small_gifts | Fic: Testing for siriusbinger

sea-shtick.livejournal.com posting in

Title: Testing
Author:

sea_shtick
Recipient:

siriusbinger
Rating: PG-13
Highlight for Warnings: *swearing, awkwardness ;)*
Word Count: 1.500
Summary: Remus is stuck on an essay. Sirius is stuck in slow motion.
Author's notes: Many thanks to

batmanboxers for looking it over for me! Thanks to

rs_small_gifts for the winter cheer, and to

siriusbinger... I hope you enjoy it!

His feet move with purpose, slowing only at the library door and even then only for a brief second. He's second guessing himself. He's wondering what he's doing and counting the minutes of work he's already lost. There is a hesitation in the ink that seems almost to pool at the heel, and then it's over and decided and he's back on track. Another pause at the door (tugging his mittens on with his teeth? Adjusting the collar of his coat?) and then he's out and, hardly thinking, Sirius raises his eyes to the common room window.

From above a door clicks closed and Sirius starts, then folds the map and casually rests his elbow upon it.

“Working hard?” It's Lily, descending slowly with a stack of books under her arm and an exam-induced fatigue that bleeds into her words.

Sirius lays his head on his elbow and says, “Trying to sleep actually, thanks.”

“Mm.” Lily glances to where James is sprawled and drooling on the couch across the room. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

“Appreciate it,” Sirius says with half a wave. After she climbs through the portrait hole the room returns to its former quiet, just the scratching quill of some intrepid first-year near the stairs and the occasional snap of the remains of the fire that no one has bothered to feed.

And the footsteps – Sirius can almost hear them, his ear so close to the parchment. One stolen look at James confirms that he is still unconscious and oblivious, so when Sirius unfolds the map he can relax a little and notice how the footprints are moving slower, now, and are fainter. How long has it been snowing? Sirius has to wonder what he could be doing out there, while at the same time knowing exactly what he is doing. Thinking. Talking to himself; trying out sentences or ideas or maybe just sighing, over and over, like the previous twenty minutes at the table, before Sirius said, If you make that wretched noise one more time you are going into the fire (or something like that).

Peter had suggested he go somewhere else to work on it, somewhere that wasn't the library or the same seat at the same table in the common room. Of course, Peter had been referring to the kitchens (that's where he was now), but going outside ought to have the same effect. Clear air, clear mind. Bits of falling snow, which is the only thing Sirius can actually see if he looks to the window (which he does, again, despite himself).

I need to get out of here. Even in his mind it is muttered; it is a half formed resolution with no promise of completion. The air is thick with a Sunday afternoon laziness that makes him feel stuck in slow motion, doomed to languish in an infinite hour along with James and the fire and the open and lonely books across the table. Even the first-year has given up on his brief burst of productivity and has nodded off, half-eaten chocolate frog kicking weakly in his hand.

But he waits only half a minute more before, with a heroic burst of strength and determination, he slips the map under his herbology book and steals James' scarf and tells himself that he just needs some air, and maybe a fag.

There is only a dusting on the ground, but it is enough to give a satisfying crunch to Sirius's footsteps as he follows a different set of quickly disappearing tracks. He shoves his hands deep into his trouser pockets and climbs over a ridge, almost knocking into Remus on the other side.

“Sirius,” Remus says, wearing something on his face that hints at surprise, or irritation, or relief, maybe, and Sirius wonders if he could ever tell what Remus was thinking and if he could always tell what Remus was thinking. He is holding a small snowball and there are bits of snow stuck like pills all over his woolen mittens.

“Cheers, didn't see you there,” says Sirius, suddenly extremely aware that it is snowing harder and that he did not put on a coat. “I was just coming out to...”

He shifts.

Remus waits patiently, his face unchanged.

