Chapter Text
“He’s not coming back, James.”
“But Padfoot—”
“No.”
“Sirius, if you two just tal—”
“No. No, and no. He’s not coming back.”
Deep down, he thought he was.
But he never did.
***
Sirius Black is not the brightest person.
Well, perhaps he is being too hard on himself. Perhaps he’s being too humble.
He looks over to the mass of blonde hair laying on the pillow beside him.
Yeah, maybe sleeping with your next-door neighbour after getting wine drunk out of his mind because—hypothetically—his laptop claimed to be out of storage and he had to go over all his stuff. Deleting, deleting, keeping, deleting. And, maybe—not that it happened—but maybe he stumbled across... pictures. And other pictures. And some others. Aaand a couple others. Maybe that wasn't the smartest decision he has ever made.
Caradoc grumbles in his sleep beside him.
Yup, not the brightest person at all. Definitely not.
And maybe not the most responsible, either, being that his phone has been vibrating for the past half hour and he hasn’t even bothered to grab it from his nightstand. Probably Marlene texting him about the amazing hookup she had last night, like she always did.
He wishes he could say the same.
And then it starts ringing. He ignores it. And rings again. Nope. Ringing again. What the fuck does Marlene want?! It’s probably, like, seven in the morning. Leave me alone in this misery.
And it rings again.
Fucking Christ.
PRONGS, it says. Hmph. 9:23AM, it says. Hmph, indeed.
“Hey.”
“Where the fuck are you?!” James demands.
“In... bed?” he says, frowning a bit in bemusement. “It’s not even ten in a Saturday morning.”
“Yes. And your flight is at eleven, you idiot.”
He sits up at the second. “What?!”
“Your flight. That you’re taking. This morning. In an hour.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Oh my fucking god.”
“Tell me you didn’t forget,” James says. Sirius could practically hear him sliding his glasses up his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sirius scoffs, already drawing his legs out of bed. The moment his feet hit the floor, all his insides churned. So much for buying all types of expensive wines when he still drinks the same £1.75 one from Tesco. Yes, £1.75. Leave him alone. “Of course I didn’t forget! I was just... confused for a mere second.”
Silence.
And then, “Who’s on your bed right now?”
“My neighbour.”
“Across or down the hall?”
“Across.”
“Figured.”
Sirius almost laughs. Maybe he would’ve if he wasn’t too preoccupied with being late to the airport, hungover, with someone to kick out— packing. Holy fucking shit, packing.
“I packed for you on Thursday,” James tells through the phone, reading his mind. “The luggage is inside your closet, just pack a backpack. I trust you can do that in less than fifteen minutes?”
Sirius sighs with relief, almost crying with thankfulness for his best friend. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. I’m down here. Just come already.”
Clicks off the phone. Runs a hand through his hair. It feels frizzy, and messy, and full of knots, and he doesn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror.
He practically jumps inside the pair of black jeans and black t-shirt that were scattered on the ground from the previous night, and heads to the bathroom.
What. The. Fuck.
And he won’t even have time to shower.
If God actually exists like Mother used to claim so much, he definitely has his favourites. Sirius is not one of them.
He grabs all his cosmetics, that thank fuck were already in the bag he always keeps in his bathroom, so he didn’t have to organize anything. Grabs his laptop, chargers, wallet, his dignity, and shoves everything inside his backpack.
Puts on the same old black pair of black Vans, grabs his leather jacket, and heads to the door.
And he forgot there was someone sleeping on his fucking bed, yes. Someone who hasn’t moved a muscle throughout all this chaos.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s not gonna bother waking the bloke up. He grabs a notepad on his kitchen counter.
Had to leave. I have a flight to catch LOL. Eat something if you’d like, though there’s not much I reckon. You can use the loo, too. You’ve been here before, you know where everything is. Just don’t steal anything. Pretty please. Cheers.
(Please leave the key under the mat.) (For god ’s sake don’t throw a party while I’m away.)
– Sirius.
And leaves.
“What train ran over you?” James asks teasingly once Sirius steps on the sidewalk, but when Sirius raises an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes, “Forget I asked.”
He climbs inside the passenger seat of James’ BMW. “Let’s hit the road, babe!”
“Funny,” James says, starting the car, not laughing a single bit.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“I’ve been here for over an hour waiting for you like a bloody chauffeur.”
“You were the one who volunteered to take me to the airport,” Sirius says. “I could’ve just gone on my bike.”
“And just leave it on the parking lot for two weeks?” James raises an eyebrow.
Sirius shrugs. “Could’ve gotten a taxi.”
James looks over at him, his smile forming dimples. “But I’m a good friend.”
Sirius grins. “You sure are, Prongsie.”
James sighs, returning his eyes to the road. “A good friend that will be killed by his fiancée if he gets a ticket.”
He tuts, “Lilibeth won’t kill you. This is an emergency.”
“Caused by your lack of responsibility.”
“You’re such a dad already.”
