Chapter Text
The after (1)
He was sitting on a bed that was too big. It was not meant to be for one, not when both sides of it were slightly dipped and there were two white pillows and two bed-side tables. One with history and philosophy books, the other one with a few books in french and scattered cassettes.
The weather was dreary, gray and miserable. He hated clouds just as much as he hated sweet coffees and unshared cigarettes.
The world was closing in on itself. What was once beautiful had become bitter and unenjoyable. His world was now the realm of ghosts, his belongings were all meant to be for sale in nostalgia stores.
He was now only memory.
Memories of him.
.
The before.
The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky, and everything seemed to be coming to an end.
Customers were finally, ever so slowly, gathering their things and starting to get out of the café, the lamplights were finally turned on and, one by one, the lights on the windows woke up.
This was Remus’ favorite part of the day. Welcomed loneliness, quiet, rest. After standing up behind a counter all afternoon, occasionally serving tables, and washing endless piles of dishes, this was all he needed. Rest. Quiet. Welcomed loneliness. It was part of his weekend routine. Study in the mornings, grab something to eat with Lily, or Marlene, or even occasionally Mary, going to work, and then straight to bed. If he was feeling up for it he would put on a movie, or maybe even read a bit, if his brain had not been fried completely on the day.
He liked the routine. It was necessary. It was a lifeline, a blessing. It was comfort, and warmth and all the good, predictable things in the world, like the sun going down or the streetlamps being turned on.
Mary would often say that he needed more excitement, those nights when she would go to his and Lily's house to pregame before the girls went out. She would tell him that he was missing out, that there were many people that he just had to meet, or cool places that he just had to visit, but it was all to no avail.
Remus was happy with his life. He´d had enough excitement to last him a lifetime, and he was not really very keen on going back to that type of life. He liked comfortable, and he liked predictable.
That's why he studied history. Concrete and brick walls and sealed stories. That was also why he’d been so excited to work at a café. Nothing too bad could happen around the bitter smell of coffee grounds and the soft lull of people that were just looking for a moment of rest, an oxford comma or a little idle guiltless way to spend their time.
Most customers ordered their coffees, occasionally with something to eat, and proceeded to seclude themselves in some isolated brown chair, or in a little table for one by the window. Most people were just looking for good coffee and a lapse of peace. Luckily, those were the two things Remus was absolutely sure that he could give.
Of course, there always was the sporadic restless soul, that asked Remus endless streams of useless questions, just to chit-chat, that sniffed for small talk like a bounty hunter would for gold. These types of people often would crack their knuckles too often, or have some irritating, constant tic, like bobbing their legs or drumming on tables. They would try to talk with other, more hermit-like customers and be offended, and almost surprised when their response was not enthusiastic at all. Then, they would complain to Remus about rudeness and whine about bad manners, always with perfect, well-rounded r´s and a magnificent board-school worthy pronunciation.
The imprint, the prima donna, the mold, for these kinds of threats, was the one Sirius Black.
Remus knew his name because he always paid with a sleek black credit card that displayed it proudly. He would stagger into the room like he owned the place, he'd put his boot-clad feet up on the old, wood, quaint table creating an impossible juxtaposition. He'd always order something awful, like a caramel macchiato, leave a giant tip that gave Remus no satisfaction whatsoever, and walk away, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, like he’d just given them all a blessing.
Sirius Black was Remus’ one sided nemesis. The socialite suspect probably did not even notice Remus´ presence, just one more person of the infinite stream of people eager to serve him. Because they were. Eager. He saw eyes that slid like little marbles follow him around every time he walked into the shop. He saw sundowns, and clouds swarming in and sunflowers tilting to greet the sun.
If he were ever held at gunpoint, and made to admit it, Remus would say reluctantly that he did find Sirius quite beautiful. That not being noticed at all did rather offend him, and that he too was a pathetic sunflower that wanted his light on him.
