I love the way you write Sirius and his thoughts, so when I came across this line I immediately thought of you. Sorry
"I just wanna feel the rain for a bit"
You know that whole 'flushed with love' thing? Yeah, that's currently me. And don't ever apologize for something like this (even the crossed-out sort). I love this so much.
Soooo. I'm not sure if you actually wanted a thing, but I made you a thing because this line inspired a thing. So here's a thing as a thanks (and also because I haven't done that other thing with the thing and that bit of a thing that's a car. it's coming, but still developing, you know? it'll come. it'll also be a thing)
Also, um...I'm now sorry. You'll see why. (but it's the music, it really is. i can't help myself)
He inhales deeply, the rush of cooling breeze blasting over his face as he leans his head back against the wall behind him, eyes falling closed. He can smell the storm coming, the crackle in the air from the building electricity raising the hairs on his arms. Most people have always thought him mad when he's mentioned this, but he's proven them wrong time and again. Because the storm always comes, brings the darkness with it, the surge of destruction, sometimes far more permanent than anticipated.
Sirius wonders when he'd started thinking in so many ridiculous fucking metaphors. Possibly during the First War. Maybe after Azkaban, when his freedom but not freedom had sprung back to him so suddenly. Or, possibly, he's always been this way and never noticed until now. Either way, it's absurd.
The house creaks and groans around him. He dulls it to a faint static of sound in his mind, always trying to not pay close attention to where he is now. He was never meant to come back.
The door opens, hinges squeaking as it swings. Sirius should deal with that, but he doesn't and never will. He doesn't care all that much. There are more important things, like trudging through dark rooms filled with darker things, black and scalding memories that take him over far too often. Like sitting in a window and waiting for a storm and rain he'll never feel.
"All right?" says a soft voice above him, and Sirius cracks his eyes open, taking in Remus' face staring down at him. His expression is light, easy, but Sirius can see the dark tinges of concern in his brown gaze. It's always there now, muting the color, dulling it out to something muddy instead of the gleaming honey Sirius had once known so well. Not that he can say much, really. He's sure Remus sees the same changes in his own eyes when he looks at him now.
Sirius grunts, and he draws his legs up as the other man drops down slowly in front of him in the window. They're silent for a while, Sirius staring out the opened section of glass, still scenting the air, Remus staring at him, studying him cryptically.
"Storm's coming," he mutters eventually. "Can smell it."
Remus hums, his gaze finally shifting to the window as well. "You always can," he comments. And Remus gets it. It's something he's always done, never questioning Sirius' odd proclivities and claims. Not once.
Sirius doesn't respond, and they continue to sit in mostly comfortable silence, at least as comfortable as Sirius ever is now. They remain until the dark, heavy clouds begin to roll in across the sky, scattering the light into odd segments before it disappears almost completely. Remus smiles.
"And he's right again, folks," he murmurs. Sirius nudges him with his foot, Remus reaching out to grip his ankle.
"I hate it here," whispers Sirius harshly, suddenly, the words breaking through from nowhere and everywhere at once. His head thunks back against the wall again.
"I know," says Remus quietly, eyes shifting and settling on Sirius. "I know you do."
Drops begin to patter against the glass of the window and Sirius' face scrunches a little before he can stop it, misery and hopelessness washing over him again. He only allows it to truly show in front of Remus, no matter how moody or sometimes volatile he may become in front of the others. Only ever Remus is permitted to see this.
"I just wanna feel the rain for a bit," he says, voice barely present now. "I haven't felt it in…fuck. Nearly a year. Never thought I'd miss it this much."
Remus stares at him silently before his eyes shift back to the clouds outside. Sirius tracks the racing drops over the panes of glass beside him.
"Okay." The word comes from nothing, and Sirius looks up at Remus, frowning in puzzlement. "Okay. Let's go, then."
"W-what?" stutters Sirius, heartbeat picking up and then faltering in his chest.
"Let's go stand in the rain," encourages Remus, standing and offering his hand to Sirius, but Sirius doesn't take it.
"I – I can't. You know I can't." And it sounds dejected and horrible to his own ears. He can only imagine what Remus hears, but the other man shakes his head.
"We'll be careful," he insists, reaching down and curling gentle fingers around Sirius' wrist. "C'mon, Pads. Feel the rain again. Come play with me."
The smile that breaks over Sirius' face is something that if Remus was ever asked about, he'd compare to a work of art, better than anything he's ever seen.
