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Choosing to love Sirius was like choosing to stand in the rain and not step back inside.
It was loving the bone-deep chill, the constant shivers, the relentless downpour.
Seeing Sirius’ arm carelessly tossed around another pretty girl’s shoulder each week was feeling the cold water seep past each layer of clothing to warm, sensitive skin. Each affectionate gesture reaching a deeper place of understanding that Remus wasn’t the one Sirius chose to deep dry.
Each raindrop falling on Remus’ face that was the slightest bit less freezing than the previous was a precious memory to grab onto. Sirius ruffling his hair after detention. A pale hand briefly wiping away a stray tear after the full moon. Ankles grazing under library tables and neither of them moving away.
These moments weren’t promises of sunshine. Just rain, falling as it always does. But Remus would sigh gratefully at their arrival nonetheless.
Because loving Sirius was choosing frostbite next to him over warmth from anyone else.
When Sirius stole a bottle of fire whiskey one night, they stumbled into the common room laughing. The cold nearly forgotten in the moment of mischief. He leaned into Remus’ side, cheeks flushed, eyes reckless.
Then - a kiss. It was sudden, blinding, and searing through Remus’ chest. The heat was so dazzling it lit up every cell, it was everything Remus had been trying not to hope for.
For just a moment, Remus thought the clouds had broken. That he was basking in sunshine’s glow and attention. Blazing and bright and gorgeously warm, finally warm. The precious tepid water drops Remus had been clinging to for comfort paled in comparison to the brilliance now jolting through him.
But it wasn’t the sunlight.
It was lighting.
Gone as quickly as it arrived. Leaving no trace behind but the moment burned into Remus’ eyelids when he closed them at night.
And the rain kept falling. Remus’ newly warmed skin flinched under the cruel icy torrent.
Sirius kept smiling.
Kept laughing.
Kept holding Mary’s hand.
And Remus?
He stood, in the place where the lightning had struck him, glassy eyes turned towards the sky, eager for it to happen again. He didn’t complain or demand more - didn’t protest when the warmest thing he felt that day were his hot tears chasing raindrops down his cheeks.
Remus knew it wasn’t the sun.
He knew it wasn’t steady warmth and luxurious golden rays.
He knew each hit would leave him aching.
Waiting for another flash of brilliance to make him feel chosen.
He waited, like a fool, for a storm to love him back.