James points a stern finger at him, while still not taking his eyes off the road before him, and switches his voice into a very earnest one. “You are in great trouble, mister.”
Sirius squints, a smirk already blooming on his lips. “Eh, you’ll have to leave the scolding to Lily.”
James snorts, and they remain in silence. Sirius hates silence when driving.
He pulls out the AUX cord, and plugs his phone in.
“Nothing too punk rock,” James warns. “Really not in the mood.”
“I’m not playing Katy Perry.”
“Phoebe Bridgers?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
James grunts, and sighs. “Fine. But nothing too punk rock.”
“Yes, dad.”
He decides to just shuffle through his songs. To James’ luck, Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears For Fears plays through the car’s speakers.
And James grins that cat-who-just-got-the-cream grin, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, singing incredibly out of tune, word for word.
Sirius glances at the time on his phone. 9:57AM.
“James, bloody floor this bitch, I won’t get there in time.”
And he does, and they’re practically flying through the cars, so much that Sirius has to hold onto his seat while James mumbles, “Lily’s gonna kill me, Lily’s gonna kill me,” under his breath.
“How’s Pete?” he asks after a couple minutes once they got used to the speed, and Planet Telex by Radiohead is playing. Sirius remembers not liking Radiohead, even when he was first introduced to it. But then it grew on him, throughout the years. Well, maybe it wasn’t specifically the band that had grown on him. Maybe he just liked the smile that he saw every time he played their music.
He almost changes the song.
“He’s good,” James answers. “Came over last night. Wants to adopt another cat.”
Sirius chuckles. “Does he?”
“Yup. You know how he is. If he could, he would have a whole bloody zoo inside his flat. Never seen someone love animals as much as he does.”
“Sweet thing. He really would.”
Sirius pulls out his phone, which was buzzing inside his pocket.
Texts from Marlene.
Marlene: good morning pumpkin
Marlene: had great sex last night
Marlene: thought i’d let you know
Sirius: thanks for the info, cherry pie
Marlene: are u at the airport yet? u should be boarding soon right
Sirius: uh...
Marlene: jesus christ you’re so irresponsible
Sirius: james already had his go at me for that, thanks
Marlene: always knew potter had at least one decent brain cell
Marlene: text me when you land
Sirius: awww she careees
Marlene: fuck off
Marlene: xx
“Oh no, not a fucking twenty-three minute song,” James complains. Sirius clicks his phone off, sliding it back inside his pocket and glancing up at the car’s display. He goes cold. Echoes, by Pink Floyd.
He loved Pink Floyd. Sirius has been avoiding Pink Floyd songs for the past five years for that same reason.
“Put another one,” James says. “We’re almost there anyway.”
Sirius immediately does. It would be my pleasure.
He needs to do a good cleansing through his songs on Spotify.
Sometimes he would allow himself to listen to his favourites songs. He never told anyone, not even James, not even Marlene. They would find him pathetic. Maybe he was a bit pathetic.
They all had already got over his leaving. It’s been five years, after all. And Sirius did too, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes—and only sometimes, when he was looking through old pictures on his laptop, for example—his chest would hurt, and his stomach would go hollow, as if his bags had just passed through the doorway, and he had just shut the door after him.
Yes, maybe he really was a bit pathetic.
You Only Live Once by The Strokes played next, and he breathes a long, and deep breath.
They were almost at Heathrow Airport, and he would get to spend two weeks with his uncle in New York. He would be fine. He’s been fine.
The clock marks 10:27 when James parks the car. They get his luggage out of the trunk, hug goodbye, Sirius promises to call and text and let James know when he lands. And then he runs. He runs like he’s never run in his entire life, because fucking Christ why is the terminal at the other fucking side of the airport.
“This is the last call for Flight 143, destining to JFK, New York City.”
Fucking hell. He is still going through security.
And he runs. And runs more. He really should start working out.
He reaches the gate. But they’re closing it.
“Please, please, just let me in,” he begs the attendant.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the we can’t let anyone else in anymore.”
“Please. My uncle is sick. I have to visit him. I can’t miss it. This might be my last opportunity to see him.” Pfft. Liar. Alphard has never been so healthy.
But.
“Sir, I really can't—”
“Please.”
The attendant analyses him, and he tucks his hair behind his ear, flashes her a coy smile. He knows he's charming, and he knows she'll give in.
Sirius Black has learned very early on how he can get anything he wants by a bat of eyelashes.
And she sighs, opening the door. “Ok. Ok, just let me see your ticket.”
And he’s in. He’s in. Jesus Christ, he’s in.
He hopes Alphard doesn’t suddenly get sick now. That would be funny, at the very least.
The airplane is full. Exploding. Could not take another person. As soon as he steps inside the craft, he can already hear two babies crying. Two. Jesus Christ.
Ok. Seat 22D. Window. The seat is at the back of the plane, which he loathes, because it’s where you feel the turbulence the most, but at least he has the window.
