Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

M/M

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin
Sirius Black
James Potter
Lily Evans Potter
Frank Longbottom
Alice Longbottom
Marlene McKinnon

roadtrip au
idiots to lovers
rot your teeth fluff
smoking weed
A lot it was the 70s
Drug Use
Period-Typical Homophobia
Violence
mentions of abuse
Tight pants and bell bottoms
Sirius drives a ‘74 ford 100 and it's black (duh)
General dudes being bros but they both wanna kiss so bad
Fighting
Everyone gets a good punch to the face at some point in life
relentless pining
Mental Health Issues
the one bed trope in all it's glory
Masturbation in Shower
and a kiss on the nose
Angst
Mind/Mood Altering Substances
LSD
Gambling
Las Vegas Wedding
nsfw under the influence
But everyone is consenting
Top Remus Lupin
Bottom Sirius Black
Panic Attacks
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Remus will knock ya lights out
:
 the cherry pop rocks incident of 1978
Blood Kink
Shotgunning
a whole lot of self loathing
Hand Jobs
Spit Kink
disco disco ABBA!!
Dirty Talk
mentions of absue
Anal Sex
Anal Fingering
Choking
Blow Jobs
Shower Sex
Explicit Sexual Content
and now they’re fuckin in the bathroom
inappropriate use of mouthwash
(gross)
truckin n fuckin
HEA LIKE SO HEA PROMISE U
English God_teir , The Mars , peachyunies tbr

A Black Mass Over Highway Ninety

greenvlvetcouch

Summary:

Remus loves Sirius, and Sirius loves Remus.

That’s just the way it is—call it a law of the universe or just the way the world works—but after four
years away, Remus gets a call from Sirius asking him if he remembers a promise they made freshman year.
And, of course, Remus remembers. How could he not?
Something like a love story from the summer of 1978, full of Southern Cuts and Old Style, shitty
motel rooms, and questionable decisions. Poor excuse for poetry and late night dancing, a trip to Vegas, and
one too many honeymoon suites.

Cherry pop rocks, too-tight pants, and a road trip across the U.S.

Notes:

The time has come—my magnum opus of idiots in love and the idealistic nature of being young, love-
struck, and so startlingly alive.
A few things about the story itself:
★ I tried to be as era-accurate as possible, but it’s also fiction, and I shall do with it as I please. A lot
of research and time went into making what could be accurate, accurate.
★ There are a lot of songs shoved into this fic. You don’t have to listen to them, but I promise it
:
makes it better.
CONTENT WARNINGS & SUCH:
★ It’s the 70s, everyone's smoking weed like its fucking oxygen, and they need it to live. Beers are
drunk, drugs are taken (and those questionable decisions come into play.)
★ Cursing, I suppose. There’s a lot of ‘shits’ ‘fucks’ and general sacrilege comparing Robert Plant to
God going on in this fic.
★ Drinking (heavy drinking in some parts) and extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms are
mentioned in passing and practiced.
★ A big ‘ole heaping pile of trauma from both parties.
NOTE: please do not put black mass on good reads, storygraph, or any similar sites. i will report and
have any removed that are uploaded. this is my hobby, something i do for fun. i have no issues with reviews
being made on instagram, twitter, tumblr, etc. but please keep it within our little fandom bubble.
EDITING/BINDING: i am currently making my way through fixing a handful of grammar/writing
errors in the first few of chapters, and am working on the epilogue.
i will update this/post on my socials when the editing is complete.
that being said, it is up to you if you are looking to hand bind black mass, if you’d like to wait for the
epilogue to be done so it can be included (i would prefer this, especially if it’s being bound for
commissions.)
i do ask that if you are wanting to bind this fic for commissions to reach out to me via email
(greenvlvetcouch@gmail.com) or my socials (twitter or tumblr is preferred) so i am able to keep track of
who is working on them.
You do not need to reach out if you are binding for personal use/gifts, but none of my work(s) should
be printed on a for-profit site and should always be hand-bound.

Anyway, here’s Black Mass:

(See the end of the work for more notes (http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/111076801#work_endnotes) .)

Chapter 1 (http://archiveofourown.org/works/43038561/chapters/108147531) : I’ll Be A Rock ‘N’ Rollin’

Bitch For You

Summary:

a late night phone call, the prerequisites to falling in love, and a Ford F100.

