remus lupin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skygazing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nebulochaotic2020-09-11 07:55 pm
skygazing) wrote in nebulochaotic2020-09-11 07:55 pm
arrival - catchall
WHO: Remus Lupin & OTA
WHAT: arrival and shenanigans
WHEN: 9/11-9/13
WHERE: Eglaf Govt Housing, around town
WARNINGS: occasional werewolf talk? too much love of books and chocolate?
apartment 103;
When Remus wakes, he can't quite tell what time it is. The sun filters in through the windows and he can't help but feel something akin to apparition or travel sickness. He's used to waking up on the English countryside, either tucked into some woods or using a barren, old cottage for cover. To find he wakes up in the beginnings of evening, in a warm bed, in a room with four walls? It's disorienting.
Even more so when he remembers that it's Sirius Black who's housing him until he's well enough to return to his own flat, that this is anywhere but home, and that he has dozens and dozens of questions. But he feels a little more human now than he did upon arrival, and he'll have to apologize to Sirius and his flatmates alike for tracking dirt and blood on the way in. He crawls from the bed and starts out into the sitting room. He remembers a coffee pot from earlier, and decides to try his hand at working the obviously more modern muggle machine.
He feels a bit rude, really, making a coffee with someone else's supplies, but he needs something to cut through the fog. He'd much prefer tea, really, but anything warm and comforting just now will do. He struggles with the over-sized, baggy jumper that Sirius gave him earlier (that apparently belongs to someone named Klaus?), the sleeves loose and falling over his scarred fingers as he spoons out grounds into a filter. "Oh these bothersome sleeves..."
around Eglaf, weekend;
Remus isn't a man to stay idle too long, particularly in unknown places. For all his reservations and careful mentality, he's already taken to the sidewalks of Eglaf. Word on the streets is the Fall Festival has started, and although Remus is quite curious, he's taking advantage of the fact that mainstream shops are a little quieter while the locals occupy themselves with the festivities.
He makes his way to a local, used book shop where one might find him perusing the shelves or getting lost in something obscure he's plucked from the shelves. If not that, then one might spot him tucked away in a corner of Soul Full Cup with an old, dog-eared copy of H. G. Wells's The Time Machine, while enjoying a warm cuppa.
Otherwise, you might find him en route or horribly lost between point A and point B, though he doesn't seem to mind that he's lost.
network - video;
[ The video all but fumbles on, operated by someone who is clearly unused to the technology, though he seems to grasp the overall concept as the picture focuses in on his face after a few quick seconds. In fact, it's almost as if the camera itself happens to hover in place, Remus looking quietly pleased. (He looks utterly exhausted, too, but that's his general state of being these days). ]
I think this thing's on. Terribly sorry, I'm afraid we don't have devices like this back home. I don't believe the Muggles have discovered this technology yet, but I'm keen to learn more.
[ And it's honest; the more he can learn about his surroundings the better. He can't help that, despite everything, he's still in the mindset leftover from magical, political unrest. ]
I understand some of you have been here for some time, and I hope to pick everyone's brains in time. I thought I might as well start local before I begin to try and tackle the mess that is federal politics. [ He grins, nothing short of cheeky. ]
WHAT: arrival and shenanigans
WHEN: 9/11-9/13
WHERE: Eglaf Govt Housing, around town
WARNINGS: occasional werewolf talk? too much love of books and chocolate?
apartment 103;
When Remus wakes, he can't quite tell what time it is. The sun filters in through the windows and he can't help but feel something akin to apparition or travel sickness. He's used to waking up on the English countryside, either tucked into some woods or using a barren, old cottage for cover. To find he wakes up in the beginnings of evening, in a warm bed, in a room with four walls? It's disorienting.
Even more so when he remembers that it's Sirius Black who's housing him until he's well enough to return to his own flat, that this is anywhere but home, and that he has dozens and dozens of questions. But he feels a little more human now than he did upon arrival, and he'll have to apologize to Sirius and his flatmates alike for tracking dirt and blood on the way in. He crawls from the bed and starts out into the sitting room. He remembers a coffee pot from earlier, and decides to try his hand at working the obviously more modern muggle machine.
