It was cold that night in Wales as Remus sat on the coast line, leaning against a dilapidated brick wall separating the sand from the patchy grass on the other side. His home was only ten or so metres away from his seated position on the cold grainy texture of the ground, but it felt as though he was placed to in a whole new dimension entirely.
That caliginous sky that cradled Remus Lupin gave him sugar twists of imaginative thinking and no, he did not get high at three in the morning, mostly due to the fact that there were no drugs on their little corner on their little town. It was so small, so sparsely populated, that it worked like clockwork
Nature's Sound blossomed from marginally deranged thoughts given from such a terribly brisk climate and a tremendous sky. Such a tremendous sky that curved flawlessly around the planet that Remus had conjured from nothing more than his pretty, sometimes painfully dense head.
So, after intense development in the coming months, an allegory of humans and their human instincts was formed.
There's a boy. A boy whom the world had treated with love and care for the majority of his childhood, blessing him with a great understanding of the musical arts until his silence was never empty. This boy's name was Oliver Curvestone. Pretty name for a pretty boy with a pretty life in a pretty town, right? His father was a printer of Bayer's Grove's newspaper and one of the many rich individuals inhabiting the orderly town. The life he lived was that of simplicity, and it was quite safe to say that he was fed up.
His father, the figure that held strings over his life, was one of the rulers, one of the select few who ensured that the corset remained as tight as possible, because with beauty and perfection, there's no difference at all.
There's another boy too. A traveller and an environmentalist who grew roses of venom from his fingertips and had blazing trees burning in his eyes. But he was passionate, so eager for change. This was Noah Croft. He was the epitome of strong passion, of words that ink themselves over your heart until rose-tinted lenses shatter and the world focuses at last so no one is blind to the deterioration.
Noah found himself at Bayer's Grove one spring eve after a broken down bus ruined his travels, but he acquired a reason to stay. There were furious men and women, so high up on the list of affluence and power, but they abused their post and it was clear. It was almost laughable how infantile they could be when it came to problems with simple resolutions, except there was nothing amusing about war being chosen and the lives of so many put in danger.
He didn't take a bus back to his forlorn hometown where excitement was a wish within a wish, mystery a myth and adventure a falsity.
Noah remained for a while, merely because he felt as though he should.
Turns out that he actually had a space in Bayer's Grove, with his chillingly fierce opinions and shamelessness to speak his logic. Logic that no one else in the town seemed to possess.
Except Oliver, the boy that Noah had stumbled across in the book shop. They're hands hadn't fallen over the same book, nor had one of them fallen and had the other one aid them in picking up a load of books. It was nothing special, really. Noah saw him picking up a book that he deemed horrific and he couldn't help himself from tutting because damn, if that boy happened to buy it, he'd be regretting a lot of things. Oliver noticed the slight condescending sound and acknowledged it with raised eyebrows. The rest is history!
Things that made sense to Noah made sense to Oliver and for the first time in probably forever, there was some sort of rooted connection: Oliver wasn't like anybody else. He wasn't as devoted as he was about a number of things, not exactly, but he listened and made his own opinions.
He had an ear that he used to his benefit and always, he never showed an ounce of abashment. It was pride that he felt as he spoke because each word was formulated with the greatest care.
The garden grew over a short period, flowers entwined with one another until stems forever bonded as one and it seemed that - as soon as Noah was able to settle with his work in a newspaper he was given an opportunity to write for - it all came crashing down suddenly.
The mayor and his board were arguing and based on what Oliver had told him one night after a performance, it was the norm. Except tonight, the dispute at hand was being toyed with like nothing although it was bigger, bolder, more threatening than it had ever been. Oliver spoke nonchalantly, like the anger sizzling within his ruler of his town's blood was nothing more than the usual sensation.
Noah didn't say much; instead, he observed.
It's funny how things can be so luxuriously simple, then sooner than one would believe possible, it can worsen so horrifically that it cuts deep past the skin for the rest of eternity. However, even that sounds too soft, like an echo in an alleyway at midnight. More accurately, it slices through the mind's sounds, forever tearing two parts of conscience in half as if they amounted to nothing. You hear nails on a chalkboard screeching among broken violin strings. A sickening symphony bIt's almost as if a mind isn't the most intricate paintings of all time.