Any excuse Sirius may have had seems to evaporate when faced with the expectant quirk of the mouth in front of him. Why had he come out? Why would he ever come out? He hates snow, and the cold, and the outdoors, and walking, and Remus. Hadn't it been nice, in the common room, without any of those things? James' scarf is dotted with drool and the spots are beginning to freeze. The air is clear here, but his brain is still foggy. “Too, I mean. That is. I was just coming out, too. Smoke?”

Remus shakes his head and holds up his mittened hands to illustrate. The snowball sticks and hangs from the left one, and Sirius smiles at Remus' attempts to shake it off.

He soon gives up and says, “No luck, then?”

“What, studying? Nah. You? Has the writer's block been conquered?”

“Working on it,” Remus sighs. “God, you must be freezing.”

“Err... not so bad, actually,” Sirius says, fumbling for a cig with hands that have begun to shake.

“Ah, then I must be mistaking those red spots on your cheeks. Did Lily let you borr-”

“One time, Moony! That was one time and it was to get out sick from Potions, as you well know.”

Remus makes a polite effort to hide his smile behind his collar.

“Want to go in?”

Sirius finally manages to light his cigarette and takes the deepest drag he can manage, as if the burning in his throat could somehow make up for the loss of feeling in his fingers. He shakes his head and exhales slowly, watching the smoke mix with the steam of Remus' breath, and suddenly finds that his head feels very hot. There are not enough fags in the world for this, he thinks, watching Remus' bent head, and all he's doing is picking snow off his mittens.

“Ultimately, I think I'm going to have to change the introduction all together. I need something more concrete to work from and I think it might save all the floundering that's happening now at the... well, however many paragraphs later.”

I have absolutely no clue what you are talking about, says Sirius, except he doesn't, he says, “Oh. Good.”

“Mm. But Peter was right, this has helped.” Remus brushes his hands on his trousers and looks back at the castle, apparently ready to get back to work.

No, it hasn't, Sirius thinks dully, it hasn't helped one bit. The falling snow has become thicker, and the fat flakes take their time reaching the ground. There is one crazy second when Sirius thinks, The entire world is becoming one of those cheap plastic snowglobes and I can't do a thing about it, and lifts a foot off the ground, just to make sure it isn't rooted in place. Remus watches him curiously.

“Give us some of that, then,” he says finally, nodding toward Sirius' half-smoked cigarette.

Sirius hesitates only slightly before withdrawing his hands from his pockets and stepping a little closer. He takes the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and reaches out as Remus says, “Just hold it there for a moment,” and places the cigarette between Remus' chapped and waiting lips, feeling the redness on his face spread to his ears as he watches Remus' eyes close with satisfaction and cheeks draw inward -

The side of Sirius' hand brushes the stubble on Remus chin and he jerks back as if shocked, the cigarette falling to the snow between them. Remus, surprised, forgets to exhale and instead starts coughing like he'll never be able to stop.

“Fuck, sorry mate,” Sirius says and he kicks snow over the evidence. He holds his right hand in a fist at his side, caught somewhere between favoring it like an injury and clenching the muscles in frustration. “Ash. Fuck.” Remus waves it away but is doubled over, still coughing. Fuck, says Sirius one more time, in his head, and gives his friend a hearty pounding on the back. Remus recovers and straightens, wiping the water from his eyes.

“Worst drag ever, Pads,” he says and coughs once more. “Christ. Enough of this. Let's go inside.”

Sirius follows Remus and later that night studies his hand for the mark he's sure is there, as though there must be something physical, as though the rasp of Remus' skin has opened something, revealed something that will mirror the way his heart feels now, exposed, red and raw and flinching in the clear air of the first snow.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

dear-tiger.livejournal.com

Oh, this was so lovely, so slow and sleepy. It's so cool how you brought the whole story down to the final understanding that Sirius had, it fits together so well. And the first snow, of course, nothing better than that to create a Christmasy mood :)

I loved the pacing of this, the unreal feeling of being stuck in slow motion. And the last paragraph! It's most definitely not the first time Sirius ever touched Remus, but it seems like the first time it mattered, the first time he really noticed. Oooh, so good.