He feels a bit rude, really, making a coffee with someone else's supplies, but he needs something to cut through the fog. He'd much prefer tea, really, but anything warm and comforting just now will do. He struggles with the over-sized, baggy jumper that Sirius gave him earlier (that apparently belongs to someone named Klaus?), the sleeves loose and falling over his scarred fingers as he spoons out grounds into a filter. "Oh these bothersome sleeves..."
around Eglaf, weekend;
Remus isn't a man to stay idle too long, particularly in unknown places. For all his reservations and careful mentality, he's already taken to the sidewalks of Eglaf. Word on the streets is the Fall Festival has started, and although Remus is quite curious, he's taking advantage of the fact that mainstream shops are a little quieter while the locals occupy themselves with the festivities.
He makes his way to a local, used book shop where one might find him perusing the shelves or getting lost in something obscure he's plucked from the shelves. If not that, then one might spot him tucked away in a corner of Soul Full Cup with an old, dog-eared copy of H. G. Wells's The Time Machine, while enjoying a warm cuppa.
Otherwise, you might find him en route or horribly lost between point A and point B, though he doesn't seem to mind that he's lost.
network - video;
[ The video all but fumbles on, operated by someone who is clearly unused to the technology, though he seems to grasp the overall concept as the picture focuses in on his face after a few quick seconds. In fact, it's almost as if the camera itself happens to hover in place, Remus looking quietly pleased. (He looks utterly exhausted, too, but that's his general state of being these days). ]
I think this thing's on. Terribly sorry, I'm afraid we don't have devices like this back home. I don't believe the Muggles have discovered this technology yet, but I'm keen to learn more.
[ And it's honest; the more he can learn about his surroundings the better. He can't help that, despite everything, he's still in the mindset leftover from magical, political unrest. ]
I understand some of you have been here for some time, and I hope to pick everyone's brains in time. I thought I might as well start local before I begin to try and tackle the mess that is federal politics. [ He grins, nothing short of cheeky. ]
no subject
"In fact, yes, I think I'm bruising as we speak," he chirps, checking the edges of the pancake while he speaks. "There's this bloke who came round and hit me in the arm just now. Think you can have a chat with him?" Sure, there are a few tender spots that Sirius missed, but he isn't going to worry his friend with that just now. It's nothing that won't heal in time, and the healing Sirius did while he slept has already markedly helped.
"Oh will you hush already? They can also be called hot cakes, ruminate on that one, hm?" Remus all but swats at him with the spatula before returning to monitor the pan. He pushes the sleeves of the jumper up as they slide down again, and he makes a point to fold them back at his elbows. His forearms are lined with old scars, some faded white, others still an angry, deep color. He's used to seeing them, and he doesn't think twice with Sirius at his side, even though he well and should. He doesn't want to worry the man's flatmates, after all. There's an uncertain sort of ease that's beginning to pass between them, and while Remus knows better than to lean into it, to disregard everything they spoke of earlier, he can't help but feel relieved. He's not sure what he would do here if Sirius hated him. If they fought. Should they have fought? They both had rights to anger, but he's not sure why that flame dwindled in favor of the other.
The gentle plop of Sirius's chin on his shoulder is so familiar it almost hurts, and his ears burn slightly. "I do. About this place. About home. If I hadn't fallen asleep I might have made a list."
no subject
The sight of the scars that riddle Remus's fair skin make Sirius's stomach drop with horror, although at first, he isn't entirely sure why. They've known each other for quite some time, Sirius has seen new scars pop up on Remus nearly every month since they've met and was present for the creation of several. The sight of Remus's wounds never bothered him; quite the contrary in fact. There's a secret part of Sirius that finds something almost lovely about the mosaic of lesions that Remus carries with him. It's a testament to his strength, visual reminders of a life filled with struggle and strife only to produce one of the most intelligent and kind people Sirius has ever met. It makes him admire Remus all the more for it. A part of him loves those scars, although he'll certainly take that with him to the grave, knowing that it isn't something Remus would want to hear or agree with.
This is different though, and Sirius can't pinpoint why until he takes another glance, and it hits him all at once; there are too many. Living with a werewolf for years as a child can give one a sense of what to expect, and how much damage is done after a particularly good or bad transformation. The occasionally utilized analytical side of Sirius's mind is moving quickly in his silence, factoring in his assumption that it couldn't have been more than three or four months for Remus since the death of the Potters, perhaps less if he was on a mission that was still ongoing after the war had technically ended. That's too many scars for three or four transformations, and the only conclusion he can come to is one that makes his chest burn with both sympathy and righteous anger. Obviously, all of these scars were made by the claws of a werewolf, but not necessarily Remus himself.
Sirius is almost overcome with the urge to embrace the man, pancakes be damned, but he refrains. This is the first day that Remus has had that comes close to any type of normalcy in who knows how long. The last thing he needs is to feel like he's being pitied.
So Sirius swallows it back, keeps it pressed down, and tries to focus on the now, and things that he can control, and not the atrocious things that he wasn't there for and allowed to happen due to his own foolish mistrust. "Well," he begins with a voice that has dropped the tease and humor. "How about this. I'll tell you what I know, and if there are still questions, you can ask them." The suggestion should feel daunting, Sirius has struggled every day since his arrival to try and talk about everything that had happened, but it's different when it's for Remus. It becomes less about processing and healing, and more about helping a man he cares for deeply, akin to his ability to speak about death candidly only when Klaus needed him after his arrival.
"I already told you what happened with Peter. The switch of Secret Keepers, what had happened that night, all of it." Sirius moves to grab a plate that Remus can put the pancakes on, a weak attempt to work out the restlessness that always seems to grow when he has to remember everything that took place. The plate is set beside the stove before he returns to his designated spot, folding his arms once more. "He ended up blowing himself up and took twelve muggles down with him. That was the end of it." This time when Sirius pauses it's with an uncomfortable hesitation, and it's easier to look at the tiled floor than anywhere else.
"There were Deatheaters in the cells surrounding me and sometimes I could hear them. As Snuffles, at least, when I had the energy to change. They didn't mention Peter often but when they did they would theorize that he had killed himself for betraying Voldemort, which..." His frown is one of both confusion and discomfort, as if something doesn't necessarily fit in the narrative. "Doesn't make sense, does it? I thought he killed himself for betraying us and they thought he did it for betraying them. So why did he actually do it?" If he did, but the thought of Peter still being alive somewhere is enough to make Sirius snap, and it's not something he wanted to entertain then or now.
"Anyway," Sirius shakes his head, this time to will away the lingering thought. "Six months later I ended up here, just like you did. The portals aren't reliable." His words become a flat. "People show up, disappear, reappear, there doesn't seem to be much of a pattern and the government here won't allow anybody close enough to figure it out. There's a bit of a resistance starting to build among the transplants to try and learn more, maybe even fix them, but it's barely off the ground at this point. The locals are hit and miss, some of them love us like we're some sort of celebrity group, others hate that we're here and think we're leeches to the system. There doesn't seem to be any rules or laws against using magic in front of the muggle population here, which does make things easier. Overall, it's not the worst place to be."
He finishes with a sigh, slightly launching himself off of the counter once more before moving to the refrigerator and grabbing a can of whipped cream to put out. "So?" He tosses a lazy hand in Remus's direction before lazing against the refrigerator, hands sliding into his pockets. "Questions?"
no subject
He listens intently while Sirius speaks, shown in the careful furrow of his brow, the occasional, thoughtful twist of his lips, the glances made in the direction of his friend leaning on the fridge. He's methodical when he pours the next round of batter, swirling it carefully into the pan, letting the batter hiss against the hot surface.
Taking in a slow breath, he collects the plate and crosses the small and reaches for one of Sirius's wrists, tugging his hand up if allowed, pressing the plate into it. "If I had to guess at rumors in the dark, I doubt Peter betrayed Voldemort, but that everything he did was part of their dark plan. For all his cowardice, Peter played a long and terrible game, and we were all caught in the crossfire, weren't we? It's some miracle that you exchanged roles as Secret Keeper. I suppose he'd had us in check, and that was the checkmate."
There are dozens of outcomes in chess, and to think that Peter could still be alive somewhere does linger in the back of his mind. After all, if he was able to carry out such a conniving plan, Remus has no doubt that there's more to the death than meets the eye. A small, warning voice gently reminds him there wasn't a body, but it makes his throat tighten uncomfortably. That thought, he decides, needs more time.
"Eat, before it goes cold," he says softly before he turns back to the stove top to flip the second pancake. He considers the information about this place, however, and when he raises his head to look at Sirius, he smiles. "I think my first task will be to find a book shop. Every city has its history, and that might be an excellent route to helping whatever little resistance is building. It all felt quite sterile to me. The arrival, the orientation. The job and the flat. If there is anything I've learned in my time on these blasted missions it's that good things don't come without a price, no matter who pays it."
