Chapter Text
It soon became obvious that Sirius’s maths help, determined and vigorous as it was, wasn’t making Remus much better at maths.
“So, does 9 have any of the same multiples as 12?” Sirius asked, pointing at one of the problems.
“Yes?”
Sirius looked too excited about Remus’s complete, random guess. “Yes!” he nodded. “Which ones?”
“2?”
“No, that’s just 12, it has to be a multiple of 9 as well.”
“1?”
“That’s a multiple of everything,” Sirius said patiently. "So it doesn't count."
“What?!"
“1 is a multiple of everything. It can be timesed by anything to get anything.”
“Excuse me?!”
“What’s 1 times 1?”
“1."
“What’s 1 times 5?”
“...5?”
Sirius gave him an obvious look like he was expecting Remus to go “Ooohh!”. Remus looked at him blankly.
They kept going on and on like that until Sirius groaned, got up, and left.
Remus sighed. He leaned back on the grass, the wet strands tickling his back. Multiples and numbers and coursework and stupid Mrs Kelly – it was hopeless.
He was completely incapable of focusing on anything but his mum, who was off of work that day and waiting at home to teach Remus a song on the electric Yamaha keyboard. He couldn’t wait to feel it vibrating under his fingers, though he’d never tell Sirius that, as he might think it was slightly lame.
He didn’t think he’d care so much for the music, never had for radios and performances, but making those sounds with his hands drummed up a hard-wrought satisfaction in his brain. Creativeness, buzzing fingertips, his mum’s pleased humming along while her fingers tapped like she was playing it herself.
The sky was beautiful that day – it was the warmest day they’d had in weeks. Lucky it had bumped into Sirius’s Sunday, and they could all go to Fletcher park together, minus Peter who had to clean his house.
Sirius still hadn’t gotten bored of them, Remus realised a long few weeks ago, a little surprised and a little worried.
It was exhausting, waiting for someone to become bored of you. Remus wasn’t used to that kind of stress.
The only friend he’d had for more than a couple of months at this point was Peter, and they’d gotten bored of each other years ago. There wasn’t anything to lose. With Sirius, there were only things to lose.
Sirius came back a couple of hours later, rumpled and actually irritated after James crushed him at football the entire time, and said something sharp about not giving up before dumping himself onto the floor in front of Remus. Remus, who’d been daydreaming about the keyboard, looked at him with open rejection.
“9 and 12,” Sirius said forcefully. “What’re their multiples?!”
“I don’t even know what a bloody multiple is,” Remus said.
“It’s the numbers that multiply to make a number! For 10, the multiples are 5 and 2. What’s 5 times 2?”
“I dunno.”
“IT’S 10!”
“Fuck off,” Remus said flatly. He was starting to get embarrassed as Sirius got louder and James looked over, and he didn’t want to be seen blushing. Especially around Sirius. “I give up. I’m never going to use this shit in real life. I’ll just become a mechanic or an electrician.”
Those jobs made a lot of money – the handymen that came around Remus’s flat block didn’t look like the most fulfilled people, not like a big-headed painter blowing air up his own arse or a policeman with a stiff upper lip and a nauseating air of justice and righteousness, but Remus would be happy enough if he could just buy everything he needed and take care of his mum. Fixing toilets and lifts was good enough. He didn’t need maths for them. Just his hands and some tools.
“Why would you want to be either?” Sirius asked with his lip curled in a strikingly posh way.
“Because I need money, and I haven’t got dying uncles lining up out the door to leave me their estates.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking any of their money, you know.”
“What?” Remus frowned.
“My family, or my ‘dying uncles’ – I’m not taking any of their money when I grow up. There is some - all of the kids in my family have inheritances that are unlocked when they come of age, but I'm not going to touch mine.” He looked strangely earnest.
"Why not?"
"Don't want it, don't need it."
Remus couldn't even begin to imagine that. "You probably wouldn't have to work a day in your life."
"I don't care," he said, his face stormy. "It's the army, for me, and that's it."
“...The army?”
“Yep,” he said, starting to pick at the grass like he was getting bored. He wasn’t, though, Remus was almost completely sure. “I'm never looking back. I’ll sign up, I’ll learn how to fight, I’ll fight in a couple of wars, and I’ll come home.”
Remus stared at him. Even when he wasn’t trying, everything he said was gratingly arrogant. Remus knew a couple of men around his flat block who’d been in the army, you didn’t just ‘come home’ once you finished fighting in wars. He pictured skinny, brilliant Sirius sleeping on the pavement in a sleeping bag like the old greying codger by the dumpsters, telling war stories to the block’s young boys, flinching like a cat when one of them made too quick a move, and felt flushed with indignation.
“What are you supposed to do once you get back?’ Remus asked dubiously. “No schooling, no skills – besides fighting. No one’ll hire you.”
Sirius didn’t quite look like he hadn’t thought of that, more like he just didn’t care. He shrugged. “Go live with you?” he smirked.
Remus huffed and shook his head. “You can visit, but you’re not living there.” The concept was weird to Remus's head, two grown, single men living in the same house – or maybe Remus married, or Sirius with a girlfriend. It made Remus uncomfortable. A mate coming by, that was better.
“After I’ve fought for our country?!” Sirius argued.
“I hate the British.”
Sirius laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling. “I think I do too, actually." He paused and smiled. "Well, you’re alright.”
Remus felt a warmth in his stomach he quickly stomped out. “Thanks,” he said, smiling back. “So, maths?”
“Sure," Sirius said brightly, probably glad to forget the conversation. "So, I’ll probably have to go all the way back to multiplication…”