An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Remus is looking at his phone when he hears a voice he’d recognise anywhere, anytime. It brings back an utter torrent of memories, from sandwich-swapping at lunch to sneaking into the gigs of local bands at bars they hadn’t been old enough to get into. And so much laughter, and hugs and bright summer afternoons in a bubble that seemed impenetrable, at the time. Until he’d ruined everything, of course. And now they're here, in New York, a million miles from home, and Remus tries to figure out whether or not this is a hallucination from their stint at the patchouli cart.
“Remus?” He still sounds the same as that last voice message, the only remnant of their life together. And now he’s peering into Remus’ eyes, his grey ones bright with surprise and his pretty mouth pursed just so.
Not the time, Remus.
“Sirius,” he breathes, his mouth going dry.
eBook typeset version:
