has a furnace of a person sitting directly in his lap.
Pulling away, he lets out a wet gasp and he can’t look at her anymore, he’s too busy seeing someone else’s eyes. Her dark brows furrow, hand under his chin, she tilts his face up.
Sirius is staring at him from the other side of the room as the girl with the sandy blonde hair tugs at his face, begs for his attention.
But Sirius isn’t looking at her, instead his eyes stay locked, unmoving from Remus’s as he leans in, nose brushing the girls just before he kisses her.
Remus is slack jawed and he can’t help the stirring that starts in his gut. The churning in his stomach that is no longer the twisting of a knife. Sirius is still staring, still watching, his eyes holding something Remus can’t quite place. Like clouds passing over the sky on a warm summer day. Grey passing over blue.
The tingling won’t stop now, blood rushing and his jaw is moving. Heart pounding, he feels loved-up, a little euphoric as the girl in his lap writhes. He’s already half hard, looking right over her shoulder and right into Sirius’s eyes.
Remus has to focus on something else, anything else but he can’t get that look out of his mind. The way their gazes met and locked and it felt different.
Everything feels different.
Whatever pill he took, whatever drugs are in his system, are starting to take hold. Pulling him down and into their depths and all he can feel are the girls hands. Over his chest, under his shirt, in his hair and her touch tickles. It’s electric, like shocks of static across his skin as the tips of her fingers explore.
Remus still doesn’t know her name, his far away brain trying to grasp at it but she’s grinding against him, tongue in his mouth and he doesn’t even know her name. Eyes closed, if he squeezes them tight enough, it feels close to what he’s used to. Her nails in his skin, biting into the flesh and he loves it, the roughness.
“What’s your name?” he sputters out quickly, pulling away and watching the sloppy grin on her face spread. Everything about her is soft, round hips, the curve of her butt, the sway in her back. Her chest is pressed against him, ample breasts creating space between their hearts.
“Jackie.” Her lips are moving and he loves the feel of her skin against his, wishing he could just close his eyes and not look. Jackie’s hands are on his ribs, leaving a dull ache when she tilts back.
There’s commotion from the other end of the living room and he glances away from her. Someone’s changing the record, an empty space that was once filled with music is overtaken by people talking. Needle down, crackling fades out into a mandolin.
Comforting and warm before the actual song starts up. It’s familiar, he’s heard it before but never in its entirety. Sirius always turns it off before it has a chance to go anywhere.
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven
Not a soul is paying attention to it, too wrapped up in what’s going on in front of them. Jackie stands and offers him her hand. Remus looks at it, gears in his head slow to start turning.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for
“Wha—?” The words tumble from his lips, music loud it seems to float around him.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to Heaven
He’s never felt so enamoured with something before in his life, the dulcet tones and gentle sway of people. A few people have started to dance in the cleared out space in the middle of the living room.
Then there’s the tug again. From deep behind his ribs, a sharp pull.
“Come on.” Jackie urges, her voice just above the din of the crowd and it sounds like stars. Like twinkling stars in the darkest night sky as it mixes with the music flowing around them.
There's a sign on the wall, but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
“Do you—” he licks his lips, body buzzing, jaw moving. “—Do you want me—?”
She lets out a huff, pulling at him, grabbing his arm in an attempt to hoist him to his feet. But she’s so small, scrawny in comparison even to him.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven
“Don’t you trust me?”
He doesn’t know, doesn’t think he has any reason not to after she gave him a drug that makes him feel like this. Something that makes him feel this good. Much different than ludes, he doesn’t feel tired or like he’s pushing through sludge, he feels like his heart is swelling. Like nothing is holding him back.
He rolls his head to the side and Sirius is looking at him again. Remus’s breath catches in his chest, he loves the look in Sirius’s eyes, the dreamy quality of it.
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, makes me wonder
Sirius is watching as Jackie’s hands come to rest on Remus’s shoulders. They’re warm and inviting and he rubs his cheek against her forearm, dog-like. Her skin is so soft against the stubble that’s started to grow. It tingles, electric shooting down his spine as Robert Plant keeps on singing.
Remus stands, coming up to his full height and he towers over everyone. Jackie’s hand has found his, small and fragile, she’s running the tips of her fingers over his palm and he tilts his head back, letting the feel of it wash over him.
Sparks, right down to his toes as she moulds herself into his side, pressed tight against him. Jackie’s head barely comes to his shoulder as she presses her nose into his chest. Remus shivers and they start to sway. His hands rest on her hips, palms sweaty against the stretch of skin that’s uncovered.