They move quietly down the stairs, skirting around Molly easily and anyone else who may currently be within the house. Then they're out the front door, Remus searching around cautiously before he allows Sirius to step away, exposing himself. His grip never relinquishes from Sirius' wrist as they dart across the street to the courtyard, and then Sirius is standing freely in the rain, arms outstretched just a little, head tilted back, water slipping down his face, wetting his hair, plastering it to his head. He doesn't care.
Sirius sucks in a deep breath, his lungs expanding, filling with more than just air. There's openness there, a subtle hint of freedom, chains falling away, even if for only a brief time. His chest shudders with it, legs shaking beneath his weight, but he doesn't cave to it. He stands, soaks it into his skin, savors it all, this beautiful thing he'd always taken for granted.
Remus watches him for a long time, eyes shifting around them periodically, but then he's there, in front of Sirius. His hands reach up, sliding easily over the cool flesh of Sirius' face, fingers pushing back into dripping hair, tangling until it's all a wonderful, perfect mess. He ducks his head, tugs Sirius towards him, and then there are lips on lips, the electricity of it rivaling that of the lightning Sirius knows will strike soon. The hairs lift again, flutter, stand up straight, at attention.
Remus' eyes are still closed when he finally pulls away, his mouth tinged a beautiful pink from the kiss, a sight Sirius has never and will never grow tired of seeing, not for the remainder of his days. Those same lips tilt upwards into a half-smile, eyelids fluttering open, brown no longer dulled but bright, glowing with that same light Sirius remembers so well.
"Harry will be back soon," he murmurs. "School's almost over. Few more weeks."
Sirius hums, his own smile spreading, but tempered around the edges. "Think Albus would let him come back here?" he asks tentatively. "Only for a day or two before he goes back to…to them." The smile slips away with the words, because he already knows the answer, and he hates thinking about Harry trapped with a family that doesn’t love him and never has.
Remus knows it too; Sirius can see it in the dampening of the shine contained in his eyes. "We can try," is all he says.
Sirius lets it drop for now as Remus tugs him a little closer, their clothing squelching as they press together, rain still falling around them. Sirius tells himself it's enough, just this, the storm and Remus and the promise of Harry at some point in the near future. He'll be fine. He can survive this, so long as he has them. He's survived far worse. And he's got years to look forward to with the people he loves. That's more than enough.
B R U H I super feel you on the angst like!! I too am a sad binch and I want my favorite characters to be happy !!
YEAH!!! like some angst is ok, but like. it just feels bad when it’s a pure angst train to the end like please, shine some light on the binch she needs to photosynthesize
Because apparently it’s Talk About Menstruation Day here or something...
I am both frustrated by the struggle these women have to deal with (and can’t even begin to imagine how much worse it is for those who don’t identify as female but still have periods) and a strange sense of impressed by their ingenuity. I just wish it wasn’t something they had to resort to, y’know?
i’m starting to look more like my mom as i get older. and i think i love that.
maybe one day, when she’s gone, i’ll still find her in my face. in the shape of my eyes. in the corners of my mouth when i laugh. maybe she’ll stay with me like that—quiet, permanent, and never really gone.
Will came up to our room while I was watching Elementary and asked if I wanted to be interrupted for a silly reason. I did. Will: “Put your hands in my butt.” Me: “How far?” Will: “Just the pockets.” In the back right pocket was, irrelevantly, his receipt from eating at Sakura with S and K and me, and, relevantly, a note from T saying “thank you for letting me borrow your pants, + I really like you.” We agreed that this was very sweet. Me: “Why did you share it with me?” Will: “...you’re my sharing-things person.”
ε>>>>>>>>>
Maybe twenty or thirty minutes later, when I had finished with the Elementary episode and was watching a youtube video, Will came in again and asked seriously if he could talk to me. He had realized that he needed letters of recommendation, and it was probably too late to get them. I tried to be supportive, but ultimately there didn’t seem to be much I could do.
Some of the things I feel about this:
empathy/sadness/disappointment for him -- it would maybe have been a good thing to do, and it’s a shame he won’t be able to do it
a more specific empathy w/r/t letters of recommendation -- they’re the worst.
a relative of the frustration I’ve been feeling for months about him playing video games all the time and never doing any work (exaggeration) -- there’s a reason one should start things in advance!
I don’t really seem to be feeling any satisfaction that he’s experiencing the consequences of his actions or whatever. But for my own sake, I should file this away for times when I feel like 114, etc was unfair.
satisfied/pleased/proud that I am, as he had said, his sharing-things person, for both good things and bad.
hanging w ur rly good friends u havent seen in forever is great but remembering they dont know shit abt institutional racism/sexism/or ESP homophobia is just…..yikes
