the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 82: Everything, or Not At All

I'm the guy in the sky,
Flying high, flashing eyes;
No surprise I told lies,
I'm the punk in the gutter;
I'm the new president,
And I grew and I bent,
Don't you know, don't it show?
I'm the punk with the stutter...

- "The Punk and the Godfather" The Who, 1973

Tuesday 6th December 1977

They say it's easy to become relaxed when one was in love, but whoever 'they' was must've been smoking some real strong shit. After two years Remus had grown used to life's little derailments such as fad gossip or the occasional detention, but he'd never truly been relaxed. He'd still had the same trouble sleeping as anywhere else, still lost out to his emotions during those terrible, high-tension moments, and was still carrying secrets on his back as though he were Atlas trying to hold up the sky.

Still, Sirius made things easier. Sirius had more of him than anyone else. He made Remus feel safe, even if there was hardly ever a calm moment between them. Most of the time loving Sirius felt like running headlong toward a brick wall; every shred of you screaming to stop, to pull back, but you can't because you've already committed. And then just when you're expecting to crash—expecting to shatter every goddamn bone in your body—you haven't. You've made it through, there wasn't even a wall at all. It was a door. A magic door.

Yeah.

Loving Sirius Black was like magic. He was made of it. Perhaps that was the scariest part; Remus Lupin was not made of magic. He was made of resentment, of poor decisions. By the grace of a mother and father, he'd been made out of unlove, and now that he knew the difference, it was getting harder to ignore.

I should tell him, he thought, whenever the thoughts and memories began to seep back in. We could understand each other even better then. And he wouldn't give a shit. It's only me who cares.

Maybe, the voice said; But what about after?

What do you mean, after?

Don't play thick. After. When he realises it isn't worth it. When your friends find someone better. When they all get tired of you.

Sirius isn't like that.

Oh, yes he is. One day he's going to get tired of you, and when he does, he'll leave and take every last bit of you with him. What will you be then?

Those were the worst thoughts. Born of guilt and agitation and quiet. Of the idea that Sirius was anything like all the others that had given up on him. I should tell him, I should tell him—he'd regret the cowardice later. Back then it'd felt like handing Sirius a burden that wasn't his to bear, but that was the brilliant thing about burdens; the more hands to carry it, the lighter it became.

That afternoon, Remus had tucked himself next to Sirius' bed with a book in his lap. It was just the two of them, they being the only ones without an exam that day, and Remus had long since called it quits on any and all revision. He'd resolved that if he didn't know it already, he wasn't going to know it at all, and he'd rather sit with the stereo on, enjoying himself, than slave over an exam that wasn't going to matter much in the long run. A quick turn of the head found Sirius lounged out on his bed behind him with a copy of Peter's father's paper open on the covers, one of Lily's red revision pens sticking out of the corner of his mouth. The little thief.

"What's that?"

Sirius' head shot up, pen falling from between his teeth. "Huh?"

"That." Remus pointed. He'd spotted what appeared to be a letter, open overtop of the newspaper. It had some sort of fancy crest at the top, but Sirius pulled it back before he could get a decent look.