The whole room is moving, gently rocking as the energy builds. Prickling at the base of his skull, dragging and tugging and the string in his ribs is urging him to turn. So he does.
And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter
Remus swallows, he’s never heard this song in full, finds the thrill of it making his chest swell and Sirius is still looking at him. Jackie sways, shifting her weight from foot to foot as he follows her movements, knows he should be leading but he can’t fully grasp the beat when everything around him feels so good.
Sirius hates this song, always changing it before it gets past the first verse. Jackie’s spinning them, slow circles and her hips are moving. His heart is pounding, slamming against his ribs and the blood is rushing in his ears.
Pressure on his hands as Jackie brings them up her sides to hold under her ribs. He keeps them there, her own hands on top of his and she’s so small. Her black hole eyes gazing up at him and he wonders if he looks the same.
If Sirius is looking at him from across the room, worried Remus is going to swallow him up. And my God he wants to.
More people are gathering around them, crowding in the living room, touching him. Elbows in his ribs, stepping on his toes as they all try to move together in a mass. But he doesn’t care.
Tight feeling in his chest again, pulling at the same spot and he looks over to where Sirius is standing. Their eyes meet as Jackie tugs at him, out of the crowd.
She pulls him across the living room and Sirius is still staring, locked on him as Jackie drags him down the hall.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
The apartment is comfortable, well lived in and the walls are painted a pale petal pink. Girly, homey with tapestries and textiles covering everything.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
The song is still playing, Robert Plant is still singing and everyone is still dancing. Still swaying to the music and Sirius is still staring as Jackie leads the way. They turn into a bedroom, music fading, muffled when the door closes but he can still feel it, the grip it has on his soul as it reaches the crescendo.
Jackie’s hands are on him, under his shirt, hot against his skin. Her nails bite into his flesh and he moans, head tilting back, connecting with the door and he closes his eyes. Remus pretends the tips of her fingers are calloused.
She’s grabbing at the hem of his shirt, lifting it, mouth wet as she lays kisses along his chest. He’s waiting for it, the roughness he’s used to, the strong and practiced hands that know what they want.
But everything about Jackie is soft. Her lips on his stomach, featherlight across his ribs as her hands work on his belt. Delicate fingers slipping into the waistband of his underwear,
working the button then the zipper.
Breath catching, his heart stutters as she slides down onto her knees, both palms flat against his hip bones, pressing him into the door. Remus moves, his hand finding the back of her head, gripping her dark hair from the root and it’s silky, running through his fingers like water.
She pulls down his jeans and they settle around his thighs, the friction alone making him gasp, tips of his fingers tingling as he flexes them in her hair.
Remus presses his other hand flat against the wood of the door, feeling the thrum of the crowd on the other side. The hum of electricity around the room, the thickness in the air.
Her mouth hovers over his still clothed cock, hot breath dampening the fabric as she leans back onto her heels to look up at him. Jackie runs a hand along his thigh and he chokes out a moan.
He isn’t used to things moving this slowly, to not being fully in control. This doesn’t feel as transactional as it usually is.
“Doesn’t it feel so good?” Voice breathy, Jackie palms him over his underwear, the pressure making him shudder.
His throat is dry, jaw moving in a steady open close as he looks down at her. Chin to chest, she’s gazing up at him with half lidded eyes, hazy with lust and Remus for once in his life believes it. Fully thinks that someone has the capacity to find him attractive and his heart feels full even though it’s threatening to pound right out of his chest.
This is the first time he’s gotten a real look at her, kneeling on the floor in front of him. The soft light from a lamp casting her in a warm glow. Jackie has high cheekbones, a petite nose with a handful of freckles splashed across it and a soft jaw. Remus untangles his hand from her hair, trailing his fingers along her forehead, down the side of her face and she leans into it.
Lips parted, they’re red and swollen from kissing. He runs his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it down and showing her teeth. Remus is tempted to push his thumb into her mouth like he normally would, to take back control, but he doesn’t.
Jackie dips into the elastic of his underwear, knuckles brushing along his skin and he sucks in a breath.
“Don’t be nervous.” she says for the second time tonight but he’s already breathing hard, beginning to sweat under her gaze. His skin is clammy, the room stifling and it tingles where she touches. Little shocks where their skin connects as she uncovers him slowly.
Remus’s mind is blank, doesn’t know what he should be feeling other than her hands. He doesn’t know what to do without the little voice in the back of his mind. The one that’s always there, just on the periphery. The worry he carries around with him, like a weight on his back, the constant feeling he buries in the dark recesses of his mind, right next to the anger.
Don’t.
