Remus knows this story. How many years has he walked a road where opportunities seem to disappear, where relationships turn to dust because lives move on and somehow, he never seems to move forward. Remus circles some greater meaning, he's sure, while everyone jumps from point to point, but there are places not meant for people like him, and though he can see things on the horizon for those he loves, though he can provide help and advice when they encounter trouble, he'll never quite make those hurdles himself. Perhaps that is why he's the steadfast, reliable friend. Whenever they look over their shoulder, like Orpheus in doubt, glancing back in hopes to see Eurydice, he's there. Waving them on their journey, arms outstretched for the inevitable fall.
"I'm in 204," he says, glancing briefly at his orientation papers, scooped from the table on his way toward the door. Please come visit me almost on the tip of his tongue when it turns into something like, "If you ever want something more substantial that pancakes."
But such an invitation assumes money, assumes that he'll have food and things to drink and things to cook with. It assumes that he has a life he's never had, though he likes the idea. Inviting Sirius over for more than a cup of tea and pound store, tinned biscuits. He never had much, really, but he took care with what he did have. And perhaps the biscuits were just tinned, store-bought shortbreads or the tea was a Twinings knock off, but he bought those things with his friends in mind. The caramel tea for Sirius or the hazelnut coffee. Maybe a scone or a pain-au-chocolate they could warm and split. Something zesty and fruity for James, with his wacky tastes and desperation to seem anything but posh on occasion.
"And of course I'll have to return the clothes as it is. Mind if I keep the jumper until I can suss out one of my own, then?" It's incredibly warm, if not over-sized. That, and the long sleeves cover his arms, hide him behind comfortable, woolly fabric where a t-shirt won't.
He hardly has time to move to the door before he's being pulled into Sirius's arms and he finds himself frozen for a fraction of a second before he allows himself to sink into those arms and wrap his own around Sirius's waist. His fingers curl into Sirius's shirt, his face buried into the man's shoulder, all but breathing him in. He's struck with how suddenly he doesn't want to say goodbye. Because walking out that door means acknowledged the chasm split wide between them, means turning his back to it and walking in the opposite direction, deeming it too wide to cross.
And maybe it is.
It feels real and deep, maw gaping wider than before as they pull away from one another. Remus clears his throat before he looks to Sirius's face.
"You, too, Sirius. See you 'round then." And he turns then, feet made of lead, head full of static, and slips out the door with a tight, polite smile, heading for the stairs.
no subject
"I'm in 204," he says, glancing briefly at his orientation papers, scooped from the table on his way toward the door. Please come visit me almost on the tip of his tongue when it turns into something like, "If you ever want something more substantial that pancakes."
But such an invitation assumes money, assumes that he'll have food and things to drink and things to cook with. It assumes that he has a life he's never had, though he likes the idea. Inviting Sirius over for more than a cup of tea and pound store, tinned biscuits. He never had much, really, but he took care with what he did have. And perhaps the biscuits were just tinned, store-bought shortbreads or the tea was a Twinings knock off, but he bought those things with his friends in mind. The caramel tea for Sirius or the hazelnut coffee. Maybe a scone or a pain-au-chocolate they could warm and split. Something zesty and fruity for James, with his wacky tastes and desperation to seem anything but posh on occasion.
"And of course I'll have to return the clothes as it is. Mind if I keep the jumper until I can suss out one of my own, then?" It's incredibly warm, if not over-sized. That, and the long sleeves cover his arms, hide him behind comfortable, woolly fabric where a t-shirt won't.
He hardly has time to move to the door before he's being pulled into Sirius's arms and he finds himself frozen for a fraction of a second before he allows himself to sink into those arms and wrap his own around Sirius's waist. His fingers curl into Sirius's shirt, his face buried into the man's shoulder, all but breathing him in. He's struck with how suddenly he doesn't want to say goodbye. Because walking out that door means acknowledged the chasm split wide between them, means turning his back to it and walking in the opposite direction, deeming it too wide to cross.
And maybe it is.
It feels real and deep, maw gaping wider than before as they pull away from one another. Remus clears his throat before he looks to Sirius's face.
"You, too, Sirius. See you 'round then." And he turns then, feet made of lead, head full of static, and slips out the door with a tight, polite smile, heading for the stairs.