Instead of flipping the newly cooked pancake onto a new plate, he actually floats the steaming hotcake to Sirius's plate instead. "Do you have more questions?" He asks offhandedly, no matter how pointed the question is, as he starts a third pancake, this one for himself. "Though I suppose you know the answers to most things as it is."
no subject
He doesn't fight when Remus gives him the plate, but he does give a pointed look that says making food was supposed to be for Remus in the first place, not him, and Moony is only getting away with feeding him because Sirius is allowing it. "There are a couple of nice book stores around here," he responds in a tone that's decisively lighter, putting the plate down to remove the cap from the whipped cream. "But if you're looking for local history I would suggest the library, it's not that far." Sirius has spent ample time around books since he's arrived here, they're one of the very few things that are almost the same here and back home. He's getting better as using muggle technology for research, but he doesn't know if he'll ever be comfortable with it.
"That's the question, isn't it? They're so welcoming, allowing us to show up here and providing jobs and housing. Nobody does that for free, so what are they getting out of it?" Despite the somewhat serious content of their conversation Sirius shakes the can and throws his head back, opening his mouth and spraying an ample amount in before adding more to his pancakes. He offers the can up for Remus to take it if he wants. "'s good, 's jus' sugar," he explains through a mouthful before managing to swallow, and he turns to a cupboard to grab the syrup.
"No." His response to Remus's question comes so quickly that Remus barely has time to finish it, and it suggests that he either hasn't thought at all as to whether he does have questions, or he's thought so much that he knew the answer beforehand. Of course he has questions, but none of them are ones Remus can answer, and they would only serve to bring back that awkward discomfort between them that Sirius dreads. Why would Albus put Moony in such a terrible position, why was he still there after the war ended, would he have ever written or had he simply given up and mentally moved on... the list is long, each inquiry less constructive than the last.
"I'll take you to the library if you want. Tomorrow." Syrup is poured onto his pancakes with one hand as the other summons a second plate for Remus. "Take a day to adjust and relax before you jump into research mode. Believe me, just a little recovery time does wonders. I could barely stand or speak when I got here, taking some down time made all the difference." He sits at the small kitchen table, thinking nothing about the brief description of his shape upon arrival, and although he starts to cut his pancakes with a fork he doesn't eat, waiting for Remus to sit down with him before starting. It would be rude.
"If you aren't sick of me yet we can watch a movie." After placing his fork down he leans back in his chair with casual ease, one foot on his seat to rest an arm across his bent knee while the other hangs over the back. "Klaus showed me Wizard of Oz recently, it's about this girl who gets sucked into this magical world from a tornado, or something? And there are these witches - one is green for some bloody reason - and some terrifying creatures that follow her around. A man of metal, a botched animagi and some bloke who's a sentient pile of straw? Fuckin' hilarious, you have to see it if you haven't already."
There's a pause when Sirius waits for Remus to finish making his food, a contemplative one, before he makes the offer slowly. "I can get you in touch with everyone else. In the resistance," he clarifies. "I would have to make sure the majority is comfortable with another member," he rolls his eyes a little, now a bit annoyed at himself, "which is a rule that I made so I would have to follow it, but I don't foresee an issue. Until that happens though make no mention of it on your device." He wiggles the band on his wrist as reference. "We're all pretty convinced that the government is monitoring everything that's being said so I came up with an alternative communication method. With help, of course." And he should mention that help, but Sirius is so wrapped up in trying to keep everything normal, the thought unfortunately doesn't cross his mind right now. He'll probably pay for that later. "If you're truly interested, that is."
no subject
But he finishes with his own pancakes and settles at the table across from Sirius, rolling his eyes when he sprays the whipped cream into his mouth. It’s reminiscent of being at Hogwarts again, leaning over the broad tables in the Great Hall, stealing food from one another as they hustle to try the assorted breakfast pastries for the week. Simpler times.
He nearly rebukes the idea of waiting to visit the library when his eyes shift up to Sirius. “You could barely stand or speak?” His voice lacks judgment, but there’s something imperceptibly sad in his expression. Something angry behind warm eyes, even as he grips his fork a little too tightly. He left Sirius there, didn’t he? He turned his head to his work, writing out Azkaban and the man who supposedly killed his friends, not once questioning Albus, not once thinking about the pain and tragedy his friend would endure there.