1 Desolation Row · Bob Dylan

2 Moonage Daydream - 2012 Remaster · David Bowie

3 Wild World · Yusuf / Cat Stevens

A BLACK MASS OVER HIGHWAY NINETY · greenvlvetcouch
EXTRAIT

“Fuck,” Remus cursed under his breath, turning over in bed and rubbing his eye with the palm of his
hand.
Squinting, he sat up. The large window to his right let in enough light from the pulled-back curtains to
illuminate the room. A long dresser sat to his left, sharing a wall with his open bedroom door, a few empty
:
beer cans scattered on top, along with that week’s pile of dirty clothes.
Remus paused once he sat up, his mind trying to gather itself and figure out why he had woken up as the
clock on the bedside table was glaring angry red numbers at him, and he had smoked enough to pass out
earlier than usual the night before.
3:42 AM
It was silent for a moment longer before a ring cut through the air. Sharp and noisy, Remus jumped,
swallowing, before throwing the covers off and trying to make his way to the kitchen.
He stumbled at first, all the blood rushing to his head as he stood, and Remus braced himself on the
wall, kicking away a crumpled can that was sitting in the doorway. His head began to pound as he made it
through the small living room and threw himself down at the counter in the kitchen.
He reached for the phone, pulling it off the hook before his elbow came down on the counter, knocking
over the ashtray sitting on top. It spilled ash and butts on Remus’s lap.
“Fucking hell,” he sighed, adjusting the phone between his ear and shoulder as he wiped off the ash all
over his bare chest and crotch. “Hello?”
It was silent on the other end until the phone picked up noise. Like a whirring, soft, but Remus could tell
someone was on the other end despite them not saying anything. He thought it might be his parents calling
from wherever they were, but the silence stretched on as he grabbed the phone, holding it closer to his ear.
“Hello?”
More silence and no response.
Remus made a face, checking to make sure the call was still connected. More of that whooshing noise
and some static, almost sounding like cars passing by or movement behind whoever was calling. Remus
sighed, a headache forming behind his eyes as he went to rub the back of his neck. “Hel—”
“Moony?”
Remus’s hand stilled.
It had been a long time since he heard that voice—that name. Years and days and minutes and second
had stretched and morphed into a life he had lived since Remus last listened to the voice, yet it was the same
as it had always been.
The voice on the other end had whispered it, but it drew up all sorts of connotations in his mind. Of
being called that name in anger or a laughing tone—hearing the word pushed past giggling lips or lips with
tears falling over them, eyes red and bloodshot to match.
He knew the voice, had heard that name a million times before, and he leaned closer to the phone as he
noticed the tremble of tone. Remus worried his lip between his teeth—something was off.
“Sirius?”
There was a choked laugh that almost sounded like a sob when muffled by the noise in the background.
Another one followed, and a bit of rustling. “It’s me.”
“Where are you?” Remus asked as he stood, stretching and reaching across the island to grab his pack of
smokes. He switched the phone to his other shoulder, grabbed the lighter, and lit a cigarette. “Are you okay?”
Another laugh. “A lot better after hearing your voice. I wasn’t sure you would answ—.”
“No, yeah, I answered. I’m here, but are you oka—”
“Do you remember—” Remus heard Sirius swallow before pausing. “That promise we made each other?
Our freshman year?”
“Of course, yeah.” Remus nodded to himself.
It was silent again, and he heard Sirius sniff. A few long seconds stretched on before he spoke again.
“Do you still want to go?”
“Being an adult means taxes—and buying expensive shit and wearing boring clothes and having kids.”
Sirius made a face, his eyes wide as he pulled the joint away from his lips, his voice going scratchy as he held
the smoke in his lungs. He shook his head. “Sounds like a whole bunch of no fun to me.”
Remus reached out, grabbed the joint from Sirius, and inhaled. Two puffs, then a long drag. Sirius
continued, falling back against the grass and flopping his arms and legs out wide.
“I don’t want a wife—to get married. My mom is a bitch. What if I get stuck with someone like her?”
“Thinking about marrying someone like your mom? That’s weird, Pads.” Remus laughed, taking one
more hit before Sirius brought his hand up limply to take the joint back.
:
 “No, no, no.” He laughed, lulling his head from side to side. “That is weird. No, I just meant—God, it
all sounds so awful. My parents are miserable. I don’t want to be miserable either.”
Remus was quiet as he spoke, taking in the way Sirius’s hair carded through the blades of grass. How
the early morning light was soft, gentle, and always seemed to bring out a different side of Sirius when they
smoked before first period.
“How are we supposed to do this—” Sirius gestured between them. “What if my wife doesn’t like you?”
He handed the joint back to Remus.
“Why would she not like me?” Remus was hurt over the idea of Sirius’s fake and nonexistent wife
disliking him, even though he was only fourteen and had no prospects. He took a drag, coughing through his
following words. “I’m very likable.”
“She probably doesn’t like that I rather spend time with you than her,” Sirius scoffed, shaking his head
as if this was a genuine issue he had to deal with on the daily. He was quiet for a moment, and Remus
watched his brows draw together in thought. Sirius’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he felt that very
familiar feeling of dying a little inside.
Remus went to speak, but Sirius beat him to it, reaching out blindly for the joint again. “What if, after
we graduated, we just went away?”
“Went away?”
“Yeah, like one last hurrah before becoming adults and dealing with my bitch of a wife.”
“I’m sure your wife will be lovely, Pads,” Remus sighed. He was high (really high), and the concept of
Sirius not being there—being with someone else—was actually quite horrible at that moment.
Sirius sat up, face turning serious. He glanced down, noting the small roach in his fingers, and licked
his fingers and burnt it out. “I’m being serious. What if we went on a road trip after we graduated? Just me
and you—anywhere we want to go.”
Remus shrugged. “Sure, I would go. Of course.”
Sirius went to stand, extending a hand to Remus and pulling him up. A signature heart and face-melting
grin spread across his face. “One last adventure before shit hits the fan.”
Remus breathed out, staring down at the cigarette between his fingers. He glanced around the small
house he was currently in, taking in the worn brown drapes and the chipped linoleum floor.
The fluorescent light above the kitchen sink, which was always a pale and sickly yellow color. The small
kitchen table Remus had not eaten breakfast at since he was eight. The worn couch and small television that
no longer worked, but his parents refused to throw away.
He did a double take, though, his eyes catching on the light above the sink, remembering when he and
Sirius were fourteen and had broken it drunk one night and alone and had to fix it before his parents had
come home.
Stumbling, climbing on the counter—falling, giggling, and leaning on each other.
That is why the bulb was that disgusting yellow color.
Remus thought about the night Sirius had come over, solemn with tear-stained cheeks, and they had sat
at the kitchen table in silence before Sirius fell asleep. Remus had carried him to his bed and slept on the
couch that night.
He sighed, a bitter grin spreading across his face as he realized he had no other option.
Sirius Black was a driving force. He always had been, and Remus knew he always would be. There was
no sense in trying to dig your heels in when it came to him. It was much better to follow along.
Not that Remus ever minded. He supposed he would always follow Sirius anywhere.
So the smile lost its bitterness, and a strange blend of emotions swam in his stomach. Tears almost
welled up in his eyes as he responded the same way he had all those years ago.
“Of course.”