The only word that filters forward, bubbles up from the depths when Jackie’s tongue darts out, swirling around the tip of his cock. Remus’s head slams back against the door, hard thud on the wood and he squeezes his eyes shut. Breath caught in his chest, mingling with the sudden flush of anxiety and all he can think about is Sirius with someone else in his lap. Sirius with his hand in someone else’s hair. Sirius kissing someone else and here he is doing just the same.
“I-I—” he stammers out, throat tight and looks down. Jackie has her hand resting on his thigh, gazing up at him. “—Jackie, I—” His heart is thundering, so loud he can barely hear himself, barely think.
She leans back onto her heels, mouth opening like she’s going to speak but he’s already struggling to get his pants back on. Pulling his underwear over himself quickly, throwing the door open and attempting to zip his fly before getting down the hall.
He glances into the still crowded living room and Remus can just make out the back of Sirius’s head. That girl is still in his lap, her hands on his shoulders, pink fingernails digging into his white t-shirt and Remus turns away.
There’s a bathroom a few feet away, stepping inside, he grips the sink tight to stop his hands from shaking. The space is small, black and white tiled floor, pedestal sink and a clawfoot tub tucked away.
Everything is thrumming, the sounds amplified around him, bouncing off the tiled walls. The sink under his hands is cold, porcelain smooth and he grips it tighter, knuckles turning white.
He doesn’t bother looking up, doesn’t want to face himself in the mirror.
Reaching across, he slams the door, shutting the world out and hoping it’ll break the sound. The music is muffled, but he can still hear everyone talking, their voices deafening in the tiny apartment.
Sweat rolls down his back, collecting in the hollow of his spine, dampening his shirt. He runs a hand through his hair, grabbing the ends and tugging, trying to focus on something other than the noise. His scalp tingles, the feel of it dancing over his skull, settling in his spine as his heart still thunders. Pounding against his skin, pulse jumping and that loved-up feeling from earlier is turning.
Morphing into a wave of nausea, roiling in his gut, moving from euphoric to anxious like the swing of a pendulum and he’s just along for the ride.
Remus paces, barely enough room for more than a step before he has to turn on his heel and when he does, he catches himself in the mirror. He jumps, staring at his own reflection, wide eyed.
His eyes are wild, nothing but a dark green ring around a sea of black. Dark circles framing, settling underneath and they’re so deep they look bruised. He lifts a hand, touching his own face, tips of his fingers grazing the scar that looks meaner than he remembers. It’s so deep and when he touches it, he’s surprised it doesn’t still hurt.
His touch feels foreign, face not looking like what he recognizes. His eyes are sadder, the corners of them turned down, faint lines around the edges.
Remus watches as the muscles move, his brows furrow and a deep crease forms on his forehead. He touches the mirror, thumb trying to smooth the lines, to wipe away the worry, the jealousy that’s melting into anger.
Anger at himself for getting caught up in all this, at Sirius for setting them on this path of jealousy and before he can think more on it, the string is back. It yanks at the centre of his chest even when he’s trying to float away from it, to pull away. It’s tied to a deep seeded loathsome feeling wrapped up tight and nestled amongst his breastbone.
Head in his hands, he rubs at his face, letting out a little groan—when someone knocks on the door.
Three bangs, one after another in quick succession and Remus jumps at the first.
He stills, a few seconds of nothing before the pounding starts again, incessant, constant. Gritting his teeth, setting his jaw he turns and throws the door open, glaring. He gets ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off, to scream at them and scare them away, but it’s Sirius.
Sirius is standing in the hallway, holding his face. There’s blood dripping down his hand, all over the front of his white shirt, seeping through his fingers. It’s sliding down his wrist, trickling onto the chequered floor and Remus sucks in a breath through his teeth, jaw relaxing.
“You’re bleeding.” he says flatly, taking Sirius’s hand from his face. Remus tilts his chin up, little sparks hitting his fingers as he does it, drugs still making themselves known in his system.
Sirius smiles, whole mouth tinged red, blood settling around all his pretty white teeth and the bruise around his eye looks extra painful under the lights. Purple and yellow, the mottled colours mixing together on his cheekbone. He snorts, stumbling forward, toe catching on the tile and Remus grabs hold of his shoulder roughly.
“Sirius, why are you bleeding?” He yanks Sirius into the bathroom, closing the door, locking them in. Remus pushes him down so he’s sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, swaying with a devilish smirk. Remus is trying to right himself, to screw his head on straight and look past all the sensations blooming in him as Sirius looks up.
He needs to see if Sirius still has all his teeth, if this is as bad as the time his dad knocked out his incisor, but he’s just looking up. Those blue eyes of his taking on the light of the bathroom and Remus is forced to keep his gaze.
