Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Year Five: The Prank

Sirius groaned the moment he gained consciousness, bringing his covers over himself to shield his eyes from the streaming light. Besides himself, the dorm room was entirely empty, courtesy of his request to let him sleep off his hangover without being woken.

Between waking and putting his feelings into coherent thought, there was this tender moment in which he remembered nothing from the night prior besides the alcohol he drank. This moment didn't last long, however, and in a second, he went from hiding under the covers, to shooting upright.

His hand drifted to his mouth, pressing the pads of his fingers against his lips which now tingled with the memory of last night.

I kissed Remus.

The sentence felt strange in his head, so he decided to see how it would feel on his tongue. Worse. That was decidedly worse.

Sirius bolted out of bed, his head pounding with discontent as he tripped over yesterday's haphazardly discarded clothes. He went crashing to the floor, the skin of his knees and palms peeling at the collision. The memory wouldn't leave, no matter how hard he ripped himself apart to get Remus out of his head.

"No, no, no," he bellowed, his body unapprovedly sinking further onto the floor and cradling his head between his elbows. He clung to that word with his life, unable to think anything but no, no, no. He needed to justify himself, come up with a reason for why they'd kissed, but anytime his brain tried to supply an answer, Sirius couldn't help but wince.

Because he knew why he did it. Of course, he knew.

But admitting to himself that his feelings for Remus had grown beyond friendship was a lot harder than pretending they hadn't had been.

He kissed me back, his thoughts replied cruelly.

Sirius shoved it away as quick as it came. He'd barely come to grapple with the idea that he himself had a crush on Remus, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to let himself believe Remus felt the same way. How would something like that even work? A relationship between himself and Remus?

It wouldn't. It was a drunken kiss, and while it had been the most earth-shattering, mind-numbing kiss Sirius had ever felt, nothing would ever come from it. He wasn't even fully sure whether or not he was gay.

He didn't feel gay. If one could even feel that way.

He'd liked being with Mary; her light-as-air touches and soft skin that Sirius could spend all day buried in. He liked the way she'd kiss him and leave cherry red lip gloss down his neck, or guide his hands to the soft plush of her sides.

Remus, on the other hand, wasn't soft at all. He was all hard edges, body so thin his bones nearly poked through the surface of his skin. His grasp was inundated with fervour, scar-laden fingertips grabbing ahold of any part of Sirius they could find; scratching, scathing, touches that burned red hot marks into his skin and left him ice cold the moment they were gone.

Merlin, he couldn't stop picturing that kiss.

He felt silly, lying there on the floor with his hands over his head and his body curled in on itself. It wasn't proper. His mother and father didn't raise him to cower on the ground like a dog.

Oh God, what would Mother and Father think?

No, nope, not thinking about that. Sirius went to stand, his throbbing head a secondary concern as everything washed over him for the thousandth time. Remus had told Sirius they could talk about it, and that's what he planned on doing. He wasn't going to think about anything until Remus told him how he felt.

He'd have to do it before night, however. With the full moon coming, there wouldn't be a chance to talk unless it was before.

This new drive, though hard to uphold, gave Sirius the energy to change into his day clothes and walk into the common room – not a particularly gruelling task, but one that he had no desire to do a moment before. He needed to eat, late as he was for breakfast, to both settle his stomach and help kill the thrumming in his head.