His stomach goes sour and suddenly the thought of sticky syrup and sweet cream seems vile, unfair. An apology waits on the back of his tongue, but doesn’t come. Apologize? For what? For showing up here? For leaving him to rot in Azkaban? For doubting him for months upon months? How is it they can sit across from one another like this and not address the chasm that has opened between them, teeming with unanswered question and hurts. Though Remus knows the fault is his own; Sirius had been framed, innocent, doing what he thought would keep his friends safe, and who defended him?
His jaw clenches and he tries to corral the furious storm that starts deep in the back of his mind. He forces himself to pop a square of syrupy pancake into his mouth, swallowing it thickly.
“Muggle cinema can be quite dramatic. I haven’t seen that one,” he smiles at Sirius’s description as he continues to make a poor attempt at lidding the strange discomfort welling up deep within him. No sense in upsetting Sirius, no sense in putting voice to feelings he doesn’t quite have words for yet.
“If you think I would be any help, then of course I would like to.” Could he help Sirius in this way? Would joining this resistance make some small step toward amends? Toward atoning? He sucks in a little breath and takes another bite. “But I must ask, what alternative means did you come up with? Forgive me if I’m dubious where your alternative ideas are concerned. I’ve seen too many Sirius Black inventions go awry in my time.” He jokes, a tiny smile quirking at the corners of his lips.
It’s easier to fall back into the teasing, the goading. It’s easier to rely on whatever foundation they built back in those school years than to focus on everything that seems to have decayed between now and then. “Merlin, do you remember when we tried to modify Floo powder in Third year? I wasn’t sure your eyebrows would ever grow back.”
no subject
What is there to do? Letting it out, drowning Remus in the deep hurt caused by his complete absence during Sirius's incarceration, will only lead to him having to admit that he himself doubted Remus's loyalty as well. Of course he had asked Remus where he would disappear to when he started his private missions, but it isn't Remus's fault that he couldn't answer truthfully under the order of Albus. That is, perhaps, the one thing that Sirius does truly understand about the whole situation; if Albus ordered, you followed. If their roles were reversed and it was Remus who had been locked away, how could Sirius know that he wouldn't have done the exact same thing?
'Because you wouldn't have. You know you would have gone to see him, even if it was just to accuse him yourself. You would have gone.'
He pushes the persistent voice in his head away once more, because he can't know, not truly. However, a deep part of Sirius, the part that is supposed to self-reflect and the part that he hates, knows that he has to think that. To claim certainty that he would have done something if Remus had been accused is to admit that he would do for Remus what Remus hadn't done for him. Acknowledging that would result in so much pain, so much ferocity, that it's less about preserving their friendship and more about protecting himself from feeling it at all.
"It was Azkaban." He says it as flatly as he can, and to his ears he succeeds, but Remus has always been annoyingly skilled at reading between the lines with him. His eyes are on his plate as he cuts off another bite. "Not many people to talk to and not much space to move around, dementors don't make for great conversation and it's not like they took prisoners on nice long walks. When I got here my throat had all but given out by the time I was done speaking with everyone that day. Six months without conversation, movement or sunlight leaves you a little rusty when you're thrown back into it all at once." He doesn't want it to sound bitter, every fiber of him is momentarily dedicated to the willpower it takes to keep an even voice, but the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his phrasing can't be helped. Guilt immediately sets in when it hits his own ears, and he quickly tries to move past it.
"Klaus and Radar had ordered me a pizza when I arrived though, by the next day I was feeling better. And I'm almost back to the same weight I was at before I went in so." In the past. He's almost completely recovered by now, none of it matters, is what the statement is supposed to mean. He shrugs dismissively but he still can't look up, almost afraid to see what he'd find in Remus's face if he did. Would it be pity? If it was, would that make him feel better? Would it stoke more anger? He stabs his pancakes before taking another bite, chewing slowly. It's in the past. It doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past.
"Of course you would be able to help." Sirius's tone immediately lightens, grateful for the opportunity to distract himself and keep the rest of the words inside, and when Remus asks him about his alternative communication method Sirius gives a fond smile. "Oh, ye of little faith, Moony." He reaches into his back pocket and places the compact mirror on the table between them for Remus to look at as he pleases. "There's a passphrase to unlock it but it's just like the ones that James and I had back in school. Mm-" The the sound asks for a momentary pause, as he had taken another bite and finishes chewing before he continues. "Except it's customized to connect to multiple mirrors instead of just one, and it can connect to multiple at once, instead of one at a time."