But no one was making him say anything, so Sirius would be to Remus nothing more than a chewing gum stuck on the sole of his shoes. He would try not to think of it, but he’d constantly feel his presence around him, annoying and persistent, and he’d once in a while find himself acting, even if he was on his own (specially when he was on his own) like he was under Sirius´ gaze.
But none of that mattered. Not really.
Lily would tell him that he was being dramatic. Making up things in his head to be way bigger than they were. Mary would tell him that he needed to go out and meet actual people that were not ideals of his frustrated writer's creative mind.
The solid conclusion that Remus had reached weeks ago was that Sirius Black was no one. From then on, his modus operandi would be coolness and nonchalance.
It was not a surprise that Lily was not at their flat when he got there. It was, after all, what commonly happened on saturday night, so Remus probably should not have felt the pang of loneliness that hit him right on the chest like a B-line underground, nor the life-changing rudimentary epiphany that came with it, like an aftermath, or like a second thought to the tsunami of hurt and pain.
He could not go on like this.
It came to be as simple as that. A decision. A small blue flame hovering on his head then extended through all his body. Making his stomach feel weak and his legs shaky. It became just as strong and permanent as the history he studied. Brick walls, symbols in stone, all that.
Said revelation found him waiting at the doorstep of an impossibly posh house, with a front lawn, black barred windows and all the things Remus thought were not even part of real life, with a warm bottle of cheap wine under his right arm.
A small party. Lily had said, her voice distant and fuzzy, after he’d phoned her, desperate. A friendly gathering with some people she knew from college. He should have seen it coming. Of course, it’d be a blatant lie to lure him into an actual party.
Music was blasting from the inside. At least whoever was picking it had good taste. Black Dog was playing, and a sleek guitar riff could be heard over the many voices. The lights inside seemed red, blue, green, and then red again.
It was too late to back down, he decides, weighing the wine bottle on his arm. He knocks three times before someone comes out. He has light brown skin and his glasses were wiry and askew. He greets him with a wide, friendly smile that stretches the piercing on his bottom lip.
“M´James.” He says, chugging the drink in his red cup and then throwing it back, somewhere behind him. “And you are…?”
“Remus.” He says. And then, “I'm here with Lily.”
James’ smile twitches for a second, like a spam, or a glitch, but after a moment, it’s as if nothing had happened to him. James opens the door wider and lets him in. Both of them swim through the sea of dancing silhouettes, James saying something about Lily that Remus cannot quite make out over the high music.
They land in the kitchen, where Lily is comfortably sitting on the counter, chatting with some people Remus does not know.
“Hullo Lily.” Remus says his eyes are squinting, glaring, and the redhead’s previous smile gets frozen.
“Remus! I am so glad you could make it.” Her tone is exaggeratedly cheerful. “I see you´ve met James. He’s quite the character. Funny thing, that he is studying psychology when he’s probably the one that should be getting studied.” The girl next to Lily laughs. Remus does not. “Well, the Ms have to be around here somewhere. Stay right here. I´ll go grab you a drink.”
Remus deposits his wine by the sink, and grabs and pours himself something strong to drink. Lily´s walked out into the woods of people, from which Remus is suspicious that she will return. Ten minutes and two drinks proves his theory right so, with enough alcohol on him to make him not so much himself, Remus braves himself out of the kitchen. Or tries to, for his valiant attempt is interrupted by a hard, dark figure. A wall. Concrete. Solid. History.
“I´m sorry,” Mumbles the unsuspecting voice. “Did not see you there mate. Though i probably should have, considering that you’re like, three times taller than me and- Oh. I know you.”
The high, drunk voice has the face of a Greek god. A familiar one, on that matter.
“Sirius.” He says, even though he knows he shouldn't.
His face breaks into a smile that Remus had never seen before, and it is beautiful. It is lightning cracking in the sky, it is coming out of the water and finally being able to breathe, it is May and spring and everything beautiful and good in the world. It is the most obnoxious thing Remus had ever seen.
“You know my name.” His voice is soft now. Or maybe Remus is just imagining it.
