Forget || Wolfstar Word count: 1,057
@wolfstarmicrofic @lilldrknesss @ineffablelyqueerwolfstarshipper
Remus Lupin forgets things.
Not the important thingsânever those. He remembers dates, passwords, obscure footnotes from books he hasnât touched in decades. He remembers the exact tone of Siriusâs laugh when itâs real versus when itâs performative. He remembers how many steps it takes from the bedroom to the kitchen in the dark.
But the small things slip.
Where he left his glasses. Whether he already fed the cat. If he took the kettle off the stove or only thought about doing it.
Sirius notices before Remus does.
At first, he assumes itâs stress. Theyâre older now. Life has weight. Some forgetfulness is expected. Sirius makes jokes about it, gentle ones, the kind meant to cushion rather than poke.
âProfessor Lupin,â heâll say, handing Remus his wand, âyou dropped this again. Honestly, I worry.â
Remus laughs, because Sirius expects him to. Because laughter is easier than admitting the quiet panic that sometimes flickers when his mind comes up empty.
The forgetting isnât dramatic. It doesnât arrive all at once. It drips in.
Remus forgets the name of the shop theyâve been going to for years. Forgets a conversation they definitely hadâSirius is sure of it, because he remembers being annoyed. Forgets what he was about to say mid-sentence and trails off, embarrassed.
âIâm sorry,â Remus says too often.
Sirius hates that part most.
One evening, Remus stands in the doorway of their bedroom, frowning faintly.
âDid we⌠move the wardrobe?â he asks.
Sirius looks up from tying his boots. âNo.â
Remus nods slowly. âRight. Thatâs what I thought.â
He doesnât sound convinced.
That night, Sirius lies awake listening to Remus breathe, counting it without meaning to. In. Out. In. Out. Like a spell heâs afraid to break.
The forgetting has edges. Sharp ones. It snags on Remusâs old habitsâhis tendency to blame himself first, to assume fault where there might only be chance.
âIâm just tired,â Remus insists, when Sirius finally brings it up. âItâs nothing.â
âItâs something,â Sirius says gently. âIt doesnât have to be terrible to be something.â
Remus looks at him for a long moment, eyes tired but steady. âI donât want to be⌠difficult.â
Siriusâs chest tightens. âYouâre not.â
âI donât want you to have toââ
âRemus.â Sirius takes his hands, grounding them both. âYou donât get to decide what Iâm willing to do.â
Remus exhales, shaky. âI donât want to forget you.â
The words land hard and quiet.
Sirius presses his forehead to Remusâs. âYou couldnât forget me if you tried.â
That makes Remus smile, just barely. âI have tried,â he says. âYouâre rather difficult to misplace.â
They donât name it. Not properly. Thereâs a doctor, eventually. Conversations with too many pauses. Words like progressive and monitoring and weâll see.
Forget is a gentle word for it. It sounds like something you can choose.
Remus forgets the ends of things first. The last line of a poem. The conclusion of an anecdote. Sirius learns to fill them in without making it obvious.
He forgets where he put his notes. Sirius starts putting them back in the same place every time.
Remus forgets what day it is. Sirius writes it on the fridge in big, looping letters.
They build a life designed to catch what falls.
Some days are better than others. Some days Remus is sharp as ever, teasing Sirius over breakfast, correcting his pronunciation of obscure French authors. On those days, Sirius pretends not to notice the relief humming through his bones.
Other days, Remus stares at a book heâs read a hundred times and frowns like itâs written in a foreign language.
âI know this,â he murmurs.
âI know,â Sirius says.
Remus presses his fingers to his temple. âI hate this.â
Sirius sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder. âI know.â
âI donât want to be someone you have to remember for.â
Sirius turns, eyes fierce. âYou are not a burden.â
Remus flinches anyway. Old instincts die hard.
That night, Remus forgets Siriusâs middle name.
He knows instantly that heâs lost it. He feels the gap where it should be, like a missing tooth. Panic blooms fast and sharp.
âHey,â Sirius says softly, catching his expression. âWhatâs wrong?â
Remus opens his mouth. Closes it.
Siriusâs heart stutters.
âIââ Remus swallows. âI know you. I know you. I justâthereâs a word. I canâtââ
Sirius doesnât let him spiral. He takes Remusâs face in his hands, steady and warm.
âItâs Orion,â he says. âSirius Orion Black. Named after a constellation and an ego problem.â
Remus lets out a shaky breath. âIâm sorry.â
âDonât,â Sirius says. âThat oneâs my fault anyway.â
Remus laughs weakly, tears in his eyes. âYou always did hate it.â
They hold each other for a long time after that. Siriusâs arms are a constant. A promise.
The forgetting continues. Slowly. Unevenly. Cruel in its unpredictability.
But there are things Remus never forgets.
He never forgets the way Sirius smellsâleather and soap and something indefinably him. He never forgets the sound of Siriusâs footsteps, the weight of him in the bed, the way he says âMoonyâ like itâs a secret.
He never forgets that he is loved.
One morning, Sirius wakes to find Remus already up, standing at the window, sunlight catching in his hair.
âMorning,â Sirius says.
Remus turns. Smiles. âMorning.â
Thereâs a pause. Siriusâs chest tightens, bracing.
Then Remus says, softly, âI know you.â
Sirius crosses the room in three strides and pulls him close, burying his face in Remusâs shoulder.
âI know,â he says hoarsely. âI know.â
Later, much later, when the forgetting takes more than it gives, Sirius becomes the keeper of their shared history.
He tells Remus stories. About school. About the war. About the day they finally stopped pretending.
Remus listens, eyes bright, like itâs new every time.
Sometimes he says, âThat sounds like us.â
Sirius smiles. âIt is.â
On a quiet evening, Remus looks at him suddenly and asks, âHave I ever loved you?â
Siriusâs throat tightens.
âYes,â he says. âYou do. You still do.â
Remus considers this, then nods. âGood.â
He reaches for Siriusâs hand, grip firm.
âI might forget things,â Remus says. âBut donât let me forget that.â
Sirius squeezes back. âNever.â
And if Remus forgets everything elseânames, places, yearsâSirius will remember for both of them.
Thatâs the thing that does not disappear.