He shrugs one shoulder before leaning back in his chair to look at Remus, taking a break halfway through his particularly filling meal. "They seem to be working so far, I haven't gotten any complaints. And the Floo powder was James's fault." He points at Remus with a twirling finger as if to summon the memory for him. "And a part of them didn't, I still think they're thinner than what they used to be, although Prongs always said I was mad." He gives a brief huff of amusement through his nose. "I'm pretty sure he just didn't want to admit that he ruined them for good."
no subject
Remus regrets mentioning it all, regrets allowing his lips to move so loosely when, for months and months now, he's kept everything behind a carefully constructed barrier. He can't fathom what a place like Azkaban must be like, and he finds himself marveling at the fact that Sirius seems to have held on to some sliver of the light that makes the man who he is. That despite everything, here he is, sitting across from a man who, but all rights, should hate him, and there's still something of the wild-eyed young boy in his smile.
He knows he can't finish his food, even if he's all but starving. His stomach twists too sickly, threatening with the bite of bile at the back of his throat. He wishes he could enjoy the pancakes, could shove out everything else hovering between them and enjoy this moment for its simplicity. How often had they sat like this together over food and chattered on until James had the mind to pull them apart or join in?
"Your flatmates seem like lovely people," he says and he sounds more grateful now than he has all day. Because he is grateful Sirius has people who cared for him, who patched up the holes they could see and nursed him into the man sitting across from him. Remus idly shoves some pancake squares around on his plate until Sirius offers the mirror. It's a welcome distraction.
He sets his fork aside and turns the mirror over in his hands to and for, his expression softening as he admires the handiwork. "That's brilliant, Padfoot," he laughs a little at the thought, thinking about the complexities involved in making the mirrors communicate across multiple ports. "You'll have to share your secrets sometime, I'd be curious to know what it took to make them so versatile."
Denying the bookish, curious side of Remus Lupin would be to deny 50% of what makes the man who he is. He can't help the wonder as he opens the mirror and he has to resist the temptation to pull a few spells himself to unweave the magic and make the goings on clearer to him. Instead, he closes it and slides it back across the table, speaking again, though offhanded. "Your eyebrows are ruined, by the way. They're very shapely. They suit you."
no subject
How does one explain Klaus Hargreeves to someone who has never met the man? "He's not a flatmate. He's an experience." The smile softens a little into something more contemplative as Sirius sits there to consider everything that the two of them have done for him, and not out of a sense of duty or purpose, but simply because they're good men. "I don't think I'd be as whole as I am if I didn't have them here." The admission isn't necessarily easy, especially to Remus, but it's one that Sirius feels they deserve for him to give. The bitterness that previously existed when he spoke of Azkaban is gone, and this time he speaks to Remus as he would to the close friend he is, instead of the person who left him there.
"It's hard for me to talk about it." If one listens closely there's almost an edge of apology there, an audible sign of regret as to how Sirius had responded before, too sharp, too angry, too off-putting in a way that would give Remus an excuse to leave. "And they never push, but when it... you know, when it builds up, and I have to, they're always there to listen. I'm very fortunate to have them." And you, he wants to say, that thickness in the air built upon all unspoken still heavy enough for Sirius to feel it on his shoulders, but he can't bring himself to do it. It almost feels like begging Remus to stick around, and that suggests a level of raw openness that he can't allow. His heart quietly aches at the realization. It's never been like this.
The compliment on his mirror sends a little flutter in Sirius's chest, because a compliment on spell-work from someone like Remus is not something given lightly. And the stupid, insignificant, vapid, absolutely nothing comment about his eyebrows makes his ears burn a little and he hates himself for it, because he's Sirius Black, and he doesn't get flustered when people mention his fucking eyebrows. Especially if that person left him in prison, attended the funeral of a man he considered a brother without him, felt like he could move on with his life while Sirius stayed in the same place.
