the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 107: Son

Down at the Astoria the scene was changing,
Bingo and rock were pushing out x-rating;
We were the first band to vomit in the bar,
And find the distance to the stage too far;

Meanwhile it's getting late at ten o'clock,
Rock is dead they say—
Long live rock!

- "Long Live Rock" The Who, 1974

Friday June 22nd 1979

"Moony! Oi, Moony...? Hell, you even up there?"

Remus grunted back;

"Be down in a sec."

There was no need. Sirius came swinging around the bedroom doorway a second later, looking rather outrageous in a velvet-collared frock coat. Seeing him, Remus chuffed lightly.

"You know, most people wait until they've gotten a couple albums out before they start dressing like a gender-queer pirate."

"Is that so? Well, then I feel the need to inform you that most people also wait until their late sixties to start wearing those jumpers with the patches 'round the elbows."

Remus looked down at himself. "Lily said it looked smart. For the party."

"You can take advice from Evans on many things," Sirius sighed, "but fashion is not one of them."

Because he couldn't be bothered, Remus returned his gaze to what he'd been looking at, while Sirius flounced further into the room. "Are you coming then?" He asked, busy fiddling with the cuffs. "Effie's gonna have our necks if we're late to our own going away party."

"Yeah, m'coming..."

Sirius turned his nose up, curious. "Go on then. What's it you're looking at?"

There was no need to feel shy. It was only Sirius.

Remus held out the photograph. It was the same one Sandra had given him at the start of last summer; the black and white picture of himself and Hope sitting together on the estate's parlour floor. The memory had been standing idle on the top of their wardrobe for months now, and Remus had never paid it much attention. Like the old white trunk he'd hauled to school every year, it was enough to just have her nearby. Now that they were going away, his mind had begun to wander.

"I get nervous when you act sentimental," Sirius said. "Usually it means you've done something wrong."

"That is a gross exaggeration."

The corners of Sirius' mouth quirked up and he came to sit next to Remus on their bed. Without asking, he draped both legs over Remus' lap, sitting upright so that he could meticulously pick a finger through the curls in Remus' fringe.

"It's a good photo," he hummed, peering down at it kindly. "Your mum was proper lush, yeah?"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"That's my mum."

"Yeah? Well, I'd have still chatted her up. Bet Potter would too... If she were ginger, that is."

Remus turned to him, nose scrunched. "That's enough out of you."

"Shut me up for real then."

Remus didn't need to. Before he could say anything else, Sirius was leaning in to kiss him. It lasted a good while, with Sirius' hands clasped tightly around the sides of his neck, fingers tangled in that silver chain. It was ironic; in every other sense Sirius was electric. He could light up a room with less than a smile—shock you like the unexpected flash of lightning—and yet most of the time, it felt like he was the only thing keeping Remus grounded on earth. He was that rod that kept the rest of him from just... burning up. If it weren't for Sirius, Remus Lupin would've gone up in smoke ages ago. There'd be nothing left save for maybe a few scorch marks on a chair.