March 16th
The shit thing about living in a small town is, for it being so small, it’s incredibly hard to leave.
Maryneal was a town a bit too north and a bit too west from being smack dab in the middle of Texas. It
had a population of less than a hundred, one gas station, one grocery store left, and a sad smattering of houses
scattered around. You could probably drive through the town in almost 10 minutes—the type of town where,
:
if you blinked, you would definitely miss it.
Remus always found it incredibly unfortunate that he had been born there, let alone grow up there or be
anywhere near the town, if he were being honest.
Remus supposed that if you caught him on a bad day, he might wave his hand flippantly and let it burn
to the ground if he had the opportunity. For all that it was, it had first and foremost been a breeding ground
for a sad and lonely childhood and parents who were put out that they lived in such an insignificant place but
refused to move away and vacationed instead.
Leaving their only child, Remus, to a sad and even lonelier childhood than he would have had, anyway.
All that to say, the town was so small. You take two steps out the door or run for a good mile or so, and
you’re already in the next, but it was tough to leave a town boxed in by only a mile or so of farming land and
dry, pale grass.
Remus worked at a small convenience store in Blackwell, which was, give or take, a twenty-minute
drive from home.
It was still a pitiful excuse for a town, but it at least garnered the need for a high school, which is where
Remus had gone for four miserable years.
They also had a few actual restaurants, a couple more gas stations than Maryneal had, and even a
bowling alley which Remus had gone to once and decided he hated bowling and had never been to since.
The only good thing about the place where he lived—the tiny insignificant part of Texas that would
cause those who lived in the larger cities such as Dallas or Austin to say 'where?'—was not a thing at all.
Sirius Black had been a shining star in their town—literally. It seemed some days he was born from the
stars, appeared on earth in some sort of cosmic accident, such as his namesake would suggest.
How someone like him ended up in a town with someone like Remus, and a town like, well, Maryneal,
was beyond him.
Call it divine intervention, penance for something, or just straight luck—whatever it was, Remus tried
not to think too hard about it because it made little sense, and he hated thinking about it on the off chance he
thought too hard and imagined a life where Sirius didn’t live next door.
Only considered next door because he was one of only five houses on Remus’s street, which was less a
street and just a road with houses spread out with horses and cow shit and wheat thrown between them
instead of white picket fences and gated communities.
Sometimes Remus thought since Sirius was here and Remus was there, and he was one of the few
friends Remus had (the only friend), maybe his fondness for Sirius was destined.
Not in a pleasant way—not in a way that alluded to soul mates or something greater—just that they
happened to be the only ones there that could stand each other.
But Remus knew that was shit because you could place Sirius anywhere, and Remus would gravitate
toward him.
Like the sun, it was inevitable.
There was no running. There was no gasping for help as you were sucked closer and closer to something
akin to sudden death. It was pleasant and calm, which to some may be alarming, but sometimes when Remus
thought of Sirius, it felt like he was dying, and if that’s what dying felt like—peaceful and wonderful and
lovely—then he supposed it was fine.
No matter where they would have landed, Remus would have fallen for him, regardless.
Stumbling, scraping his knees, tripping, and grasping—falling. The type of fall that had you bewildered
by how you fell in the first place, but then you look back and see a massive fucking hole in the ground and
say, ‘of course, I tripped and fell.’
Sirius had left, though, almost four years ago, right in the middle of their sophomore year of high
school, and had not patched the hole he had created.
Remus still fell and stumbled—busted his knees when he thought of him.
Chipped a tooth when he drove past Sirius’s old house and ended up with bloody knuckles and scraped
palms when he saw, truthfully, anything that reminded him of Sirius.
It was a painful existence to love someone so long after they had gone, but the world kept turning and
drug Remus along with it, and although it made him sick and dizzied almost every day, he dealt.
Remus woke up the following day and purposefully did not think of the phone call that had happened
:
late the night before. He got dressed and did not think about how he could hear the smile on Sirius’s face
after he had agreed, too familiar with his voice to ignore the fact he had to have been grinning.
Remus made it to the fridge, drank some orange juice for breakfast, and did not think about the last time
he had seen Sirius, how they had both had tears in their eyes and had been nodding frantically, promising to
keep in touch.
Remus had made it halfway through his first joint of the day before the blankness in his mind shattered
like throwing a brick through a glass window. He sat at the counter in his empty home for God knows how
long, staring at that ugly yellow light above the sink before getting up around noon to turn it off, only to sit
back down again.
Four years.
Four years of missed laughs and missed hurt.
Loving Sirius hurt; it made Remus breathless, but not like his breath was taken away, more like he had
exerted it all.
Like he was fucking asthmatic and didn’t have an inhaler.
Like he had been running and running and running and never had a moment to stop, rest his hands on his
knees, and gasp out a ‘please.’
Sirius’s love was punishing, but Remus had always considered him a bit of a masochist, if not for
Sirius’s sake.