“What happened?” he asks, voice a whisper, hands cupping each side of Sirius’s face. His thumbs stroke Sirius’s cheekbones as Remus cranes his neck back to get a better look. Sirius’s hair is tangled up in his fingers and he’s doing his best not to get too hung up on the feel of it.
“Cut myself”—Sirius is speaking, sticking two fingers in his mouth to pull back his cheek—“I was trying to,” he says it around his fingers, wincing and swallowing. “I was trying to shotgun a beer.”
He tips forward, trying to show Remus the damage, swaying and Remus grabs hold of his wrist. He pulls Sirius’s fingers from his mouth, covered in blood.
“Stop that.”
Sirius is still smiling that half in the bag smile of his, eyes glassy. Remus hates that he knows, hates that he’s seen it more often than not lately. He wonders if this is how it is, if James has been trying to hide it, trying to keep it a secret.
Biting his lip, Remus can’t feel the sting of it, the air in the bathroom is thick and he’s too warm, another body in the cramped space not helping. He has Sirius’s face in one hand, his wrist in the other and their legs are touching.
“Fuck.” Remus lets him go, turning away to root through the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. “I’m gonna fix you up okay?” Sirius’s blood is on his hand, red on his fingers and when he touches something in the cabinet it transfers.
Remus runs it under water quickly, cleaning it off before rifling through once more. There’s a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bag of cotton balls hiding behind boxes of tampons and bottles of Midol. He tosses them in the still wet sink, pouring out too much of the peroxide onto a cotton ball and waiting for the sting.
The burn around his nail beds from picking at the skin until it bleeds, but it doesn’t come. He looks down, it drips into the sink but he still doesn’t feel it, just the tingling. He can feel Sirius looking at him and when Remus turns to face him, he opens his mouth, as if on instinct.
Remus’s breath catches in his throat, mouth dry as his heart stutters. He swallows, taking Sirius’s chin in his hand carefully and tilting it back. The cut isn't deep, won’t even leave a scar and he dabs at it with the cotton ball gently. Sirius flinches on first contact, a quick reflex before catching himself. He closes his eyes, letting his jaw relax, head heavy in Remus’s hand.
He’s patting at the cut, watching Sirius’s face, attempting to focus but all Remus can think about is the contact. The fact that he can feel Sirius’s pulse pounding away under the thin skin of his neck, can see his heart racing.
He’s pushing the building ache in his chest away, the tug, the thought of them tethered together, tied down. How he’s somehow always anchored to Sirius, pulling him back in. The push and pull, ebb and flow, give and take.
This time it's his turn to give, to ebb, to flow. Sirius showing up with a missing tooth, Remus showing up on Pete’s doorstep, Sirius cradling him at the fall fair as he did his best to catch his breath.
Remus gently wipes his skin, staunching the bleeding, checking to see if it’s helping. He’s up close, bent over, standing between Sirius’s spread legs and it seems so casual. Like this is something that happens all the time between them. One of them cleaning blood off the other’s face.
He moves to step away, to reach back and grab a washcloth to get the rest of the blood off, but he can’t. Sirius has his hands wrapped tight around the back of Remus’s thighs, cementing him in place.
Stuck in the spot, Sirius’s iron grip holding him steady. Remus is looking down, watching as Sirius’s head tips forward, forehead connecting with his stomach, just above Remus’s belt. His belt that he never buckled, pants still unbuttoned. Prickling, Remus sucks in a breath, Sirius’s hands moving from the back of his thighs to the front, rubbing up and down, thumbs dangerously close to his crotch.
A shudder courses through him, as Sirius continues to rub. Up and down, up and down, a rhythmic motion and Remus is getting lost in it. Sirius makes a noise, a groan and Remus sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, swallowing down the thrill that’s fighting to surface.
He does it again, another little noise on the end of a breath and his thumbs dig in. He’s all dead weight, breathing shallow, little puffs of air that Remus can feel where his shirt has ridden up.
Hand tangled in Sirius’s hair, it rests on the nape of his neck and it’s so soft. Softer than he thought it would be as he gives in, pulling Sirius closer, caught up in the buzz as Sirius’s hands slide up his thighs and under his shirt.
When his calloused fingers hit Remus’s burning skin it’s like fire. He falls into the flames, gasping, so high off everything, loved up on it all. Never would he ever have imagined something like this. Him and Sirius locked away in a bathroom.
Tilting his head back, pressing into Sirius’s palms, his breath is hot, coming out in puffs. Sirius’s lips brush against him when he speaks, chapped and dry and Remus can’t hear what he’s saying over the blood pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know what Sirius could possibly be saying in this moment as his hand clenches, fisting Sirius’s hair, breath hitching when he hears it.