It was greed, you see, a seething, twisted avidity for power and money that insisted on a lack of safety for everyone. The people of the town were pressed against the box of their control and it was shocking how the majority of them were so accustomed to the ordeal.
Every regular person went about their days normally. Their dollhouse lives were perfect in their dollhouse town with their dollhouse jobs.
Until the barrier broke.
A drunken brawl, a gunshot and then, for the first time in weeks, the mayor's crumbling team was silent.
Just a second, before all hell broke loose.
A full moon hung that dreadful night in the sky and oh, how he, with a face paler than usual, sighed knowingly down below at the land and the flames eating away from the inside out. He watched a while before stealing away and drifting in to a hazy blue sky. His actions were different from the feelings of the humans, of the explosion that would rip through the next morning.
He was calm, so irritatingly at peace as songbirds sang shrilly.
Blood. Everywhere. It was quite the sight, really. A painter might say it was like sad crimson romances over concrete hearts, or ribbons of the softest silk that bind all the demands of life round colossal marble buildings of existence. It's weeks of unqualified terror so extreme it seeps in to your system to contaminate the surviving smithereens of a once intact soul.
Bayer's Grove, a town of the rich and the musical and the creative and the future stars, was a death bound to be written in gold ink.
Before our story finished, Noah stood amidst screams and sobs alike and became a simple ghost of his reality.
The world fell inwards, crushing people with lives and commitments and jobs carelessly. Funny how places were put in the hands of fools.
Oliver came, face streaked with soot, hair blown and eyes drowning in their own fear.
The tale ended soon after; Oliver and Noah exchange a passionate conversation and explain that it's no longer safe for Noah to remain there any longer. He must flee to a place he knows. A place he trusts.
He said he'd come back the day that sunlight melts across his skin, replacing the iciness of hatred. He promised.
He promised.
And then, as if by a click of two fingers, Oliver and Noah and every other character cease to exist.
Sirius Black yanked Remus down from his crisp white collar. He shook his head.
"May I?" His fingers brushed the top button of Remus' shirt. The latter swallowed thickly, but nodded nevertheless.
The dressing room was crowded, whether it be with boys getting their faces violently blotted with powder so they don't look too shiny or them laughing too hard for no clear reason at all.
Probably nerves.
But Remus and Sirius were so slap bang centre in the room that they were somehow overlooked. A glitter bubble of their fantasy encased them away from reality.
Sirius slipped the button out of its opening and smoothed it out, his fingers maybe lingering a second too long over Remus' collarbones.
"Look, you look so much more impromptu now. Still just as stunning though, don't have a clue how you manage to pull it off." Sirius winked flirtatiously and Remus responded with a hard shove to his thingy's meticulously neatened hair.
"Oi, we saw that, Lupin, some of us have been watching! Don't you go abusing your boyfriend like that! It's not cool, not cool at all." Luke Adamson snapped jokingly, knowing well that there was no malice behind the push. Nazim, who was combing through Luke's eyebrows, let out a forced and uncomfortable laugh: he knew that the title boyfriend had yet to exist for the two other boys.
"We stan, but - but boyfriend?" Sirius' eyes fled to the floor in subtle embarrassment as he spoke and Remus coughed loudly.
"You're... joking, right? Really? The pair of you aren't real yet? But James has been talking about Wolfstar for ages! Wow, bloody hell, I thought I was stupid. Why the fuck not? Come on, even I can taste the chemistry, sharp yet somehow disgustingly sweet on my tongue, eh, Remus?" Luke quoted. It was a line from Maid Catherine of the Curvestone Estate, who unwillingly saw the bond strengthen between Mr Curvestone's employee and his son who had too much talent to be wasted on falling in love with a silly boy.
"Actually, you know what, Remus, why aren't I your boyfriend? There's just so many reasons why I should be," Sirius drawled sarcastically. Remus seriously had been rubbing off on him.
And Remus could quite rightly say likewise.
"Hm. Maybe you're right. Maybe we should go out." It was admirable how he spoke so confidently although you could blatantly see the rosiness patching his freckled cheeks. Sirius' couldn't even comment on how adorable it was due to the pound in his chest.
