thanika

And a little Remus Lupin to go with his Sirius

[sirius]: heyyyy rem! it's sirius from lit class :D

[remus]: Hello, Sirius.

[sirius]: did i do something wrong :o

[remus] What?

[sirius]: i'm really sorry for whatever i did i can fix it if you tell me

[remus]: Sirius, I really have no idea what you are talking about. You didn't do anything wrong.

[sirius]: idk ur texting like ur mad at me or something haha

[remus]: I don't understand, this is how I always text.

[sirius]: LMAO

[sirius]: i guess u just text like a stern old man all the time then :p

hey @thislifekindasucks !! this might be a little shorter/fluffier than what you had in mind, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless x

p.s. french might be a little messy... i tried!

Sirius wasn’t sure he had ever been so lonely.

And that was saying a lot, for someone who’d grown up in a massive, cold house. He’d spent most days until then either with a tutor or alone in his room. Hogwarts, so far, had been fantastic in comparison. 

It was warm and well-lit, and every adult he’d met so far had been oddly nice to him. He was allowed to wander wherever he pleased, and even when he wasn’t, the worst punishment he’d get would be a gentle, guiding hand on his shoulder. His uniform was loose and soft, unlike his usual frilly, itchy layers. Craziest of all, at dinner, kids were screaming and laughing, food smudged on their faces without a drop of decorum between them. Sirius had never seen anything like it. He spent half his dinner gawking, and the other half ducking away from the glares of his cousins because he’d been sorted into Gryffindor. 

Now, Sirius sat on his bed, all the curtains closed, in the Gryffindor first years’ dorms, on the brink of tears because now, due to a stupid old ratty hat, he couldn’t even be with his cousins. Not like they’d ever treated him kindly, but at least they spoke French. As it would turn out, no one else did. Sirius, of course, had been supposed to. He could read in English, and he got bits and pieces by listening, but he’d never gotten many chances to speak it. He doubted that there were regular English classes here, or that anyone would be willing to learn French. He heard two of three boys in his dorm chattering and laughing, with the occasional clatter of something. He’d seen them both earlier, right after dinner. One with glasses had tried to introduce himself as James, and his little blond friend as Peter, but Sirius had (guiltily so) shrugged them both off with a poorly-mustered smile and then hid. He hadn’t seen the supposed fourth, but he’d locked himself in his room pretty early on.

He wiped at his face. Since when had he been crying? God, what his mother would do if she was here. He heard little phrases from outside. 

“Let’s play--”

“I’ll write to her tomorrow–”

“You think he’s–”

Sirius sighed as the conversations each trailed off into gibberish, scrubbing at his face. The Ancient and Noble House of Black didn’t raise crybabies. He’d figure something out. It didn't help that he was tired. Just as he was about to hide under the covers and force himself to sleep, the velvet of his curtain was swept up, letting a swath of light in. A little boy peeked his head in. He looked older, though, a little gaunt and tired, with deep, silvery scars all over his face. Sirius knew he flinched at them by the consequent wince. The boy rolled his eyes.

“You deaf?” The boy waggled a finger from his ear to his chin with a snarky little eyebrow. Sirius heard that word from sarcastic tutors enough to know what it meant.

He shook his head. “Non, um… no.”

The boy squinted. “French?”

Sirius nodded, still somewhat taken aback. The boy looked worn in a way Sirius had never seen before. Sirius had never been allowed to eat off of chipped dinnerware, and once his childhood teddy bear lost an eye, it had been immediately discarded. Sirius imagined that this boy was a good visual representation of what it would look like if something never got fixed or taken away. It made Sirius feel safe, in a weird way. Homesick for one he’d never had.

The boy ducked away, leaving Sirius alone in the dark once more. Sirius let out all the breath he’d been holding. All by himself again, to the surprise of nobody. He slumped back against his headboard, feeling more miserable than he had. The only thing worse than being alone was being left alone. Right as Sirius went to shut his eyes, he felt his bed dip. The boy was back, now cross legged in his ragged pajamas on Sirius’s bed. Between them he set down two objects: a chess board, and a bright red book.