“Remus.”
His name, whispering it into his skin and his hand is knotted in Sirius’s hair. Hands still under Remus’s shirt, Sirius’s fingers clench, touching him, moving up along his ribs. Remus’s head snaps forward, chin to chest and everything around him is gone, the floor coming out from beneath his feet.
This can’t happen… Not like this.
Remus steps back, calves hitting the tub with a dull thud that fills the room and Sirius is looking up at him. His mouth is parted, lips pink, blood settling in the crack at the corner of his mouth. Face changing, shifting to confusion, Remus’s hands ball into fists, almost shaking so he doesn’t reach forward.
Sirius’s pulse is hammering away in his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and for a brief moment, Remus thinks about what it would feel like against his lips. How his skin would taste, salty from sweat, sweet like tobacco from Parliaments and bitter like cheap beer.
“You’re not,” Remus starts, clearing his throat. “You’re not bleeding anymore.” he licks his lips, watching Sirius’s head tilt, eyes glassy.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Remus takes a steadying breath, standing up straight. Remus pushes the thought of Sirius’s hair in his fingers out of his mind, how his breath was on his skin, how he smells like someone else’s soap. Someone else’s perfume.
“Remus.” Sirius says his name again, a whisper, husky and he opens his eyes. Reaching out, Sirius touches the hem of his shirt, hand brushing the leather of his belt as he gazes up and Remus turns.
“You’re drunk.” he says flatly. Sirius stares at him, blank expression before his brows come together.
“What?”
“You’re drunk…you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“But—”
“Stop. Just,” Remus drags a hand across his face. Sirius tips forward, reaching out like he’s trying to touch him again. “We have to leave in the morning. We should—you should—sleep.”
Sirius’s hand settles in his lap, hair falling forward, covering his face. He’s still swaying, shoulders sagging before he mutters something. Remus doesn’t hear it, his jaw creaking as he sets his molars and Sirius finally looks up at him. He cranes his neck up and back and Remus watches him take a breath, watches him swallow like he’s holding something back and Remus is suddenly worried Sirius will throw up.
After a minute, Sirius levels Remus with a look, same steely gaze as back in Burlington. Same metal with no life in his eyes and Remus finds himself backing away, slipping out the door before he reads too much into it.
The hallway is much cooler, no longer stifling and the party's still going, music still playing. The crackle of voices finding their way down the hall. Remus stumbles into the room they’ve been staying in, all their stuff thrown everywhere.
Pete’s jacket tossed over a lamp, his bag spilling out onto the rug and Remus kicks it off to the side, clearing a patch on the floor. Technically it’s his turn to sleep in the bed, their slow rotation once again pinning him and Sirius together. But that’s the last thing he needs right now, the last thing he wants as he fights off the height of the high.
Sirius’s nimble fingers, his cracked lips on Remus’s sweat slicked skin in the dark of the night. Pressing against him, under his shirt and over his chest, Remus can already imagine the feeling, already knows how it would go.
He would never admit it outloud, but he’s thought about it before.
Groaning, head in his hands, heels of his palms digging into his eyes until he can see stars.
There’s a touch, feather light on the small of his back and Remus jumps at the contact, head snapping down and Sirius is trying to get by. Swaying, he stumbles over towards the bed, looking back at him expectantly and Remus turns away.
Pulling his shirt over his head, stepping out of his jeans and he can’t find his cigarettes. Must have fallen out onto the floor in the bedroom and he’s missed his chance to smoke a joint to put himself out of this misery.
Lying on the floor, he faces the ceiling. Too hot for a blanket, he leaves it bunched up at his feet. Sirius is tossing his clothing off the side of the bed and his belt hits the wall with a loud thud before it settles into a pile next to him.
The rug is wool, itchy on his skin as he rolls over but that drug is still wreaking havoc in his system and even the itch feels nice. He’s looking at the pile, Sirius’s blood on his white t-shirt, little drops of it on his pants.
Remus finds himself reaching out, brushing the tips of his fingers along the patch on Sirius’s pants. He touches the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it closer and it smells like sandalwood. Musky and woodsy. Like weed and sweat and stale beer.
“Goodnight Moony.” Sirius’s voice comes from above him, muffled and Remus imagines he’s lying on his side. The party’s still going, well past midnight and everyone is still talking, but they’re alone in the darkness. Just the two of them.
Remus lets go of the shirt, rolling onto his back and letting out a breath before he answers, “Goodnight starboy.”
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