a poetic mess

James choked on his pumpkin juice. Lily, who had been lazily playing with the ends of James’s hair, froze. 

"You what?" James wheezed.

"It’s a pact," Sirius explained casually, reaching over to steal a piece of bacon off Remus’s plate. Remus didn't even look up from his book; he just automatically shifted his plate an inch closer to Sirius so it would be easier for him to reach. "If we hit thirty and neither of us has found a wife, we'll just tie the knot. For tax purposes. And because I can't cook."

Lily stared at them. She looked at Sirius, who was currently wearing one of Remus’s jumpers, and then at Remus, who was using Sirius’s knee as an armrest.

"Right," she snorted. "A pact."

"Yeah," Remus mumbled. "It’s practical. We already know we can tolerate each other."

"Tolerate," James repeated, incredulous. "Sirius, you literally threatened to hex a first-year yesterday because they bumped into Remus in the corridor."

"He was moving entirely too fast," Sirius defended, looking genuinely offended. "Moony has bad joints."

"And Remus," Lily continued. "You spent three hours last week mending a tear in Sirius's jacket by hand because he claimed the reparo charm makes the leather 'feel itchy.'"

"He has very sensitive skin, Lily," Remus defended. "You know he only sleeps on silk pillowcases."

James rubbed his face with both hands, looking like he was rapidly losing his grip on reality. 

"You two have lived in each other’s pockets for six years. You pushed your beds together since fourth year, you sign your Christmas cards together, Sirius only lets you cut his hair and refuses to study unless his feet are resting in your lap. Yesterday, I watched Sirius eat a piece of toast directly out of Remus's hand."

"My nails were drying," Sirius argued. "I couldn't risk smudging the polish." 

"You're already married!" James exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "You just haven't signed the paperwork! I feel like I'm third-wheeling a sixty-year marriage every time I sit in my own dormitory!" 

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes at Remus. "We are not inviting him to the wedding.”

"It was a sound financial investment," Sirius said quickly.

Remus stood by the glass, holding his mug of tea and watching a team of goblins magically board up the bakery across the street. "Sirius, you hate real estate."

"People change."

"And I liked that bakery." Remus took a sip of tea. "The bloke who works there always gives me extra éclairs. Just yesterday, he was telling me I have nice eyes, and he asked if I wanted to get dinner—"

Sirius’s hand twitched, and the teacup he was holding shattered into a dozen pieces.

"Which is exactly why the place had to go!" Sirius snapped, vanishing the shards with a flick of his wand. "The man was giving you free éclairs. Do you know what that means?"

"That he was nice?"

"No, it means he wanted something."

Remus blinked. "I think he was just being polite, Sirius. He seemed very genuine."

Sirius made a noise that definitely wasn’t human. He marched over to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass as he glared down at the now-jobless baker standing bewildered on the pavement. "Polite? He touched your hand when he gave you your change on Tuesday! He lingered! For three entire seconds!"

"I think he was just trying not to drop the sickles," Remus reasoned, completely missing the jealousy radiating off his best friend. "Anyway, it’s a shame. Where am I going to get my bread now?"

"I will bake you bread," Sirius blurted out. "I will hire a team of personal, highly-trained French chefs to live in your kitchen. You will never need another carbohydrate from that idiot as long as you live."

Remus looked at him, deeply confused by this sudden passion for culinary independence. "Okay. If you insist. What are you putting in the building instead, then?"

"A warded facility for very dangerous carnivorous plants," Sirius growled, watching the baker walk away. "If he wants to give you another éclair, he can risk losing a limb for it."

Remus paused, his mug stopping halfway to his lips. "Wait."

Sirius froze.

"You weren't with me on Tuesday," Remus said slowly. "How did you know he touched my hand?"

Sirius turned slowly from the window, looking suddenly cornered.

Remus looked at the boarded-up bakery, then back at his friend. "Sirius... did you buy a building just to stop me from going on a date?"

Sirius swallowed hard, his gaze flicking away for a moment before returning to Remus.

He locked eyes with him.

yes omg! thank you for this ask, i actually love this idea sm

i think it happens on a random tuesday in february, maybe even not on the actual day (because remus overthinks everything and decides valentine’s itself is too performative). they’re in the dorm room because sirius claimed he “needed help with history notes” (they both know it’s bullshit). remus has been practicing the words in his head for three weeks, but when sirius flops onto the bed beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, everything collapses. his hands are shaking so badly when he blurts, “sirius, i—i’ve been meaning to—fuck, sorry—would you… maybe…”

remus’ cheeks go nuclear the second the words start tumbling out. the flush starts at his neck, creeps up under his faded jumper collar, and settles high on his cheekbones like he’s been running in the cold. he can’t look sirius in the eye at first, so he stares at sirius’ socks instead, stuttering through half-sentences, “i know it’s stupid and probably not—i mean you don’t have to… it’s just that i like—really like the way you laugh at my shit jokes and—okay, i think i’m ruining this.”