Luke and Nazim stayed silent even as they almost combusted in to an explosion of lavender fangirl confetti and fuchsia glitter. Luke was going red with the effort to not scream and the other standing opposite him desperately tried to calm him down just to let their costars' proceeding flow as naturally as possible.
"You being serious?"
"No, that's you-"
"Do you hear this bullshit, you two?" Sirius acknowledged the two boys' once more. It was beginning to get difficult to hear them due to the increasing volume from the rest of the people in the room and the anxious excitement that was building up.
"Nah, dunno what bullshit you're talking about."
"Yeah, we're not even listening."
"Not listening at all."
"Whatever you were talking about probably wasn't anything of our concern anyway, so you could... get back to it," Nazim tried. Luke squinted painfully at himself in the mirror, the lit light bulbs trailing around it giving his skin that theatrical glow. He looked quite attractive, if he did say so himself. The rich burgundy of his coat starkly differed against the snowiness of his skin and the fieriness of his scarlet hair.
Remus and Sirius melted into florid puddles.
It was clear that neither parties were going to say anything else in the matter, so they both slunk back into the comfort and bore of normality.
Remus checked his watch. They had half an hour left until showtime. Remus was used to having to be the first person up, but only because he was a little opening 'act' and his only responsibility was to commend the actors and actresses for their hard work and dedication. After that, he would slip back behind the scenes to make everyone was doing what they were supposed to, staying grounded, not getting too stressed out - you know, the things that he knew was his responsibility.
The dressing rooms were now moderately mixed with boys and girls and anyone else, and a fervid, feverish flame of delirious happiness had spread throughout, which was quite overwhelming in Remus' opinion.
He had entered the room after helping order the backgrounds and prepare everything backstage when he blinked twice at the sight of Olivia Andrews latched on the back of her best mate Tom Lewis as they shared water in an exotic, summery pineapple cup from one yellow straw.
He was ashamed to say it hardly fazed him.
Sirius was minding his own business and texting James about the bird shit on Professor Flitwick's car that took the shape of a severely malformed penis in his opinion. James claimed that anything could look like a severely malformed penis. The teachers who were now coming in increasingly often compared to ten minutes ago were hardly processed and well, safe to say that the figure that slipped beside him went by nearly unnoticed. Nearly. Sirius learnt to recognise the mere ambience of Remus. He sat on the edge of a dressing table, kicking his legs out of habit and almost pressing his back against Remus' arm that he was leaning on.
Remus parted his lips to say something as he rested against the wooden table, but the words fizzled away on the top of his tongue.
"You alright, Moony?" Sirius hummed lightly, switching off his phone and tilting his body just slightly to run his hand through Remus' hair. It became a tendency of his solely because it was much too irresistible.
"You know, my offer still stands, I'm just gonna sort out a way to make my question a lot more pretty and refined. So, you know, it's actually worth remembering. So when it happens, pretend you don't know, yeah?"
Eyes showing clear bewilderment, Sirius looked up at him, but Remus responded with only a flushed complexion and a nervous smile.
"You're mad."
"And they say that with less brain cells, the smaller your dick." Remus clapped Sirius on the back joyfully.
"No one says that!"
"Better make it a thing then, yeah?"
"No! Because then everyone would think my dick would be itty bitty and that's-"
"The hall's starting to fill up now, with the weest first years I've ever seen! Honestly, they'd reach no further than my knee!" exclaimed Mrs Dartship, a computing teacher who would commonly help out with tech, as she flung open the door with a content smile on her face. She sighed wistfully at the state of the room and the faces that she had grown to look forward to seeing everyday. The prodigies, the 'late bloomers' (if there ever was such a thing), the singers, the dancers, the brilliant fake sobbers - just all of them.
"Oh, you seventh years, I'll miss you terribly so. It's been a good while, hasn't it? Still remember when Sirius was a tot as teensy as my thumb!"
"Hasn't grown an inch since then."
"Oi!"
Everything from then on seemed to fly past much too quick.
Zealous excitement filtered through the thick velvet curtains and all over backstage.