Around one, Remus finally ashed out his second spliff of the day and stood in the middle of his room.
There was a slight reverb in his ears, the music playing on the record player in the living room snuffed
out a bit by the walls between him and there, and the stuffiness in his head.
Everything was moving a bit slower, which was always fine by Remus and part of the reason he enjoyed
smoking so much.
If he was going to be miserable, why not wallow in it? And time always seemed to move a bit slower
when he was stoned, so it had become some sort of self-punishment over the years.
Highway 61 Revisited was leaking through the walls, and Dylan’s voice sounded stranger than it always
did.
Remus took in the plain walls and mismatched bedsheets. The same blanket he had slept with almost
every night since Christmas morning when he was twelve.
The hideous orange-toned wood dresser and bed, the brown-toned rug thrown over the carpet, which
Remus always thought was incredibly stupid but never cared to move.
What do you even do with a rug when you don’t want it anymore?
The walls were blank, and he assumed stained a slight bit from years of smoking out of the window, but
Remus would never know because they were all stained, and he couldn’t remember a time when they were
white and not a strange cream color.
All in all, his room was incredibly depressing.
He rifled through his dresser, throwing a handful of shirts on the bed before turning over his pants
drawer and emptying it on top of the pile of shirts.
In truth, Remus had never packed before. He had gone on vacation with his parents a few times when he
was younger but had not been old enough to pack himself, thus not old enough to remember or truly
appreciate the concept of leaving.
Digging through his closet, he found an old suitcase and shoved the handful of shirts and three pairs of
pants he owned in it. Sock and underwear were next, and after closing the suitcase, he paused before going to
the closet and taking out his Jean jacket.
That was thrown on top, added to the pile of shit to take.
Remus glanced at his two pairs of shoes—a pair of converse and a pair of boots Sirius had gifted him for
his birthday one year.
He sighed and set them on top of the jacket.

