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“Fuck, they are beautiful, Moony.” Sirius whispered one night, his voice muffled against the blanket. “It’s like you are a canvas. Fuck, You’re beautiful.” He showed the blanket aside to squish his cheek against Remus shoulder instead.
Sirius felt hot against him. Like as if a burning star had latched onto him. Remus swallowed heavily, blinking his eyes to stop them from tearing up.
“Are you crying, Moony?” Sirius squinted at him. “Why are you crying, don’t cry.”
Sirius robbed higher on the bed, squeezing Remus’ face between his hands. “Don’t cry, Moony.” He pressed kisses on his chin and nose and forehead, and when Remus really couldn’t stop the tears anymore — which was entirely Sirius fault — he kissed those away too.
Eventually Remus managed to make himself stop and Sirius flopped into the bed beside him.
“Such a crybaby, Moony.” Sirius mumbled. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s your fault.” Remus said, turning to face him.
“My fault?!” Sirius had the gall to sound both offended and surprised.
Remus nodded.
“I don’t understand.” Sirius prompted.
“Nobody has ever — “ he swallowed. He didn’t know how to explain it, and a sudden daring bravery flashed through him. He took Sirius hand, placing it over the scars he had been tracing earlier. “I always thought they were ugly.” He confessed, and to his mortification a little sob managed to sneak into his voice. Sirius hushed him gently, pressing kisses against his shoulder.
“Not ugly, Moony.” Sirius said. “Scars mean that we lived. They prove we were alive and that we managed to stay alive, no matter what.”
We? Remus wanted to ask, but he hardly had to because Sirius was already sitting up and shuffling off his sleep-shirt.
Remus tried to squint, then to open his eyes wide, just to catch a glimpse of a half-dressed Sirius, but he had no luck. The full moon was too far away to give him any significant improvement in night vision. Figures.
Sirius' hand found his, squeezing lightly. His hands had become cold, like someone had stuck them in ice-water.
“I have them too, Moony.” Sirius said, sounding brave and lovely and so much like Sirius that Remus wanted to cry again.
He led Remus hand to his side where his fingers met a tight web of scars — burns, most likely, maybe cuts — his fingers wandered up to his shoulder and then his back, tracing the scars that patterned his skin.
“Why?” he asked, sounding choked even to himself. There was no need to ask ‘who’. The Black family held no love for Sirius, and the Marauders were painfully aware of that fact — though maybe not aware enough.
Sirius shrugged a bit.
“They don’t like things that are different. Most people don’t.”
He sounded so blasé about it that Remus wanted to snap, to bite something or rip it apart — preferably one of the Black family patriarchs or whatever fool in that family that had dared to lay their wand on Sirius.
“I thought they were ugly when I was younger.” Sirius confessed. His shoulders flexed and Remus trailed another scar with his finger, this one just below his shoulder blade.
“Not ugly.” Remus said. Sirius could never be ugly. Never. “They prove that we managed to live.” He echoed Sirius’ words from earlier.
Sirius gave a little huff that ignited something in Remus stomach, for he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips against the warm skin and the raised scars in front of him.
There, he thought. Sirius was a canvas too, one made up out of stories of the loathing and disapproval his family had treated him with. Remus was loathe to allow such stories to be the only thing to remain on Sirius skin.
Sirius startled, at first, freezing before relaxing against Remus lips and wandering hands.
“You are beautiful, Sirius.” Remus said. Because Sirius had to know that, and Remus felt a bit like he might die if he didn’t tell him that.
Sirius twisted in a flash, wrapping his arms around Remus and squishing their cheeks together so tightly that Remus jaw ached. He patted Sirius shoulder softly, tugging on the hair at the back of his neck every now and then.
“I love you, Moony.” Sirius whispered against him, later.
“I love you too,” Remus whispered back, but he knew they didn’t mean the same thing at all, and his inside’s ached for the star in his arms.
“I love you too.”