Remus was hyperventilating. If he walked just three meters forward, he would have only a sheet of blood red separating him from hundreds of little arseholes.
"Oh, fucking shit, I can't even with this right now. Fuck. God, what the fuck? This is the last fucking play-"
"Stop saying fuck, Remus! It's my birthday next week and I'm turning seventeen, meaning I'm only sixteen, meaning that I am a ginormous child." Precious hissed. Her hand wandered to her waist where she pulled tight on the strings at the back of her apron; she really did mean business.
"Fuck," he breathed. A pair of fingers snapped in front of him. Wrinkled, old lady fingers.
"Sorry, Miss," he apologised hurriedly to Professor Davies (an English teacher keeping everyone in check) as Sirius had his hands clamped over his mouth to stop himself from bursting out laughing.
Remus reviewed his sentences over in his head, replaying them over and over until they etched themselves permanently on to his brain. The lights dimmed and the chatter faded, which intimately gave him a mini heart attack.
"Remus?" It was Sirius, voice quiet as he stumbled from around the corner where everyone was getting their last minute activities done.
"Hm?"
"You're alright." Soft fingers curled around the fabric of Remus' forearm. Swallowing, he looked down, silently observing the way their skin touched and the sizzling sensation beneath the material on his skin in the very places that Sirius was touching. He said nothing.
"I get fucky uppy vibes from me already, to be entirely honest. But it's okay, it's the usual vibes."
"Fuck off."
And with that, Sirius balled the front of Remus' shirt in his fist and pulled him down, planting a kiss in the corner of his lips.
"I-"
"No, shut up and go."
Remus stumbled over his own two feet.
Letting out a prolonged sigh, Sirius topped his head back on to the wall as he sat atop a stack of crates needed for a scene. His head was naught but a serene lagoon of fanciful deep blue waters and birds shining emerald in the sun, but he can shamefully admit that he nearly fell when he remembered exactly who he was and what his circumstance was.
He, Sirius Black: just... him. He'd crushed on Remus Lupin for almost seven years.
Remus Lupin: a silent perfection of satin sheets as clouds and turquoise dresses as the sky.
And he kissed him.
For the trillionth time it felt, yet still not enough.
When on earth did this happen? And what made him think he deserved it?
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered beneath his breath before turning on his heel to find the rest of his costars wherever they may be.
It was no secret that James Potter had an impossibly short attention span, but something about Nature's Sound in particular entranced him. His eyes wandered over the people on the stage who morphed in to something more. They weren't students nor were they exactly fake either. Instead, they were people in dresses like oceans and voices that break like solemn cello strings, or starched collars spattered with blood. They were a pain so excruciatingly strong as they they screamed words of power and sobbed whispers of misery into an arena of students. Students who, in fact, watched with baited breaths or audible gasps.
Peter giggled as Sirius (or Oliver, as he should be saying) successfully tripped over the leg of a table in quite a realistic way. Apparently, it was the only part of his performance that he was forever hating only because he was scared he was actually going to fall and crush his nose. And his nose simply couldn't be crushed. Peter's heart stuttered to a stop as a girl with glowing skin and bobbed brown hair came strolling on to stage, holding a large crate of books. Peter seemed to perk up at her entrance, the way she beamed and the way her warm eyes seemed to glitter as she gazed vacantly, full of wonder, at her surroundings.
Emmeline Vance. An actress, a curiosity, a butterfly on thin twigs during spring.
Emmeline Vance, the Hufflepuff who had never even looked Peter in the eye.
But it's not like he minded, because he really didn't.
He shook himself out of his head and began to pay attention to the play again.
A certain feeling simmered away in Professor McGonagall's heart as she watched from the box. Oliver Curvestone clasped Noah's shirt in his fist, evident anger burning off of his skin.
She had to blink numerous times before they slipped back into the skin of the boys she had taught for seven long years.
These were two of her students, two of the children she never had, a pair of the ones who had been through too much and the humans she undoubtedly would never forget. She hated to admit it, but she would miss them incredibly so, especially Sirius and his friends' constant remarks of Minnie McGee and Remus' good boy facade that she could see through so easily.