And yet here he is, ears pink, sweeping a hand in the air to brush the comments aside as if they're nothing. "It wasn't that hard, I can show you at some point if you want. And of course they suit me love, everything suits me." This is the real issue, isn't it? Sirius wants to hate Remus for what he did, and he wants to scream and demand an explanation, but how is he supposed to do that to a man that he holds in such high regard? Screaming at Remus would be harder than screaming at Albus Dumbledore, because status aside, only one of them still hold a place within the confines of Sirius's heart, and it isn't the one who stole his kid.
If Sirius doesn't forgive him then Remus is gone all over again. How is he supposed to handle that twice without unraveling completely from the inside out? The whole thing makes him feel pathetic. "You may have flatmates of your own to meet. I mean they won't be as good as mine," he points out with a sort of casual confidence that's obviously not serious, "but they might be all right. Everyone here seems pretty all right, from what I've come across at least. And I've come across a lot of them. Popularity suits me."
no subject
How lucky they are, he thinks, to have Sirius Black as their friend.
A small part of him feels like he should be mourning something here. That, in the apology of Sirius's voice, in the softness of his expression, something subtly passes him by. (Loneliness— he can't call it by its name now, because he doesn't fully accept that that is what it is, but he's so keenly aware of how alone he feels on the other side of this table). After all, he's spent years and years grasping at the very threads of his friends' coattails, only for it to come to this.
"I'm so glad they're here," he says finally and he means it with the whole of his heart, his voice as warm and genuine as it might have been years ago when he admitted how incredibly grateful he was for all of them. He still is. He's elated for Sirius, to have people who can delicately put him back together, because Remus knows the importance of that more than anything. The importance of people who happen to be in the right time at the right place, with their hearts wide open and waiting. It's a beautiful thing to experience, to feel as small and meaningless as anything in the universe, only to have life breathed into your very lungs. He doesn't think before he reaches for Sirius's hand across the table and gives it a squeeze. "They're fortunate to have you, too."
Why does his heart feel strange in his chest? Why does his throat feel tight and dry? The pancakes, surely, that's all. And yet Remus feels the word goodbye on the back of his tongue, feels the way it curls into the roof of his mouth before he manages to swallow it back down. But the relief shows in his face. Knowing Sirius had people like that in his life, at the very least.
"But you're right, I might have some of my own to meet," he says and draws his hand away. "They might be expecting me, I suppose. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if they hardly knew I existed, for how popular you are, after all." He gives a little lopsided smile and pushes from his seat. His meal isn't even half eaten, but he knows he can't finish it, much as he'd like to. And as much as he wants to run out the front door screaming, he calming waves a hand to clear their plates, the dishes scraping themselves clean and making their way to begin the washing up in the sink.
"I should go."
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'They're fortunate to have you, too.'
No, he wants to say. No, they're not, they give me so much and I have so little to offer them. Sure they're a little broken but they handle it so well, mourn the way they're supposed to mourn, hurt the way they're supposed to hurt. All I do is fall apart and they always have to put me back together, knowing that it's temporary and they'll just have to do it again and again, over and over. I'm a curse to this place.
But he can't, the words won't come. There's something that's changed. Although Remus is well tuned to reading between the lines with Sirius, Sirius is just as skilled at seeing past the sudden fortress of protective walls that Remus so quickly assembles around himself. It may be due to something physical, like a bad transformation, or it may be like this, an emotional shift that's taken place because something has occurred to him, and it's the sort of thing that changes the way he perceives the current world and his place in it.
Sirius is mentally scrambling, replaying as much of the conversation as he can remember in his own head, trying to find the catalyst. If he finds it he can take it back, and if he does then what he knows is about to happen won't happen, because it's coming, he's going to leave, and in this moment Sirius can feel that it's all hopeless. He'll never fix it in time. Remus's mind is made.
Lupin lets go and takes the warmth with him, a sort of unbearable ice-like chill festering from Sirius's core and crawling outward until he can feel it in the tips of his fingers. He wants to reach out and grab him again, and perhaps Sirius was right, perhaps he is pathetic enough to beg Remus to stay, but he doesn't. Was it Azkaban? The timing feels off but it's all Sirius can think, that he's made a grave misjudgment. He's given Remus reason to politely excuse himself and disappear after all. The moment the thought comes is when the words are said, 'I should go', and it feels like a failure of the worst kind; expected.
"Right."
