l'osservatore della bellezza | wolfstar

and where the sunshine fades from sight

There's nothing quite as chilling as a shadow after a sunbeam.

It's terrifying: that sudden jump from warmth to cold, from clarity into fog - in a moment, a world which seems righted is pulled off its pedestal and left to crumble at the feet of reality.

So when Sirius closed the crooked door of his little shack, the hum of the river spinning circles through the quiet, he knew it was just another reminder that life was not the swirling mass of light and paint marks he envisioned it to be.

Oh, no, it was far more complicated than that.

He sighed, laying back on his bed, staring at the mould that clung to the ceiling with fragile fingers. The dark stains of evening contaminated the corners of the little room, stretching across the walls and dripping shadows into his eyes.

But this was better than light. Because light was just a manifestation of hopes and wishes: a grotesque beauty that festered away in the pits of someone's mind, leading life on with its haunting siren's call.

That's what the last two weeks or so had been. A lie. A pretence. Behind that facade was nothing but an empty space, gaping at him with its greedy smile.

All those careful dramas and pretences that he performed with a perfected flourish, and for what? A few moments of respite from that eternal cold.

Dear God, why was it always so cold?

It always began like this. Sirius could feel that familiar tug, deep beneath his flesh. The one that pulled him under inky waves and twisted the air from his lungs.

Lupin didn't know, when he told Sirius to leave for a few days, so that they 'wouldn't tire of each other'. He didn't know what he was sending Sirius back to. He didn't know the silence Sirius strove to run from, the silence that grew inside his head.

But then again, no one really ever did know. No one could understand the feeling of scratching at the corners of one's mind, peeling away the paper until all that was left were bloody fingertips and that dull ache residing in one's throat.

And Remus Lupin, who cloaked himself in all the perfectly sculpted deception that happiness and beauty provided, would understand this - this - ugliness least of all.

Sirius' mind was a chaos that marred the beauty of his face - that churned his eyes and mouth into hysterical shapes, shapes that he had stolen away from the memories of his mother and father, whose disgust he could still see so clearly, in those empty spaces that lingered when the night slept fitfully.

It had taken him far too long to leave behind that wretched house he'd been forced to call 'home'. What was home, anyway, except a suggestion of safety in a world so rich with fear?

Except he'd had to leave his brother, too. And that mistake would sometimes creep up on him, much like the mould on the ceiling, its touch clammy and possessive.

Regret. You dip your toe in, and then you drown.

He groaned, turning over and muffling the sound into his pillow, pointlessly begging for his mind to be silent, knowing it never would be.

Regulus Black was a year younger, and had left home a couple of years after his brother (Sirius had run away at age sixteen). They still sent letters to each other, talking of the lives they were leading and the lives they wished they could have.

And Regulus had forgiven him for leaving, but Sirius could not forgive himself.

This torment, along with a few others, consumed him. Every time he was allowed to sit alone with his thoughts, a quiet mumble would permeate the haze he had created to protect himself.

He couldn't always run, you know. It was far too exhausting to always run.

So he lay there, a ragged pile of reminiscence caught between dirty sheets, the vague, familiar marks of old beatings still present upon his skin, watching the night blacken and expand across his windowsill.

After a while, when his sobs had ceased their erratic rhythm, Sirius stood up, rubbing away the tears that were stuck to his cheeks.

It was another one of those days: the kind of day that left him begging for some sort of mercy.

And this particular kind of day inevitably brought with it the desire for a thoughtless night.

Sirius made his way out of the small place he hadn't ever quite managed to call home, stepping into the darkness that had draped itself over the street.

There was a pub nearby, filled with men drunk enough for Sirius to seduce.

That would hopefully be adequate.

***

The first thing Sirius realised was that it was morning.

The second thing he realised was that he was lying, not on his bed, but on a warm, slightly sticky person.

The third thing, which maybe should have been he first thing, was the fact that his entire body ached like hell.

Groaning, he rolled over and onto the mattress. The man beside him was still asleep, so Sirius watched him mildly for a few minutes, trying to remember the night before.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), he could remember very little.

The man was quite pretty, with long eyelashes and a pink, pouting mouth. Dark yellow hair curled loosely against his head and fanned over the pillow, and his skin was a warm brown in the early morning sun.

No freckles. A pity, since Sirius liked freckles. But that, of course, was completely irrelevant.

Shifting around, Sirius had to swallow back more groans of pain. He'd been well and truly battered, it seemed.

And bruised, he added to himself, inspecting the pink marks decorating the inside of his legs with a vague interest. A few bite marks were discovered upon further inspection.

At any rate, he couldn't recall what had happened, which had been the entire purpose of the evening, so that was alright. Memories were a waste of time and energy.

Although, he did hope the man beside him (whose name Sirius' couldn't remember, if he'd ever known it at all) would leave soon: Sirius had promised James that he would meet with him today and tell him 'all about' Remus Lupin.

Why this was so important to his friend, Sirius didn't know. It wasn't like this was the first man Sirius had ever met. Although, James had always been prone to becoming over-invested in Sirius' love-life, so maybe he shouldn't be so baffled.

It would be someone else in a month or so, anyway, once he and Lupin had grown tired of each other. And then he's find some other man, and so the cycle would continue.

For now, however, Sirius laid on his back, letting the sunshine gently push back the darkness in his room, as it did most mornings. He could almost imagine the light pushing away the darkness inside him, too, with its careful, loving touch.

Actually, that's most likely a lie. He was so filled with darkness that any attempt to shift it would probably result with him disintegrating into dust.

Smirking to himself, Sirius hummed cheerfully, mind shabbily closed to all the thoughts he didn't want to listen to.