The vague smile that had settled on her lips faded as the air down onstage noticeably changed. It was the library scene, in which love was described with war. It never really occurred to her that Remus could possibly write something so vulnerable and open, merely because he wasn't the type to taint a canvas of his dreams the tones of reality. Noah thudded a royal blue book close.
Sometimes, unbeknownst to the world, Remus had things sheltered within his being, things that were written in ink but stowed away: too much of himself was in every word and he feared that maybe, just maybe, no one would handle it well. The mind he called his own could be so messy at times, so unorganised and so detailed. It scared even him, because the things that lurked within were the very things he feared to say aloud. In fact, he hated to even admit he had certain memories. But it's okay, Remus smiles through it all, because things are changing and suddenly, the words fall from his lips like blossoms during spring.
"Noah? You think I'm in love with him?"
Oliver's voice was unsettlingly gentle, perhaps possibly able to be compared to rosebuds on vivid green hedges, a pair of silver shears just centimetres away, yet still not close enough.
Maid Niamh giggled but something about the way she moved oozed spitefulness.
"Your attempts at trying to camouflage your deep desires for that - for that boy are hollow. Even the other maids have seen it, especially Catty, and we're starting to suspect your father knows too." She sounded sickly sweet.
"What do you know anyway? I couldn't care less about what you think. You've always been the gossiping type. Tasteless." Oliver had snapped, usual careful and thoughtful demeanour coming loose. He showed the recklessness beneath the peace and a part of that was so chilling. Throwing down loose sheets of music, he glared at her and dismissed her from the living room. She ran backstage.
To stop the world would be the greatest power of all, don't you agree? To truly obtain such control over an eternal something that so commonly tore down lives. For time is but a beat within a moment, so easily overlooked occasionally, but insanely powerful.
Funny, that, isn't it?
Remus breathed a heavy sigh of mixed emotions, all these thoughts rushing through his head as beads of sweat settled on the back of his neck. The theatre rang with claps and cheers and wolf whistled and simply all the good things, but they sounded underwater. It was over. Finished. It didn't feel right. He didn't have enough time, he didn't savour it, he didn't do it as well as he should've but... but it was over. The last play signed off with the distinguishable signature of Remus Lupin had been performed. This was it.
He could've cried, honestly. His heart rang with the symphonies of yesterday, crackled with its sobs and dripped with dark and thick blood that had been spilt throughout the years. But he dare say it was worth it.
Every face amongst the crowd seemed positively blurred around the edges, but their eyes shone like lamps on cold dreary London nights. Features of youth beamed from the red and gold glow of the arena and it was almost a choking view. They all looked so happy.
And in a sense, Remus was too, as was Sirius, as was Jackson Perez, as was Georgia Cloren, as was Alicia Boot, but in a way, their insides twisted and turned in the most strangely displeasing way.
"Remus, Remus, Remus, Remus, Remus!" someone called as said boy was toeing the soles of his shoes absentmindedly.
Olive Hadi was still dressed in in the soft and muted attire of the librarian, with large circular glasses settled on their nose in a fashion they deemed quite cute in fact.
"Yes?"
"We're all going out for a meal at the Broomsticks. Please come? I know you say it's not you're style, but it's the last ever-"
"Okay."
"I'll repay you in an abundance of ch- pardon, what? Really? Oh, I could kiss you!"
"I'm gay."
"I noticed. I'll get Sirius to kiss you!" They offered, winking. Remus smiled.
How he got in to this place, he wasn't exactly sure, but Sirius had his arms winded around his thingy's neck, head resting on his shoulders as a pair of hands rested loosely over his waist.
"Don't mean to be an emotional arsefuck, but thank you very much," Remus mumbled in to Sirius' hair. One could say they were wedged within a hollow pillar backstage, roughly about an hour and a half after their play, but I suppose that's the boring answer. I'd say it's more like entwined flower stems, bonded forever in some way, inside a brick confinement, wouldn't you agree?
"My hair can't hear you."
"The nits can, though."
Sirius shoved him hard, though the etchings of a smile plastered itself across his lips.
"Go back to thanking me - thanking me?" Sirius just realised what Remus had initially said. "What the fuck have I done?"
