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Summary
In which a lot of important things happen, but nobody does anything at all.
Written for the Remix Challenge, 2004.
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Bookmark Notes:
"Remus," says James, and the word catches their ribs by the base and tugs until their chests are too tight to breathe.
"Snape's fine," Sirius cracks through. "You saved the little shit from a nasty scare, alright? Least he can do is thank you for saving his trousers from a good wetting; you're still wrapped up in what didn't happen!"
"I stopped you," James snaps, bracing his hands on either bedpost.
"Don't fucking talk to me."
"Sirius—" says James, because he knows what Sirius means. He means, I'm sorry, talk to me, I'm good, I swear, I swear.
"Forget it—" Sirius snaps, and James's heart pounds at the plea inside it. "It's done with."
James stares at Sirius's turned head and knows that Sirius is waiting for him to say that yes, it is. And even if it isn't, he's told Sirius that he's a brother to him.
—
Remus is alone and bruised looking, blue-black spider-webbed cheeks, puffy eyes, eerie-white bandage on his neck where the collar of his shirt is unbuttoned clumsily, and James sees why because Remus's fingers are wrapped in gauze. There is blood on his sleeve, behind his ear; something in James hones in on the clay-earth colour. He can almost taste it in the back of his throat.
"I—" says Remus, voice shredded.
"You're," James says, and flinches when Remus's elbow brushes his. "Not in bed. Bad idea."
"—would like the juice, please," continues Remus, and nudges his glass with a lumpy thin wrist. James can almost feel the way the bones must creak.
"Bed," says James, holding the jug prisoner while Sirius's hair falls into his breakfast because he is Not Paying Attention too hard to care.
"Juice," says Remus.
"Bed," repeats James.
—
WE ARE DUE FOR SOME MISCHIEF-WITH-A-CAPITAL-M. THE SCHOOL GROWS SLEEPY WITH SECURITY, writes Sirius three days later.
James stuffs the note in Sirius's ear.
"Sirius is going out tonight," says Peter.
"Sirius is full of piss," says James, watching Remus work with bandaged hands.
"You should go," says Remus. "If you don't, he won't talk to you for three days again, and then you'll start punching each other, and we'll lose points because Lily will catch you, and she wants you to die."
"Die is a very strong word," says James. "You should come."
"Strong, but appropriate," says Remus. "I can't. I have to get over it, remember."
(Remus chews on the curling edge of his bandages.
"Don't," James says, feeling very long and gangly. "You'll pull it off, and it'll get infected, and you'll die. Or you'll choke on it, and you'll die, again."
"That would be overkill," says Remus.)
In the end, they go out and end up trapped in a broom cupboard. Peter lets them know in a high-pitched voice that something is biting his elbow. Sirius tells him not to be a huge sagging pansy-arse, until it turns out to be a nest of baby Doxies.
"Good time?" Remus asks at breakfast, looking far better than they do, which is saying something.
"Fuck you," says Sirius.
"Augh," says James.
"I am the pimple monster," says Peter. Remus gives him the last scone, which James thinks is absurdly nice of him, considering they all deserved a vicious welting.
—
"You're not proving anything except that you're an entitled son of a bitch! Now pass the potatoes," says Sirius. "Never get between a man and his food."
"Funny. Don't you say that about your friends?" asks Remus, dumping the entire bowl onto Sirius's plate. They bounce off the table and leave grease stains on Sirius's trousers.
James has never seen anything more glorious than Remus Lupin right then, flushed and eerie-quiet, eating an indignantly-spilled potato.
—
"James," says Remus. "Your hand—"
"Well. Um," he says, and kisses Remus.
Wet, is his first thought, and then, James, you idiot, less tongue, maybe? But then he's not thinking at all, because Remus is clenching his arm and he's leaning on Remus, and their knees and stomachs are bumping together, and there's dust in his nose but it doesn't matter because it smells like Remus.
—
"She's pretty," says Remus. "Not that you'd want my judgement, but," he smiles. "She'll keep you in line, and all. You're different now, anyway. She knows, I mean, she can tell. She probably thinks you're brilliant."
James wants to say, who are we talking about? And, does she taste like you do?
He takes Remus's wrist and pulls Remus to him. He feels like he should say something brilliant, or funny, or just say something, but Remus is so beautiful, and his mouth is almost against his own.
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Bookmark Notes:
one of the only times i’ve truly been able to get down with moonchaser. this fic is such an interesting concept, but it’s really well done, and doesn’t feel forced.
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