March 17th
“That’ll be $12.92, Sir,” Remus went to set the six-pack of beer in the paper sack.
:
 He always hated those who wanted their beer in a sack. It never fit correctly, and trying to get it in there
without fucking up and tearing the corners of the paper was always a lost cause.
“Do you have change for a fifty?” The older man asked, and Remus sighed as the corner of the sack
tore.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Only have change for a twenty.”
A few grumbles followed, and the man threw down a twenty, fishing in his pockets for the ninety-two
cents.
Remus thought it would have been much easier to dole out eight cents in change rather than stand here
with the older gentleman, who he was sure was already pissed even though it was only half-past three in the
afternoon.
He roughly set the change down on the counter before grabbing the sack and walking towards the front
door. “Thanks, bud.”
Remus nodded as the door chimed, looking down and scooting the quarters across the counter, counting.
Two quarters.
Four dimes.
And one penny.
Remus sighed, tossing the change into the register. One cent short. He dug in his own pockets, grabbing
a penny before throwing it in with the rest and shoving the drawer closed.
He glanced up, noticing Paul lounging in his office across the store.
Paul was the type of man who was fine living where he did, doing the same thing he did every day, and
going home to a wife that Remus was pretty sure hated his very existence.
He can’t imagine anyone being okay with ending up in Maryneal, and he often wondered how people
found themselves in small places like this, let alone resist the urge to move away like a fucking itch.
Did you choose to move here? Were you born here? Was it a generational thing?
That thought terrified Remus because, if that was the case, his chances of ever leaving for good were
slim to none.
He reached down, locked the register, and tapped on the counter twice to let Paul, who barely spared
him a glance, know that his shift was half over. Remus found the same spot he always did, out back and to
the left of the dumpster, and took his break.
It was his lunch break, but if he were being honest, he had no appetite.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he grabbed the spliff he had rolled this morning, lighting it up before
taking a long inhale.
Remus itched his leg with a foot, rested his back against the fading blue bricks the store was made of
and sighed.
Sirius.
Sirius had hated Paul.
Paul had hated Sirius.
It was cyclical in a symbolic sense.
When they were younger, a woman named Marlene worked at the store. All long blonde hair, low-cut
shirts, and tight skirts. She never looked a day over forty, but both he and Sirius had known she was possibly
pushing fifty.
Sirius had called her a MILF, and it had stuck. If Remus had not already been sure he was not into girls
at the time—because of said person in front of him, spouting off about the way Marlene’s tits looked in the
shirt—he was positive then, but he agreed nonetheless.
She sold them beer and cigarettes, pretty much anything they brought up to the counter she sold them. If
they didn’t have enough? She would cover the rest.
Remus always thought she wanted to get at Sirius, and Sirius had just grinned at the idea.
The issue was that Paul—no wonder his wife hated him—wanted Marlene, too. Marlene, though, had a
penchant for younger men (clearly and disgustingly) and spared Paul no glance.
How a grown man in his forties was jealous of a fifteen-year-old was beyond Remus, but it caused a
rivalry of grand proportions. Sirius never let it go—and Remus was positive if you said the name Marlene to
him, to this day, that shit-eating grin would spread across his face.
:
 Sirius had hung up the phone the other night, a promise on his lips.
I’ll be there in three days—be ready.
Remus was not ready. He didn’t know what he would do to become ready, but it certainly wasn’t
showing up to his shift like it was any old regular day.
He had smoked himself into a stupor the night before and tried his hardest to white his mind out so that
every time he closed his eyes, he couldn’t imagine what Sirius used to look like because then his mind would
move to now. What he would look like when he got there tomorrow.
Would his hair be longer? Curlier?
Would he still wear the same old boots, or would he have gotten a new pair?
Would he still have that ever-loving leather jacket?
Soft hair and red, angry knuckles haunted his mind all night. Black nails, nosebleeds, and deft fingers
strumming the guitar late at night. Sitting criss-cross on his bed, ‘this one's for you, Moons’ resounded in his
mind over and over until Remus wanted to bang his head against the wall. Through the wall, really, if only to
give himself a reprieve.
