𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 ─ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴀᴜᴅᴇʀs ☆

vi - sirius non amat remus, et est bene.

Remus had spent the past few days wrapped up in the pages of a book, content with the simple, quiet solitude of his room. The world outside seemed distant, its noise and chaos muffled by the comforting stillness of his small apartment. He had purposefully thrown himself into the story—an old classic he'd read a dozen times before—but the familiarity of the words offered a kind of solace, a refuge from his own tangled thoughts. 

In truth, the book was nothing more than a distraction. A way to keep his mind occupied, to shield himself from the persistent and painful reality that had begun to settle in his chest in recent weeks. He had been avoiding it as best he could, burying the feelings deep inside, pretending that they didn't exist. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many pages he turned, he couldn't escape the truth: he was in love with Sirius.

It wasn't an easy thing to admit to himself, not that he had even spoken the words aloud to anyone. The idea of confessing to Sirius, of shattering the friendship they'd built over the years, terrified him. What if it was all too much? What if the things he felt weren't returned? What if everything between them changed? He couldn't bear the thought of losing him, and yet, every time he found himself in Sirius's presence, the ache in his chest grew.

Sirius was everything Remus wasn't—confident, charming, always surrounded by people, always the center of attention. Remus, on the other hand, was loud, and rude, a natural observer, content to stay awake until late just to finish a book. Sirius didn't need someone like him. Remus had known this from the beginning, but it didn't stop the way his heart fluttered every time their eyes met or the way his chest tightened when Sirius would throw him one of those spontaneous, radiant smiles.

And yet, he told himself, it was fine. He could push those thoughts away. He was fine. He wasn't going to lose himself to them.

So, he read. And read. The words blurred together, and despite his best efforts, his mind drifted back to Sirius. He could picture him now—leaning against the kitchen counter, casually flipping through some magazine, that mischievous glint in his eyes as he made a joke that was sure to make everyone laugh. Remus could hear the sound of that laughter in his head, deep and rich and infectious. He had heard it so many times, and each time, it tore at him just a little bit more.

He should just tell him, right? Remus found himself wondering. But what if it ruined everything? What if Sirius didn't feel the same way? Worse, what if it made things awkward between them? The thought of losing him entirely, of drifting apart because of something that wasn't even real—just a fleeting crush—was unbearable.

And so he avoided it, buried the feelings deep within himself, locked them away behind a smile and a carefully constructed wall of indifference. He spent the days hiding behind books, filling the silence with the comfort of stories that weren't his own. At least, in a book, the love was always reciprocated. In a book, there were happy endings, and Remus would always get to close the cover when he needed a break from the pain.

But despite all his attempts to stay distracted, there was a constant undercurrent in his mind, a nagging reminder that his feelings for Sirius weren't going away, no matter how many books he read or how many times he tried to ignore them. The world had a way of reminding him of its truths, especially when he least expected it.

And so he continued, day after day, trying to find solace in the quiet, in the pages, while secretly wishing, deep down, that there might one day be a different kind of ending—one where the love was returned, and he didn't have to carry it alone anymore.

But that wasn't happening soon, as long as all the girls sirius had were throwing themselves at him.