l'osservatore della bellezza | wolfstar

but the rain will always fall

Letters have value.

True, they were technically just pieces of paper with words on them, but words have meaning. And every word's meaning is not quite the same as another's.

Ink stained the yellowing sheets, its words written in a shaky hand. Words that wouldn't make sense to Sirius and yet made all the sense in the world.

Within the letter was the hazy clarity of sorrow. His friend, his friend was dead - an old friend he had meant to visit soon - suddenly taken like a candle that was blown out instead of slowly burning to the wick.

Shaky words, held between his shaking hands. His eyes widened, squinted, filled with tears that he didn't know how to push away.

Sirius didn't feel himself slowly drop to the floor of Remus' hallway. Didn't feel the bruising impact of his knees against the wood.

His throat was closed up. His chest hurt.

And his mind? It was grabbing at memories, catching them as one catches light, opening its palm to find that it hadn't really caught anything at all.  

Lying down, curling up, he stared at the chipped paint on the wall. It would be quiet if he hadn't been there.

He cried silently, taking great heaving gulps of breath, pressing his arms against his face so that no one could see the twisted shapes his mouth ripped itself into.

For a while, in that narrow hallway, Sirius was completely alone. Completely, utterly alone, detached from everyone and everything.

At least, he thought so. But then...

Footsteps.

Familiar footsteps, walking towards him.

"Sirius?"

Sirius felt Remus stand about a foot away from his head. He didn't reply.

"What has happened?" Remus' voice was muffled against the throbbing in the other's ears.

He didn't want to say. He didn't think he could. But the idea of swallowing this back made him want to cry harder.

Slowly, Sirius smoothed out the letter that had gotten crumpled in his hands, and reached up with limp arms to pass it to the artist.

The paper was taken from him, and he heard the rustling as Remus read it through. Heard him let out a long, slow breath as he registered the meaning better than Sirius probably could.

"Sirius... I'm so sorry."

Again, no reply. Sirius held himself tightly, the floor beneath him like a cold anchor within the waves that knocked against his mind.

There was movement, and then Remus was sitting beside his head, running his fingers through Sirius' long hair, whispering quiet words that held no meaning and held so much value.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"He's gone." Sirius felt his voice break in his throat.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Another moment of shaking breaths, and then Sirius pulled himself up so he was sat facing Remus.

"He is - was - an old friend. We were close when we were younger and then... drifted, and - " He swallowed, and Remus nodded for him to take his time, eyes filled with softness.

"We'd been planning to meet again, perhaps next month, I missed him - in that, you know, detached, quiet way that doesn't really feel too painful until it suddenly does."

"I understand."

Sirius opened his mouth to go on, but found himself lost. How could he say it? His friend had been a sodomite like him, enjoying male company rather than female, living his life in the vibrant way he had always wanted to.

One slip up, one wrong word, and suddenly people who weren't meant to know he preferred men found out.

A night out, from which he didn't come back. A road wiped of his blood, his smile living on in the memory of people who never be able to completely forget, even as the world moved on.

Sirius explained this, through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on his feet. Every word was drawn from him with an exhausting amount of effort.

This was drowning. This was what it felt like when your lungs collapsed inside you under the weight of the water.

By the time he'd managed to squeeze out the last few words, Sirius' sobs had faded into quivering breaths. His face was plated with drying tears.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he mumbled, vague shame crawling over him.

In the next moment, there were warm, gentle arms being wrapped around him.

Sirius pressed his face into Remus' shoulder, letting his tears roll into the fabric of the other man's coat. Remus whispered softly to him, telling him that it was alright, that there was no need to be sorry, allowing Sirius to collapse between his arms.

Later, when Sirius looked back at this hallway, where he was sat in the dust and the dark, grieving his friend's death, he would feel grateful he hadn't been alone while a part of his world broke away.

For in the terrible quiet, having someone there to hold you can mean more than the very stars themselves.

Remus held him tighter. "He lives on within you, Sirius. He's there."

Sirius said nothing, but cried harder still.