It was a whole slew of memories jumbled with what-ifs that had Remus feeling like had he been able to
get up off his bed, he might have been crouched over the toilet instead, throwing up and ridding his body of
the god-awful feelings and thoughts that were finally coming to a head.
It had been a long four years, and in the four years, Remus had resigned to never seeing or hearing from
Sirius again.
Promises? Shit happens, he understood. Remus figured at least half of the promises made in the world
every day were broken, so it didn’t seem unreasonable for Sirius to leave and never reach out.
The silence always hurt, though, like an open cut, but Remus had carefully bandaged it up over the
years. Reapplied new bandages every so often and cleaned the wound with alcohol, weed, and an occasional
(twice) fuck.
But tomorrow felt like ripping that band-aid off, and since there had always been one covering and
protecting the cut, it had never healed.
It never got a chance to scar; it was still fresh, wet, and gummy, and when the open air hit it, he knew it
would sting—burn so fucking bad.
Remus snubbed out the joint on the wall behind him, kicking the roach away with his toe.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Not sure, Sir.” Remus straightened, watching Paul walk over and lean against the counter. Crossing his
arms in front of him, he looked every bit the type of older man who said, ‘I’m older than you, and you’re full
of shit and don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.’
Remus wants to laugh because he didn’t think owning the one convenience store in the middle of fuck
all counted as knowing what he was doing.
“Well, we have no one to cover your shifts. I’m sorry, boy.” Paul sniffed and pressed his tongue against
his cheek.
Remus suppressed a grimace. He was really hoping Paul would understand his impromptu and indefinite
time off—was really hoping he would appreciate the asking—because Remus would not be coming into
work tomorrow, regardless of what the man in front of him had to say about it.
Remus was not not going to go, and he had sincerely hoped that Paul would understand because
regardless of how much of a dick he could be, Remus also knew the position he was putting his manager in.
“Well, it’s a family thing, so I just don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
The man studied Remus for a moment before letting out a grunt. “What family? I know your dad and ma
are out of town.”
Remus sighed before glancing at the old, faded clock above the man’s head. His shift was over in fifteen
minutes, and honestly? He couldn’t care less.
Remus saw how this conversation was going, and from the moment Paul had straightened and loomed
over him, Remus’s patience, which he regarded as one of his best qualities, went out the window.
He pressed his hands against the edge of the counter and squared his shoulders. “I quit.”
“I’m sorry?”
:
 “I quit.”
“Boy, I heard you the first time—your ma and pa aren’t going to like this. What do you mean, you
quit?”
“I quit.”
Remus sounded like a broken record, but if he were honest, his hands were shaking a bit, and only
gripping the counters so tightly masked that.
Remus had always been one to do what he was told. He was the definition of ‘accept your fate, go to
work, buy beer on the way home, be a depressed fuck about your life in the confines of your home, then do it
all over again.’
But something about the thought of Sirius—the moment Remus saw him in front of him again—made a
smile spread across his face, and honestly? Nothing could stop it from turning into a full-blown grin at that
moment.
“You think this is funny?” Paul stood up straight.
“No, sir.” Remus coughed.
The man in front of him shook his head. “You know I’m going to have to call your parents. They begged
me to give you this job here, and now you’re quitting?”
Remus went to move around the counter to leave, grabbing his keys off the hook behind the register. He
took a few steps back, walking backward and facing the man. “I’m sorry, listen—”
“No, you listen to me, boy. Good luck finding another job, you’re nineteen, and we all know you don’t
plan on going to college. You couldn’t go to college if you wanted, don’t come around here again.”
Paul was angry—furious—but Remus supposed he could understand. He did just quit (fired, actually)
effective immediately, but that was no reason to be such a colossal ass.
All that being said, his parent’s lack of care for Remus’s future was a sore spot, and one that Remus
liked to pretend was not an issue and not everyone in town knew about. Most days? He didn’t want to go to
college, but he would have liked the opportunity to go or the chance to say, ‘fuck that.’
Remus paused, one foot out the door, and watched Paul’s fist clench and turn white. He tilted his head to
the side and grinned. “Bye, Paul.”