He nods, pretending like Remus simply wants to meet his flatmates, as if this is about him starting new relationships of his own instead of closing the door on an old one. He pretends like there isn't some foreboding and overbearing sense of finality to the abrupt not-abrupt-at-all way that Remus stands. And he's smiling when he does it, in a way that makes Sirius want to grab him and shake him and scream at him to not do that, to not act like Sirius doesn't see right through him.
He stands as well, and for a moment that's all Sirius does. Standing lost in the middle of his kitchen as he watches his plates cleaning themselves, both of their meals practically uneaten, and all he can think is how this isn't how this was supposed to go. He couldn't keep Remus here forever, it had to end at some point, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.
It feels like there's a disconnect with his own body as he watches himself move to the door from the inside, screaming that this isn't right and he needs to say something, but what is there to say? So much, and yet it feels too late, because those things aren't meant to be said in a doorway, they're meant to be said in comfortable privacy, perhaps in an embrace, and not in the middle of a goodbye that feels more final than it should.
"You know where I am, come over if you need anything. Anything at all. Or if you have any questions. Or... you know. Anything." It's a weak and desperate search for any confirmation that Remus will come back, but a part of him already knows that isn't going to happen. Remus will be politely sweet as always, perhaps say something like 'of course, and you as well' in that surfaced way people speak when they don't actually expect you to take their offer.
The disconnected hand opens the door. "They'll know." His throat is dry and he tries to swallow past it but his mouth tastes of ash and regret, sick with knowing that whatever words that were spoken to prompt this came from his own tongue, and he can't even identify them. "You're not the kind of man people forget, Remus." Sirius's eyes linger for a little too long when he says it, and his mouth opens once more to speak but he fails, and just closes it again.
"I guess I'll see you around." And before Remus can run like Sirius knows he wants to, he's grabbed and pulled in, embraced tightly as Sirius is left staring over his shoulder at the open door he knows Remus is about to walk through, and then he'll be gone. Not forever though, it can't be, because after everything that had happened, and after losing Klaus even briefly, Sirius is certain that he wouldn't be able to handle it. Forever would be the thing that killed him. He knows it so deeply that it sings in his bones.
When he releases Moony it's only because he knows that he must. "Be careful." Of what he doesn't know, but it feels like good advice, maybe even for both of them. Be careful of what can happen and the things you can't foresee, perhaps.
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"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.
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How many times does this have to happen, where he feels hurt and confused all at once because of one Remus Lupin? How many times is he going to go searching for excuses, any that fit, to justify those actions? He's doing it right now, replaying the conversation yet again, looking for something, anything, that he could have done. He's clinging to the invite, knowing that it was probably made out of polite obligation but trying with all of his might to convince himself otherwise. How many times does this have to happen before Sirius can't help but wonder, if people who loved him so much in the past always seem to catch the sudden urge to run away in his presence, maybe they aren't the problem?
"Fuck." It's a quiet whisper to himself when he finally closes the door, and the sudden silence in the apartment is only broken by the sound of the dishes washing themselves. He doesn't know how long he stands there in the doorway, staring at nothing, searching for a way to fix this but not knowing where to start. When he finds movement it's into the kitchen, as if making his way to put away the dishes, but he stops once again to look at the place where Remus stood in front of his stove, his own chin nestled into Remus's shoulder just moments before. What happened?
"FUCK." It echoes through the apartment and that anger welling in him, left over from their conversation and stoked by hopeless confusion, is released when he kicks the kitchen chair and sends it into the wall with a jarring sound that leaves a mark on the paint. He suddenly feels the urge to go find a fight to pick again, the way he did when Klaus disappeared, but Sirius closes his eyes and tries to breathe deep, because he can't do that again. All he can do now is push it all aside, and think, and replay until he finds it.
And when he does he is going to go to apartment 204, he decides stubbornly. There are no bars here. Remus can't just run away from him and leave him wondering what happened. Sirius has more power this time, he has his freedom, and he fully intends to use it. Let Remus run. He's not afraid to chase, not when it's worth it, and it's always worth it for Lupin. Always has been.
"Fuck." The last one is sighed and tired as Sirius waves a lazy hand to fix the wall and chair, dragging himself into the living room to collapse back on the couch. He could watch television, but he doesn't turn it on. The silence is fine. He just needs to think. And he'll do it for as long as he has to before he figures out what to do, because it's not over this time. If Remus wants to put distance between them, this time, Sirius will make him say it.