Sirius never had many toys, but he had been allowed chess. The boy flicked through the book for a little while, squinting and stuttering over “Eh…Eh-check? Esh-ex?”

Sirius smiled, for the first time in a while. “Échecs?”

The boy smiled, raising a thumb and an eyebrow in question. He said something Sirius didn’t understand, and Sirius lolled his head to the side. The boy picked up the book and thumbed through it for a little while longer before turning it towards Sirius, thumb over jouer - play. Sirius nodded, still pinching back a smile. He wasn’t sure if he was really awake or if he’d dreamed up a friend, like he did so often when he was younger and alone in his room.

Remus grappled for the book again and searched for a little bit before pointing at his chest. “Uh… jay-map-ell… Remus.” He pointed questioningly at Sirius, who wrinkled up his nose at the pronunciation.

“Vous pouvez m’appeler Sirius.” He cooed, before realizing that might’ve been a bit too complicated, so he just pointed at his face, still smiling. “Sirius.”

“Sirius.” Remus nodded, moving one of his pawns.

---------------------------------

“Sirius…” Remus complained as Sirius shoved his nose into Remus’s shoulder. “I said no.”

“But an essay is so boring… and charming McGonagall’s furniture to the ceiling would be so fun…” Sirius nipped his ear and thus earned himself a swift elbow to the ribs, gently knocking the wind out of him. He sighed and slumped on the table, head tucked into his folded arms.

“You’re so boring, Moony.” Sirius jutted his chin out to kiss Remus’s knuckle that was holding his paper still. “And I miss you. We haven’t done anything in ages.” He pouted.

Remus’s will was being eroded. Sirius was nothing if not persistent. And a sweetheart. And Remus’s very favorite, since he’d wedged his way into his life five years ago. And he was completely correct. They’d both been so busy recently and Remus missed acting completely immaturely with the love of his life.

Partially out of guilt, and partially out of want that he’d been putting off for the sake of productivity, Remus let Sirius kiss him in what could be considered a little much for the library. Sirius hummed happily and kept their noses tight, even when he stopped to breathe.

“Mm.. Je t’aime, Moony. Est-ce que tu m'aimes?”

“Dirty trick.” Remus smiled wryly, kissing Sirius once before pulling back, rolling his eyes as Sirius faked a big, honest plead. Remus sighed. “Ouais.” The word stuck on his tongue a bit. French had never worked quite right with his scratchy Welsh accent, but he’d always tried for Sirius.

Sirius beamed, kissing Remus’s cheek when he pulled away. “Mignon.” Another kiss. “Je pense à toi tout le temps.” Another. Remus covered his face with his palm, pushing it away.

“Stop, stop–” He giggled as Sirius continued into his cheek, now in a dramatic monologue voice. 

“Je ne supporte pas d’être loin de t–”

they meet by complete accident on the streets of london while sirius is there on a school trip. sirius spots remus smoking outside a corner shop and, without knowing a single word of english, decides he’s going to bum a cigarette off him anyway. it takes an embarrassing amount of pointing, miming, fake smoking motions and increasingly dramatic hand gestures before remus finally figures out what this very animated french boy wants. he starts off trying not to laugh, but sirius looks so painfully determined to get his point across that remus caves and hands him a cigarette.

they end up standing there together for the next twenty minutes.

sirius talks the entire time in rapid-fire french, complaining about his teacher who only gave them thirty minutes of free time around carnaby street, about how impossible it is to keep up with his class, about london, about anything that comes to mind. he knows remus doesn’t understand a single sentence, but remus keeps nodding anyway, smiling whenever sirius gets especially dramatic with his hands, replying with the occasional “yeah?” like he’s somehow following along

neither of them understands the other, but somehow they’re still having a conversation.

eventually sirius’s classmates start calling for him from down the street. remus pats his pockets, finds a pen, gently takes sirius’s hand and writes his address across the back of it. then he taps the ink with his finger, mimes writing on paper, and points in the vague direction of france.

“send me a letter.”

sirius doesn’t understand the words but he understands everything else.