“You know I love you, right?” Sirius said, picking at a piece of grass stuck under his boot.
The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Remus had left earlier than usual for school, too
uncomfortable in his empty and stale house. It was silent between them that morning, which was perfectly
fine.
The silence between Remus and Sirius was never awkward. Never oppressive or overbearing or
uncomfortable—it just was.
He looked closer, noting the way Sirius had pulled his lip between his teeth. His brows were furrowed in
thought.
Sirius was high, and Remus nodded to himself, trying to suppress a smile.
It was times like these he could just stare.
Sirius, in his own little world, was something, but Remus had always had the pleasure of being allowed
to exist in that space as well. It was never just Sirius, it was Sirius and Remus. Both of them—never one
without the other. You never got one without the other.
Too in that world to notice Remus’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head—into the side of his
face, the curve of his nose, or the sharp point of his cupid’s bow. The slope of his shoulders or the delicate
wrists and how they contrasted with how hard of a punch they could throw.
He was so soft sometimes but brutal all the same.
Silence like this granted Remus time—time was always something. Something to wish for, something to
lose. Something to cherish or take for granted, and Remus drank up every moment of this time like he was a
dying man.
Sirius was wearing the same jeans he always did, and Remus looked closely, his eyes running down the
seam on the side where Sirius had altered them to make them tighter—more ‘punk rock, right Moony?’
The laces of his docs that were forever tied in a knot neither of them would probably ever be able to
untie—they had tried—but Sirius had just shrugged then, ‘easier to put on.’
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 That day, he wore a plain white shirt. Very rare and unusual.
Rare and unusual could have been Sirius’s middle name.
Remus stared at the tattoo across his forearm—the first of what he assumed would be many—a moon
and stars.
A fucking moon and stars.
When he had shown Remus, he had almost been sick. Violently fucking ill because that was him. Him
right there on his skin forever, and it was the most damning thing Remus had ever seen.
Something between them—not his name, but close enough. Remus would take anything.
Sirius finally tore his eyes away from the grass, looked at Remus, and lifted a brow. “Right? You know I
love you?”
Remus swallowed. “I know. I love you too, Pads.”
And fuck, thoroughly and meticulously and roughly and sideways and upside down and backward and in
any position Remus had ever seen in the porno magazines they had found at the store one time—fuck him,
because he meant that with his whole chest.
Sirius just nodded, completely and utterly oblivious to the weight the words Remus spoke held. “Good.”