There are still a few people in the aisle, settling into their seats and arranging their luggages in the overhead compartment.
It seems to take him forever to get to his seat, making his way through, “Sorry,” “Excuse me,” and “Can you, please— thank you.”
As he gets to his seat, he can see someone is sitting at it. Great. They probably thought it was empty, and claimed it for themself. He already prepared himself for the awkward, “Uh, this is my seat,” and the rather embarrassing shuffling in the aisle.
The Seat-Claimer is bent over, their head hidden between seat 21D and their legs. Probably getting something in their back, Sirius figures. And well, while that takes place, he settles for getting his backpack inside the locker overhead. That’ll be easier.
And the compartment is full. Wonderful. Just marvellous. So he shifts, shuffles, arranges stranger’s luggages and bags around. Come on, there’s no way there isn’t a place for a fucking backpack. It’s not even that big.
From the corner of his eye, he can see the Seat-Claimer has sat up straighter. It seems to be a guy.
Shuffling, tottering, rearranging—
“Sirius?”
His heart stopped. Everything stopped. Because he knows that voice. He would recognize it anywhere.
It all happens too fast, and his head snaps at his direction, his eyes bulge out, and— “Remus?” He bangs his forehead against the compartment.
This is not happening. It’s a dream. Hah, hah. What did he drink last night? Did he just drink? He must be hallucinating. There’s no possible way.
But suddenly there is, because Remus fucking Lupin, bloody Seat-Claimer is now standing up, hunched down in the low height of the row’s ceiling.
And, fuck, his forehead hurts. And he looks like an absolute mess. He didn’t even shower. And Remus Lupin. And Remus Lupin. And Remus, Remus, Remus, and Moony.
Moony.
Oh god, he’s gonna pass out.
“Sirius.”
Yup, he’s absolutely gonna pass out. Maybe when he wakes up he won’t be there anymore. Should he try it? Maybe he could just fake it. Fake it ‘til you make it, isn’t that what they say? Does it work when you want—when you need—to pass out? There must be a way—
“Sirius, are you ok?”
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to, please, take your seat.”
Oh, ok, there’s suddenly a flight attendant here too. Ok. No, ok, fine. Hah, hah.
Seat.
“You’re on my seat,” he croaks out, much higher than he had intended to.
“What?”
“My seat. I’m on 22D.” He pulls out his ticket—like a fucking idiot—and points to where “22D” is written.
Remus blinks, and confusion takes over his face, but only for a quick moment, and then he blinks again, “Oh. Oh, y-yeah, right.”
Awkward shuffling. With Remus Lupin.
God doesn’t exist, Mother. This is the proof.
Yeah.
And what now? He should, what, just sit? He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back inside the airport, apologize profusely to the attendant who let him in the flight, “I’m so sorry. You should’ve made me lose the flight. My uncle is not even sick! He’s not dying! I’m sorry. Can you open the gates again?”
But he sits. He slumps pathetically down on the seat. And he doesn’t know what to do with himself. And Remus is still standing in the aisle, looking down at him.
He’s not gonna look up at him, he’s not gonna look up at him, he’s gonna look up at h— he looks up at him.
God. He hasn’t changed a single bit, now has he.
Sirius Black met Remus Lupin when they were eleven years old. At first, Remus Lupin was awkward waves, and flushed cheeks and short words. And then, one time Sirius Black told him a joke — the silliest of all. An eleven year-old boy joke. And Remus Lupin laughed an eleven year-old boy laugh. And he laughed, and he laughed more, and Sirius Black couldn’t understand what was so funny. I mean, he thought the joke was funny, but not that funny. And Remus Lupin turned into big smiles and twinkling eyes. He never lost the flushed cheeks, though.
And Sirius Black had decided, right there and then, he wanted to give him the sun— no, no, not the sun. The moon. The sun was too boring. Unoriginal. Everyone wanted the sun.
But Remus Lupin deserved the moon. And Sirius Black was determined to give it to him. For fuck’s sake, he would’ve climbed up to the fucking sky and grabbed the moon himself.
Because there was always something about Remus Lupin that reminded Sirius Black of the moon. How it hung differently from the sky every night. How it was the most beautiful at the latest of the night, without the pollution of window lights, when all bodies were asleep. No one would really get to see the moon shine the entire night. Few cared enough. Though, as for Sirius Black, he would’ve stayed awake. Sleep be damned. He wanted to stare at the moon. He wanted to stare at his Moony.
Sirius Black was supposed to be the stars—Canis Major, the Dog Star. But Remus Lupin had given him the sun, too. The sun shone through him, inside of him, since he were eleven years old.
Remus blinks, as if he has finally woken up, and mumbles a, “yeah,” taking his seat.
Why are the rows so fucking narrow? An inch, and they would be touching. Perhaps touching Remus Lupin would burn, or electrify you. Sirius doesn’t know if he’d mind.
Sirius fastens his seatbelt, but he doesn’t think it’s only for the flight.