Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Ready or Not

"If we wait until we are ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives."

-via Lemony Snicket, The Ersatz Elevator

Edit Complete as of March 17, 2022; details at the end

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Hogwarts, September 1974

"Remus, not speaking to me isn't going to solve our problem," Sirius said, upset that his friend hadn't said anything by their second night in detention. Sirius' words did little to break the stretched and uneasy silence that swallowed the corridor, which aggravated him.

Remus wished he could focalize his anger; he wanted to channel it, to indulge in the vicious spite that surged with every furtive glance and sustained stare Sirius supplied. He wanted the blood coursing through his veins to boil, searing him from head to toe.

Sirius fucking deserved it—deserved every ignored remark, every surrendered challenge to maintain eye contact, each avoided brush or embrace. There were many things Remus was, but he wasn't a punching bag.

It was laughable. All those years, and still didn't have the basics of Sirius down. Remus resisted learning more at times. Sure, it consoled him knowing that none of this was on purpose or with ill-intent; nevertheless, the tree remembers the ax.

If only Remus could grow a pair and stand up for himself. Sirius could plow him with a Goddamn pickup truck for all Remus gave a shit, and a shred of forgiveness would forever remain.

"What do I need to do for you to forgive me," Sirius said, abandoning his chores and looking at Remus.

Across his face, a strand of black hair fell, obscuring his left eye. There was an intense craving to reach out, to bridge the space between them, and to deny his brain the gratification of suppressing the burning sensation in his gut. It would be so simple, he reasoned, and Sirius' ramblings dulled his head sufficiently to allow him to succumb to these tantalizing promises. Because of their tasks, Sirius' skin was warm and glossy with perspiration; Remus' fingers ghosted the slope of Sirius' jaw, rising higher and grazing his hairline with fingertips. With feather-like grace, Remus tucked the tendrils behind Sirius' reddening ears.

"Sorry," Remus muttered, unable to return his attention.

Sirius hid from Remus' intense gaze, ducking before the prominent tinge of red across his nose became noticeable.

This dance—the intricate web they spun to keep each other at bay— was absurd. Remus was like putty in this boy's hands, yet there wasn't any inclination to stop. He assumed it was because he was reliant on Sirius, and he found it easy to accept this fact. It was glaringly apparent. Sirius' itinerary might have been tattooed on his hand if he'd been lonely; he memorized the tiniest minutiae of each day. If he was bored, he might go to Sirius for some convenient amusement, such as a fair chess game or a tough wrestling bout. If he'd been down, leave it to Sirius to pull something out of his sleeve to keep him calm.

It had been that way for years, and Remus wasn't sure he wanted things to be any other way. Although Sirius had temper tantrums and mood swings, as well as lash outs at Remus, Sirius made him feel at ease. They managed to appreciate each other on a level that few others could fathom. It was rather remarkable to see just how much of a part of him Sirius had become over time. It had been more than just a friendship; it had been a relationship. Remus couldn't seem to break free from a long-standing tie.

"I would've taken the blame for it," Sirius continued his chatter, stuttering, albeit. Their eyes avoided each other.

They quickly slipped back into their comfortable one-sided discussion, their earlier misdeeds neglected. During Sirius's ramblings about the unfairness of their detention sentence and how needless the quiet had been, Remus reflected on the marvels they had devised for their relationship. He smirked to himself, reminded of their first train ride together.