"Not much, just thawed layers of poisonous ice that had frosted over the sharp edges of my skin. For the insatiable longing of complete appreciation and benignity my past self had, I, in my present form, thank you. Is that good enough for you?" Remus' tone changed drastically towards the ending, bounding out of sincere elegance and in to his usual Welsh cadence.
"I feel like you forget that I literally fanboyed over you for six and half years, you bitch ass hoe. And now I can literally kiss your cheeks and you let me. You've got cute cheeks too. Irresistible."
Remus didn't say anything for a moment after that. Sirius' forehead still rested on his shoulder, the hair on his head tickling the flesh of his neck. It was a tight squeeze in the confines of that godawful pillar with cables of all colours running down it, but some part of him was glad that this, of all places, was where Sirius had pulled him in to. It felt right.
"My mum told me once, when I was thirteen, that one day I'd find someone who made me see the world differently," Remus began. He held his breath and continued.
"She said it'd be someone who 'clouded my surroundings in yellow sea mist when it got ugly' and 'someone who shared gentle words with me, even if it was out of character for them' and - and you know what, I think she was right. I love how she never used she, I loved the way the spoke, I love the way she was correct. Think you and her could've possibly gotten along in a past life, really."
Sirius chuckled, though the blessed sound was muffled.
"She sounds like an angel though," said Sirius, pulling away and looking up at Remus with rich eyes.
"I think you rank on similar level."
"I could be your angel boy," Sirius teased, winking saucily.
"I've been thinking about it, really. And sure, why not? Wanna be my angel boy?"
Turns out this was what he meant when blathering about wording his question is a more respectable manner.
Remus bit down hard on his lip, heart accelerating more than he'd like to admit. He looked at Sirius for a moment, before tearing away from his intense stare. Warm beams of yellow from the misty spotlights had shone against the paleness of his complexion, fragmenting it like cracked glass beneath the burn of sunlight, yet he radiated such potency, such strength, that it wrapped Remus up in its arms so he could breathe at last. Swallowing down great gulps of air had never felt so refreshing.
Sirius' mind lingered on the word my. Remus had said it with a slight hum of humour, but it still sounded so pretty on his honey-coated tongue.
"Yours?"
"Mine," whispered Remus, his voice small as the room expanded in to a soft cavern of saccharinity.
"Yeah, okay," Sirius accepted, voice similar in volume, but extraordinarily sweeter. His heart danced.
"Okay?"
"Why the fuck not? I'm cute, you're cute, we have bomb personalities." Apparently, Sirius' reasoning was almost enough to make Remus doubt his question.
But he knew he was too far gone for that to happen now.
"I think I could possibly fall in love with you, without being too forward."
Sirius' whole air changed. It became more earthly, more human. Snapshots of the night those weeks ago, where Remus had uttered the words about love's demise, were playing in repeat in his mind.
"So love exists?"
"I-I think it does."
Sirius beamed, and Remus found himself beaming back, heart swelling with a mellow yellow.
Things were going to be okay, Remus thought, even as Lily Evans bounded in to the room with infamous black sunglasses, but this time paired with a similar dressed James Potter.
so this is like three weeks late?? i am the suckiest person alive, i know lol.
i seriously can't believe this book is over. i don't want to sound stupid, but i genuinely believe writing this has taught me so many lessons. i'm so glad that i've had the opportunity to write something like this and you know, **stick** with it. i've loved this book thoroughly, and i've loved the comments and the votes, and the people who reached out and said they enjoyed it. special thank you to those people: you kept me going. i've definitely thought about this book a lot more than is probably healthy, and there's some things, some sentences i've written, that have actual meaning. i'm pretty goddamn proud of those sentences :)
although this is the last chapter, i will be posting a bonus chapter which i have already made a start on!! stay tuned for that!!
for my next book, i'd really appreciate it if you checked it out. i'm not sure when it'll be posted lmao, but it's mainly focused on art, and a few coffee shop scenarios, but i don't think it'll be a genuine coffee shop au. well, i'm not really sure i suck balls at planning-
so yes, thank you so much for reading wonderland. you've added joy to my days and just... yeah, thank you. i love you.
see you next millennium