sirius is frozen at first, grey eyes wide, but remus keeps going because the silence is worse. he rambles about tiny specific things: how sirius always saves him the window seat on the train even when he’s late, the way he dog-ears pages in remus’ borrowed books with little sarcastic notes, how his jacket smells great when they share it during rainy walks home. every third word catches, his voice cracking on the vulnerable parts. he’s so flushed and stuttery that he starts gesturing awkwardly with one hand while the other clutches his backpack strap like a lifeline. “i—i’ve liked you for ages, longer than—than is probably healthy. and if you don’t, that’s fine, i just—i needed you to know before i exploded or something”. the exploded comes out so small and mortified that sirius finally cracks a soft smile.

remus’ ears are burning, too. he keeps pushing his hair out of his face even though it’s not in the way, a nervous tic that makes sirius want to reach out immediately. he stutters out, “will you… be my valentine? or… you know, boyfriend. boyfriend is way better than a valentine. or, um—or you could be both. or whatever you want. i’m not picky. just—just yours”.

sirius, instead of teasing (for once), gently takes one of those shaking hands and says, “damn, moony. took you long enough”. remus stays pink for the next hour, hiding his face in sirius’ shoulder when the reality hits. sirius presses gentle kisses to the burning skin of his cheekbones and temple to calm him down.

later that evening they end up walking to the corner shop for cheap chocolate and crisps, remus still faintly flushed every time sirius swings their joined hands. he keeps glancing sideways like he expects sirius to change his mind, but sirius just tugs him into a quiet alley behind the shop and kisses him properly for the first time. remus’ hands are still shaky when they cup sirius’ face.

the rest of the week remus is still quietly flustered every time sirius calls him “my valentine” or “my boy” in public, ears going pink again. but sirius starts collecting those flushed moments, with kissing the heat on remus’ cheeks in the empty stairwell and tracing the edge of remus’ flushed jaw while they talk.

Here’s a cute little human high school reunion post based on the song Half of My Hometown.

982 words (no I don’t care what micro means), Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, Wolfstar, high school reunion, and a mean old Karen who goes by Pauline

remus who just needed an oil change but has now gone weak at the knees and lightheaded

anyway, life's good, but sirius kind of feels a bit alone sometimes since harry's taking up so much of james' time nowadays (sirius absolutely adores the kid but you know, everything is suddenly about family. where is the adventure?). since he's reconciled with his little brother (finally) he has the task of finding a birthday present for him, so he's walking around diagon alley, looking for something that could make the little shit happy for once.

and then he sees it, a little bookshop crammed in between two popular stores. the sign above the door reads blackthorn's books. it doesn't have as many customers as the stores beside it but it looks like a place regulus would adore. sirius walks in and realizes that it's gonna be impossible to find anything in here. he doesn't know a single thing about books, really, and there are books not only on the shelves but stacked in heaps on the floor. it's chaos, but beautiful chaos, if you're into reading and all that, he supposes.

then he sees the man behind the counter. the first thing he notices is the scars. his face and sleeveless arms are covered in them, making him look handsome in this sort of rougish and rugged way. he's sitting down on a stool, reading, and yet he's taller than sirius still. everything is quiet in here, making him feel like he's walked into some seperate world. sirius coughs into his hand and tries to get his attention.

when the man looks up his breath his taken away. he has the prettiest hazel eyes he has ever seen. the man blushes and puts the book down, immediately standing and showing his real height. sirius has to crane his neck to look up at him. he looks adorable as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Sirius said softly.

Barty didn’t look up. “Hey, hey, hey.”

Sirius hesitated. “They gave me more labels today."

That got Barty’s attention. He turned his head, expression unreadable. “Labels? Like soup cans? Or the kind they stick on your back when you’re not looking?”

“The second one, probably.”

Barty rolled onto his side. “What flavor are you, then?”

“Bipolar. Borderline.” Sirius shrugged. “I’m apparently a human mood swing with abandonment issues.”

Barty stared at him. “That’s a very dramatic soup. Bit spicy.”

Sirius snorted in spite of himself.

“They said I’m emotionally unstable. That I feel too much. That I panic when people leave me. And it’s all true. But it still hurts, hearing it out loud.”

Barty slowly sat up, letting his journal fall shut. “They said I have schizophrenia. Did you know that? Voices, visions, wild things. They think I’m bonkers. I am, probably. But they’re not wrong.”

He leaned forward, oddly serious. “But you? You’re just… a cracked glass. Still sharp. Still beautiful. Just fragile in places.”

Sirius blinked at him. “That’s weirdly poetic.”

“I’m an artist,” Barty said simply, picking up his red crayon again. “All of us are just shattered things trying not to cut each other.”

Sirius lay back on his pillow, exhausted. “I hate how much that makes sense.”

Barty began to draw again, humming softly under his breath. After a while, he said, “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Me too,” Sirius whispered.

And for a moment, the silence between them was almost comforting.