March 18th
Remus swung his arm out, shifted, and knocked something off the bed.
He only realized after it hit the ground—after he heard the hollow thud—that it was his guitar. Remus
sighed; it was already on the floor. He stuffed the pillow further under his head, fluffing it up, and closed his
eyes again.
The first honk came right as he was falling back asleep, and Remus ignored it.
The second, third, fourth, and long fifth came shortly after, and he shot out of bed this time, steadying
himself on the nightstand as he picked up the clock next to him and saw the time.
2:47 PM
“Oh fuck.” Remus panicked, reaching for his pants thrown over the end of the bed and struggling to pull
them on as he made his way to the front door.
He opened the door just enough to peek out, and there he was.
“Fuck.” Remus let out a laugh.
He opened the door all the way—or really, it opened of its own volition—and just stared.
Remus knew that time was supposed to make the heart fonder. It was supposed to cultivate feelings of
loss and wishful thinking and longing and everything you missed about a person.
It was supposed to remind you why you loved someone and what you loved about the person, but he
always thought Sirius sat a bit adjacent to the concept of feelings as fleeting as love.
Remus felt like he had been clotheslined, or the moment he opened the door, someone had clocked him
square in the face.
Standing there, looking at Sirius in his black truck, with his sunglasses on and that fucking leather
jacket, actually felt like a gut punch.
The final blow—looking at Sirius felt like dying.
But each time, it was like Remus was addicted—addicted to that weightlessness, to wanting to know
what was on the other side—to the morphine they gave you to help ease the pain.
Each time he was dealt that final blow—which was clearly not a final blow—it was like Remus
somehow stood back up on shaky knees, smiled with blood filling his mouth and coating his teeth, and said,
nodding frantically, ‘one more, please.’
He would smile the biggest, most grand smile for him, the one only Sirius brought out, and stand there
in a mess of himself, and it was like he wanted to shout, holding his hand under his nose to try and stop the
bleeding while saying, ‘Do you love me now? Am I more beautiful now after I have let you fucking ruin me so
many times?’
Remus watched as Sirius finally noticed him, reaching up to pull down his sunglasses. A sly grin spread
across his face, and Remus quickly shut the door in a panic.
He ran to his room, found a clean enough shirt and shoes, and hurriedly threw them on. Grabbing his
suitcase and running to the kitchen, he searched through the drawers, trying to find a notepad. He found one,
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snatched up a pen, and quickly scribbled down a note to his parents—if they happened to come home while
he was gone.
Remus stood and sighed, sliding the note towards the edge of the counter, closer to the front door. He
took a few steps forward before pausing, patting, and searching his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.
Cursing under his breath, he opened the door, set his suitcase on the step, and ran back to his room. He
spared it no glance as he grabbed the pack and ran back, picking up his things, kicking the door closed, and
locking it.
Stuffing the pack into the flannel Remus had grabbed, he straightened and let out the most obscene,
choked laugh.
A laugh full of fear, yearning, and disbelief at himself and Sirius and what he was doing. It was an
amalgamation of all the feelings he had felt and been dealt over the years—all staring him down as Remus
took the first step away from his home.
Sirius was leaning out of his truck now, half out the window, and yelling at the neighbor’s cat sitting in
the middle of the road.
The picture would almost look monochrome had the neighbors’ ugly blue and yellow houses not ruined
the facade.
Sirius’s hair blended into the worn black color of his truck, his jacket blending into his hair. It was all
black and white, with color bleeding into the background, and it was comforting.
Oddly and fearfully comforting because Remus supposed that things with Sirius had always been black
and white.
Remus loved Sirius—black.
Sirius loved Remus—white.
But the contrast between the two was that Sirius did not love Remus like he loved Sirius. Even in some
cruel universe (only because he did not live there), Remus doubted anyone else in the world might
understand his feelings for the man in front of him.
It was impossible to describe.
Sirius finally noticed Remus making his way down the sidewalk and all but fell out of the truck, the
door knocking against its hinges as he got out.
It played out in slow motion, life only getting faster and catching up to speed as Sirius got closer before
nearly knocking over Remus in a hug.
He died—again.
The warmth encompassed him, and god, he had missed him. Something vicious and sharp and lethal,
and it was a wonder Remus had not died, left alone with himself all those years.
He felt like he had been bleeding out, and someone had finally stopped the bleeding—slowed it.
Sirius squeezed, rocking back and forth before reaching down and pushing Remus’s suitcase out of his
hands. It fell to the ground, knocking over, and his fingers brushed Remus’s like it was nothing, yet it meant
everything to him at that moment.
Four years had been a long, long time.
Sirius finally let go, reaching up and grabbing Remus’s face between his hands. His eyes were glassy—
and Remus told himself it was just because he was high.
“Moony—Moony, Moony, my Moons.” Sirius laughed, his head thrown back. “I missed you—god, I
missed you so fucking much.”
He let go, wrapping his arms around Remus’s neck and squeezing. It choked Remus, it was so tight it
crushed him, and it was too much, but not enough—never enough.
Remus’s hand came around Sirius’s back, returning the hug, and he felt Sirius break out into a grin,
pressed against his shoulder.
“I missed you too,” Remus said.
Sirius pulled back, the grin still firmly fixed on his face, and lightly tapped Remus’s cheek once.
“C’mon, I’ll help you put your stuff in the truck.”
He grabbed the suitcase, turned, and walked back to the truck. “I made some space for your stuff,
Moons. I’ve got most of my things in a trunk in the bed. I left room if you need to put whatever in there.”
Remus blindly followed him, alarm growing for the first time at what he was about to do.
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 He glanced back at his home for a moment, searching and rifling through that panic, but found nothing
worth noting lingering. It was more fear of the unknown—of the missed time and change and who Sirius was
now versus who he had been when he left.
“I didn’t bring a ton of stuff, just this.”
Sirius looked down. “Then it should fit in the cab. We’ll figure it out regardless—don’t worry.”
Remus was worrying.
He opened the door, shuffled further in, and closed the door. It smelled of cigarettes and old leather and
weed and Sirius, and he was fucking choking on it all.
Sirius had a handful of empty cigarette packs thrown on the dash. Remus had to scoot an empty coke
bottle over and a pile of tapes to sit down. There were a few t-shirts on the bench, along with a pair of pants,
and Remus brushed his hands against the dark red-colored corduroy the seat was made of.
He smiled to himself; Sirius had always wanted a Ford with a red interior.
It made him happy one of them had gotten something they wanted.
Sirius got in, swinging up and into the truck. He closed the door and set both hands on the steering
wheel, staring ahead for a moment.
It was one moment of silence, a moment that awkwardness threatened to corrupt and taint, but that had
never been their nature.
That was not how they worked—Sirius and Remus.
A grin spread across his face before he turned to Remus, and he couldn’t help it—Remus smiled back.
Wide and unbridled, an ear-splitting fucking grin because Sirius was right next to him. Corporeal and
there, and Remus could touch him and smell him, and it hurt so good.
Remus coughed through the laugh that threatened to leave him. “Where to?”
Sirius arched a brow. The signature up-to-no-good, Sirius Black look came over his features, and he
reached out, digging under Remus and roughly pulling a tape from under him that he had sat on.
He ejected what was in the player, glancing at Remus from the corner of his eye before popping the new
one in, skipping to track three, and turning it up all the way.
Sirius shifted into gear, glanced over at Remus, and shouted over the lyrics. “We’re going to see Led
Zeppelin.”
I’m an alligator
I’m a mama-papa coming for you
I’m a space invader
I’ll be a rock ‘n’ rollin’ bitch for you
Keep your mouth shut
You’re squawking like a pink monkey bird
And I’m busting up my brains for the words
Close (#)
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