#maybe instead of losing a friend i'll lose part of myself instead. this november

[noxtivagus]

november huh

[stardustaubade]

Heal

It looks a lot like rain, seeing the storm behind his eyes. Sirius quietly stops by the window of their small cottage. The sound of waves crashing down on the shore brings a strange sense of melancholy, like it's been raining for months inside his chest and it's sore. Sirius just wants to cry.

Instead, he pulls out a cigarette from the back pocket of his worn-out jeans and sits on the back porch.

The November sun hangs low, with unbelievable slowness. Sirius takes a deep breath, reminding himself that the War is over. He has come back to life, to Remus. Still, it feels so strange here, like he's living in a borrowed timeline, like it's someone else's life he's living. A salty breeze comes by, a comforting quietness, cold but not as hollowing as the air of Azkaban. Or maybe he's just good at pretending to be warm these days.

"Something is in your mind." ,Remus sits beside him, his honey-warm eyes fixed on the horizon, setting two mugs of tea in the small gap between them. Sirius smashes the butt of the cigarette, and taking up the mug, looks at his lover. Sirius watches him running his scarred fingers on the rim of the mug, eyes still fixed on the horizon, the dusk catching his greyish auburn hair. Remus has always carried sunsets and departure in his eyes. Sirius thinks how there are memories of people, of pain, of cities in Remus' eyes that he wasn't a part of.

He runs hands over his face, as if to wipe the trace of his thoughts.

It's the first anniversary of his return from beyond the Veil.

It just feels odd, living and all. Like he's interrupted everyone's life around, has borrowed time from their lives and duration on earth, like he has wreaked havoc.

Again, when Sirius Black hasn't wreaked havoc?

Maybe it's just wrong, living in Remus' clothes and in his life. All borrowed, without a trace of his own existence. The War is over. Still he trembles in his sleep, the horror of seeing James and Lily dead, the memory of the chilly gust of the sea of Azkaban sends shivers down his spine. Nightmares keep him awake. It's Remus, it's always Remus, saying soothing things in his hoarse sleepy voice, assuring how everything is going to be okay.

Except, both of them know how it's probably never gonna be so.

Their togetherness has been strange, ragged, almost like a routine. It had been a year when Sirius appeared on Remus' doorstep, only to find his hollow pained eyes, almost paranoid. A whisper of "I thought you were dead", choked sob on each other's neck and they fell back into a pattern.

Sirius closes his eyes, inhaling the colours of the sunset and sand, imagining how Remus looks in this particular time. Sunset Remus has always been special to him. Some eighteen years ago, a streak of sunset colour on Remus' face hit him. Looking down at his best friend while flying, Sirius, torn between panic and an overwhelming sense of adoration for the boy sitting on the bleachers, realized that he would give away his everything for Remus' happiness.

"Let's take a stroll.'' Remus stands up, holding out his hand for Sirius.

The sunset today is a symphony of painful memories and bittersweet laughter, Sirius thinks. He thinks how effortlessly he used to say Remus "I love you" before the War and how they have been habituated in death and betrayal and disaster and going away and never returning to each other that even after all these years, he sits with a book and looks blankly at the words and the gaps in between when Remus goes to do groceries, waiting for him to return. He wants to tell Remus how much he loves him and Remus deserves better, someone whole, someone like Nymphadora, but he wants him to stay. Stay to make me forget. Stay to make me remember. He'll stay, probably. At least, that sleepy voice, holding him close to his chest, in every nightmare, those books strewn over the kitchen counter, windowsill, the towel in their bathroom, the stupid grey jumper on their bed say so. In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish.

Sirius still wants to apologize to Remus.

Instead, looking at the sun melting into the horizon and kissing the sea, he whispers, "It's always the rain. I wake up every night, thinking it's Harry or you crying but it's rain, it's always rain."

Remus doesn't say anything, instead stares at the sea, maybe hides tears. He just entwines their fingers with a firmness of assurance, of staying, a gesture that says, "I'm here. We're here. We can't fix everything but we've got each other." The gentleness of Remus' language traces Sirius back to their childhood, the shared pains and sad smiles, those sleepless nights in their dorm, the grey cloud of smoke at the attic of Remus' parents' house, the happy frames of their togetherness on the wall of their flat, an echo of an echo of an echo, coming back and staying like the circle on the still water surface.

He inhales deeply, steadying himself, "I'm always that unhappy Prince we read about in fairytales, Remus. Rain always suffocated me." Sirius sniffles "When I left Grimmauld Place forever, leaving Reg behind, it was raining." Sirius pauses, as if to draw words out of the silence and the gap between them and the horizon and the sun, never leaving, never leaving.

"It rained the day you left our flat," Sirius whispers, looking at his feet. The lilt of his voice sounds almost shattered, his voice thick with emotion and tears. Remus knows, he's so fluent in Sirius' language, the way his aristocratic accent gets sharper when he gets pissed off, the way his eyes get shrewd with every passing disdain he throws, the self-deprecating shit and the way he carelessly holds the bottle of Ogden's firewhiskey. Sirius Black is like a candle in a steady summer night who shouts and cries and fights and hugs and punches and curses and kisses until he can't do anything anymore, he just burns himself to the core without a quiver.

"Sirius.."

"I'm so tired Remus. I'm so tired of thinking I'm living a borrowed life and of feeling sorry for myself.” He breathes heavily, tears stinging his eyes; his chest aches, looking at the man in front of him, the man he loved, the man he loves, a surge of self-pity washes over him. "I don't know, I try to think about what happened at the Veil and I feel like I'm losing my grip on the present… fuck Remus, I feel like I'll lose you all over again…"

"Sirius..."  Remus whispers, standing almost toe to toe with Sirius. There are times when he feels like shouting at Sirius, or being shouted at, because it's better than a fucking silent Sirius by the window, a forgotten cigarette dangling between his fingers, he just looks at the book or the sea or the wall or the vacuum of nothingness and Remus wants to cry and kiss and shout and punch until Sirius reacts. But here he is, standing in front of him, shattered, crying. He wraps his arms around Sirius, and he buries his face in the crook of Remus' neck, his breath relatively slow, his shoulders slumped, and his tears wet Remus' jumper near the shoulders and Remus let him cry and cry and cry until he feels the warmth of his lover, his home inside his chest. Remus holds him closer and whispers, almost inaudibly, "I love you."

Sirius doesn't say it back, just holds the material of the jumper near Remus' back tighter.

Remus looks at the orange and blue and violet hue of the departed dusk, just above the horizon.

He knows Sirius loves him.

That's enough for now.

Thank you @jennandblitz for being such an amazing beta. I love you.

@aimforthedogstar @of-stars-and-moon @confunded-gryffindor @blitheringmcgonagall