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Remus casually tosses a throw pillow into the air and catches it, staring up at the ceiling with uncharacteristic serenity. He’s been on the couch since morning, and he has no intention of moving anytime soon. Committing violent acts is fun and all, but sometimes it’s nice to just not do anything. If he lies very still, he can even pretend he’s a corpse. Corpses are interesting—more interesting, Remus assumes, than whatever else he was going to do today. He can’t be bothered to remember what it was. His mind has been a beautiful, messy maze of thoughts all day, and he’s more than content to get lost in it. Remus wonders what it would feel like to get hit by a train. What would it feel like to watch someone else get hit by a train? It would kind of suck, probably. The blood would get everywhere, and it would probably result in some really cool psychological trauma. Remus thinks he should probably write that down, but his limbs feel so heavy that it really doesn’t seem worth the effort to move. Oh, well.
“Are you okay?” asks Janus. Janus is here now, apparently.
“Probably not.” Remus pulls himself to a sitting position and regards Janus with a tired grin. “Fun fact: if you get hit by a train as it’s pulling into the station, there’s a very good chance that you won’t die right away. You’ll just lie on the tracks for, like, an hour in unbearable agony until your soul is inevitably ushered off to hell.”
Janus nods approvingly. “That is a fun fact,” he replies, with a tone that says I am still a little concerned for your well-being, but, since you’re feeling well enough to give me a fun fact, I’m going to let it go for now and maybe when your condition is a little less corpse-like we can shove some people in front of trains. “Anyway—”he hands Remus an envelope—“you have mail.”
“Mail?” Remus examines the envelope. It’s from Thomas, addressed to “the Duke” at “somewhere in my head, I guess.”
“It’s a therapy exercise,” Janus explains. “Dr. Morgan thought it might help if Thomas tried writing letters to his intrusive thoughts.”
Remus tears open the envelope with his teeth, savouring the uncomfortable texture of paper in his mouth. He reads the letter:
Dear Remus,
For both my sake and yours, I think I should establish that you’re not the one in the driver’s seat here. This isn’t to say I don’t appreciate you—the images you give me are very detailed and graphic. Clearly, you’re doing the best you can to unsettle me. I appreciate the effort. All I’m saying is that I know I’m not actually going to bang my head against a telephone pole until I pass out, and I know that you only keep suggesting it because it makes me uncomfortable. I’m not going to tell you to stop, because I know you’re not going to, but I really just want to make it clear that you pose no real threat to my safety or sanity. Also, I don’t think it’s physically possible for my skull to shatter dramatically in the way you describe.
Sincerely,
Thomas
“Neat,” says Remus, feeling a little more alert now. “I’ve never gotten a letter before. I mean, it would be a lot more fun if it was a passionate declaration of love, or maybe a death threat, but this is fine too.” He waves a hand dismissively at Janus. “You can go now, if you want. I should eat breakfast.”
“It’s 4 PM.”
“Dinner, then.” Remus picks up the throw pillow and tears off a bit of it with his teeth. It tastes like couch.
Janus is unbothered by Remus’ taste in dinner foods. “Just to confirm, you’re not upset about the letter at all? He was worried you might be, and of course we all know how delightful it is for everyone when Thomas stresses himself out,” he asks, in a tone that says please give me something comforting to tell Thomas so he doesn’t overthink things again--it’ll be his fourth mental breakdown this week and I am quite frankly at the end of my rope.
“No, I’m not upset.” Remus takes another bite of the pillow. “It’s like stabbing someone. Sure, you’d prefer it if they bleed to death, but it’s also fine if they just, like, end up in the hospital for three weeks. And then they have a torrid affair with their physiotherapist, whose wife messily disembowels them both when she finds out.” He gets a bit of pillow stuffing caught in his throat and pauses for a few moments to cough before continuing. “And then she stabs herself. It’s magnificent. Blood everywhere. Her ten-year old daughter comes home from school to find the bodies. She’ll have years of counselling, but her psyche will never be the same.” He looks at Janus. “What was I talking about, again?”
“The letter.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s fine. I’m not mad at Thomas or anything.”
Janus nods. “Good. I’ll tell him. See you tomorrow evening?”
“Yup. Good luck with Thomas’ mental health.”
“Thanks; I’ll need it.” He sinks out with a small wave, which Remus returns.
After dinner, Remus does some brainstorming.
♥♥♥♥♥♥
Thomas yells with surprise, interrupting whatever debate he, Janus, and Patton have been having. Remus is in front of the TV, exactly where his brother would be if he were part of the discussion.
“Remus!” Patton says with forced cheerfulness through an unconvincing smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Calm down, Daddy—”Patton flinches, but still manages to maintain his smile—“I won’t be here long. I just wanted to respond to Thomas’ letter. Here.” He hands Thomas a torn piece of notebook paper.
“Oh!” Says Thomas. “Thanks, Remus. I wasn’t really expecting a response, but I’m glad you’re taking an active interest in my therapy homework.” He reads the note out loud:
Dear Thomas,
Thanks for the letter. Tell Dr. Morgan that I want to rip open her chest with my bare hands and lick her right on the lungs.
Yours,
Remus
On the other side of the paper is a messy doodle of Remus doing exactly that.
“Thanks, I hate it,” says Thomas. Remus gives him two thumbs up. Patton looks as though he might vomit.
Janus, who has been silent until now, meets Remus’ eyes from across the room. “You’re looking better,” he says.
“Am I? Well, that won’t do at all. I’m gonna go roll around in some medical waste.”
“Take care, Remus,” says Thomas.
“Oh, I will,” Remus says with a wink as he sinks out, leaving Thomas to wonder what he meant by that. Even Remus doesn’t know what he meant by that. Confusing innuendos are the best kind of innuendos.
Back in his room, Remus can’t help but smile. The letter writing thing is fun. Calming, too. He can’t wait to see what Thomas’ therapist suggests next. He hopes it’s something sexual. He knows it won’t be, but he hopes nonetheless. Thomas has been a lot more hopeful since he started going to therapy. As he pulls out a notebook to write down his train accident idea, Remus can’t help but borrow a bit of that hope. Tomorrow is going to be a good day.