It was late, the ward quiet except for the irritating buzz of the hallway lights and the occasional soft shuffle of staff rounds. Sirius lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, sleep eluding him again. Barty sat cross-legged on the floor, drawing against the side of his own bed with a crayon, the paper pressed to his knee.

“Your boyfriend came again today,” Barty said quietly.

Sirius turned his head, his voice rough. “Yeah. He did.”

Barty didn’t look up. “He always comes. Brings you coffee. Talks to the nurses. Smiles like it’s not hurting him inside.”

Sirius blinked slowly, throat tight.

“You’re lucky,” Barty said. His voice cracked a little, soft but trembling at the edges. “My boyfriend used to visit. He brought me sweets once. He said he’d wait.”

Sirius didn’t say anything.

“But he doesn’t come anymore.” Barty’s hand stopped moving, the crayon stilled mid-line. “He’s dead. They told me he died.”

There was a long pause.

“I still see him, though,” Barty murmured. “Sometimes he’s in the corner. Sometimes outside the window. I draw him, so I don’t forget.”

He lifted the journal and turned it toward Sirius, revealing a sketch... delicate, almost angelic, of a boy with wild eyes and a soft smile. “His name was Evan.”

Sirius’ heart sank.

“I don’t think he knows he’s dead,” Barty whispered. “I don’t think I do, either. Not really.”

Sirius pushed himself upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Quietly, he walked across the room and sat beside Barty. He didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything. Just sat with him.

Barty turned another page and began to draw again. This time, he used blue.

“I think Evan would’ve liked your boyfriend,” he said. “Remus seems gentle.”

Sirius closed his eyes. “He is.”

And they sat together in the soft light, one broken soul beside another, while Barty drew the people they missed most in colors they could still see.

They sat there in silence for a little while longer, the soft scratching of Barty’s crayon filling the room.

Sirius glanced at the journal, then at Barty’s profile, pale in the dim light, eyes distant but focused on the page.

He spoke gently. “Do you know how Evan died?”

Barty paused. The crayon stilled in his hand. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something Sirius couldn’t hear. He was quiet for so long that Sirius almost didn’t expect an answer.

Finally, Barty said, “No.” His voice was soft. “I don’t.”

He kept staring at the page. “I think I used to. I think it was loud. Or maybe quiet. Maybe it was both. Maybe I watched. Maybe I didn’t.”

He pressed the crayon to the page again, drawing harder now. “Every time I try to remember, it’s like… someone’s holding a hand over my eyes.”

Sirius’ throat ached.

“I wish I knew,” Barty added, barely audible. “But I think… I think if I did, I might break.”

Sirius reached out, just barely brushing Barty’s shoulder.

“You’re not broken,” he said.

Barty let out a dry, breathless laugh. “Oh, Sirius. I’m so broken. But that’s okay. Evan was too. We were beautiful that way.”

And then he kept drawing, as if the memory might someday come back in red and blue and black lines.

The overhead lights dimmed with a low hum, then cut out completely, leaving the room bathed in the soft, blue glow of the hallway’s night lighting.

Barty didn’t move from the floor. He just kept scratching faintly at the paper, the sound barely audible, like the flutter of moth wings. Eventually, the crayon stilled. He whispered something as he stood, maybe a name, maybe nothing, and rolled onto his bed.

"Sirius, I’m reading."

"Just for a second. I need to see if the rumors are true." Sirius grabbed Remus's hand anyway, flattening their palms together and spreading his fingers wide against Remus's. "God, your hands are massive. Look at that."

Remus glanced down at their joined hands, then back at his book. "I'm taller than you, Sirius. It makes sense."

"No, it’s... it's a lot," Sirius murmured, sliding his fingers into the gaps between Remus’s, lacing them tight. He squeezed, his thumb stroking the side of Remus's palm. "They fit perfectly. Like they were specifically engineered to be held by mine."

"It's just basic anatomy. Larger surface area for better grip."

"I’m literally intertwining our souls through our phalanges, Remus. Do you feel the spark? The cosmic alignment?"

"I feel your rings digging into my knuckles," Remus said, though he didn't pull away. Sirius groaned, dropping his forehead onto their joined hands. Then he glanced up again towards Remus, batting his long eyelashes.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Only the most devastating bone structure in the history of Hogwarts," Sirius sighed.

Remus squinted at him. "Do I have a smudge? I was using the charcoal pencils earlier."

"No, Remus. I'm saying you're attractive. I am staring at you because you are beautiful."

Remus reached up and rubbed his cheek with his sleeve. "Is it gone now?"

"Is what gone?"

"The smudge you're being so polite about." Remus went back to his book, sounding relieved. "Thanks, Sirius. I’d hate to walk into class looking like a mess."

Sirius stared at him, mouth agape, before slowly hitting his forehead against the table. Thump.

"Are you okay?" Remus asked, sounding concerned.

"I have a headache," Sirius muffled into the wood. "A massive, fucking headache."

"I have some ginger sweets in my bag," Remus offered, patting Sirius’s shoulder. "You really should take better care of yourself."

Sirius blinked. "You’re killing me. I’m actually dying."