“Of course I know your name.” Remus is pissed and pissed off and starts walking away, up out of the kitchen, up some stairs. Sirius, of course, follows him. “You come into the café almost every bloody day. And you are exceptionally loud and attention-grabbing when you are there so, yeah. I do know who you are.”
For some reason, he sits on the last step of the stairs, where the floor is now fuzzy instead of wooden. For some reason, Sirius sits right next to him, and now, their knees and shoulders are touching.
“I didn’t think you’d notice. I’ve been going there for like half a year now. You’ve never even said ´Good afternoon´ I figured that you couldn’t possibly know me. I am only one of your hundreds and hundreds of daily customers”
Sirius makes grand gestures with his hands and arms when he talks, and he takes up space that they don’t have, cramped on that little staircase. Suddenly, the darkness is incredibly dark, and the air is incredibly hot and it sounds like everything is incredibly quiet. There is a glass next to Sirius that probably doesn’t belong to him, but he takes and drinks anyways. Remus laughs.
“Where do you think I work? I definitely don’t get hundreds of customers. If I’m on my lucky day, it’s a bit over thirty.”
“Well I’m sorry to think that Remus,” When he says his name his voice is low and gritty, and sends an unwelcome shiver down Remus' spine. “But you never do seem to have much attention for me, it is only natural for me to think that you must have your hands busy with someone else.”
Sirius´ hands are long and elegant. He has rings on all but one of his fingers. Remus wonders why that is. He wonders how his hands would feel if he reached out to touch him. He wonders if they are as soft as they look, and if they would reach back.
But he isn’t thinking about Sirius’ hands. He really isn’t.
“I´m sorry you’re feeling so neglected Sirius. Next time you come around, coffee will be in the house.”
Remus’ face is suddenly closer to Sirius’. Had he done that on purpose? He cannot recall. But now they are so close that he can feel his breath on his skin and see each long eyelash on his eyes. He is so close that he can even make out some splashes of blue on Sirius’ gray eyes, and the rose pink blush on his cheeks.
It all feels unreal. Like something that is not happening to him, but that he can see from the outside. Something he is not feeling, but he just knows. Something he would see with his eyes closed and touch with his hands tied behind his back. It is something that he understands perfectly clearly, but he can’t really believe.
He backs away and stands up.
This was not a miracle, or a golden hand, or a fucking bright star over his head.
This was a mistake.
As he moves to leave, Sirius blinks repeatedly, as if getting out of a daze, waking up from a dream, landing on the ground after a long, turbulent flight. He looks confused. Lost.
“I´m sorry, I think I’ve got to go.” He says, swallowing, even confusing himself. He'd thought that he wanted this, but now his legs are up and moving and his lips are mouthing some excuse devoid of any sense. The lights are too bright and there is too much noise. Nothing makes sense any more. A coin was flipped and he suddenly does not know what he is doing anymore.
Fucking Sirius Black with his boujee air and his black, smudged eyeliner and divine hands. It was all his fault. He could not stand seeing him anymore.
So, he left the party.
That had probably been the groundworks for what would eventually become a demolished building, barren land, debris and ruins.
.
The after.
Remus tries not to think about the empty space next to him.
He never looks at himself in the mirror anymore. He can’t really stand it. Three mirrors were broken before he reached that conclusion.
There are two mugs on the cupboard, and he can’t for the life of him bring himself to throw the other one away. It’d be like amputating his own limbs, or purposely ripping his heart out and smashing it into pieces. He thinks that if he did, scoop his heart out and throw it against a wall, the pieces would be hard and sharp. Like shards of broken mirrors, or pieces of a broken mug. They’d be concrete. A brick wall. History. He is not quite ready for that yet.
Instead, he chooses to sit in front of a plate of food that’ll never be emptied and a glass of good wine that will go to waste.
He really hadn’t wanted for all of this to happen. But, no matter how much you fight against something, if Sirius Black wants something, Sirius black will always get it.