When boredom hits, it apparently hits hard, is what Sirius discovered one afternoon in the unusual quiet of Remus' home.

There were only so many times he could admire the artist's previous works in the space of two hours, and he wasn't in the right mood to read any of the numerous books strewn around the room.

Sirius had stood for a long while in front of the many walls upon which paintings were hung haphazardly, eyes wide and searching for hidden meanings or refined techniques, but did eventually find himself stifling yawns into his hands.

Remus was sat at his desk, head bent over a piece of paper that was covered with pretty inked words. He was attempting to write poems and had therefore sunk into a silence that at first had been admirable, but now Sirius just felt bored.

"You're being very loud."

Sirius jumped. "I haven't made a sound!"

"Your thoughts are loud."

"It's not my fault if you can hear me thinking."

A chuckle. "No, I guess not." Remus leaned back in his chair, head tipping backwards so that he could catch Sirius' eye.

Dear God, he was pretty. Sirius swallowed. "Have you finished yet?"

"Not yet. Are you bored?"

"Maybe a little."

Remus grinned. "Apologies. My words aren't flowing very well today - I keep getting stuck."

"Can I hear it?" Sirius asked, getting up and making his way to stand beside Remus.

"It's pretty dreadful."

"I don't believe you."

"Heh." He rubbed the back of his neck, but passed the paper over to Sirius. "You read it."

"Alright." Sirius cleared his throat. "For - "

"In your head, idiot."

"Alright." He mumbled the words instead.

For every step, there is a touch
Of little thinking, or too much.
For every dream, there is a thought
That can be bartered but never bought.
As the vine grows (and withers too),
Within the lines of black and blue...

Sirius blinked. "That was bloody incredible."

"It was bloody not." A shudder of disgust. "And I can't think of an ending."

"You'll find one eventually." He passed the paper back, regarding the other man with thoughtful eyes, as Remus rolled his quill between his fingers.

They hadn't yet discussed Sirius' past, after the day he came to Remus' home in ill-concealed distress. Sirius hadn't known how to bring it up, floundering for the right words and the right time.

Trust was an issue, too. But Remus had seemed sincere in his offer to listen to him, and a deep-rooted part of Sirius felt like he could trust the man.

Because something told him that maybe Remus was a little broken, too.

"Your eyes are loud, too."

"Beg pardon?"

"You're looking at me with a lot of questions." Remus looked up at him. "Is any part of you quiet?"

"That's something for you to find out yourself."

"Cheeky." Smiling gently, Remus indicated the chair beside him. "Sit down, if you're going to talk."

Sirius sat, rubbing his palms slowly together as he tried to think about how to say what was on his mind, trying not to get distracted by the way their knees were pressed together beneath the table.

"Remus..."

"Yes, Sirius?"

A deep breath. "Do you know of the Black family?"

"I've heard of them."

"So you'll maybe know that I am unfortunately a part of them."

A pause. "I didn't assume so, no. It's not an uncommon last name."

"Yes, I suppose it isn't." He broke off briefly, then went on. "What do you know of them?"

"Not a lot. I know that they are said to be wealthy," Remus said carefully, tapping his quill against his hand.

"That is very true. But they're not... my family aren't very nice people."

Remus nodded. "Yes, I have heard that as well. There's allegedly a cruel streak that runs through them."

"There is, and it is a streak that I - and my brother - have both been met with."

"I see."

He swallowed. "I don't often talk about this. You need to... this can't go beyond this room, okay?"

"It won't." As Sirius hesitated again, Remus smiled at him again, fingers momentarily brushing the shorter man's chin. "I promise, Sirius. No one shall know."

Another breath. "I trust you."

They both looked away, eyeing the paper strewn across the table. 

"We were beaten, constantly. For the smallest of things. We were pushed to be terrified of making mistakes. For even breathing wrong." His voice was flat. "It's left lasting impressions."

Remus didn't reply, but rested his hand over Sirius' (which lay upon his knee). They held each other softly, their skin warming where they touched.

Sirius looked at their hands, jaw tight. "I tried so hard, for so long, to escape, that I sometimes forget that I don't need to run anymore. That there's no one coming after me."

"I see."

He looked up. "Do you?"

Remus wasn't looking back at him. Instead, he seemed to be studying the engravings on the desk, trailing his finger over them. "I know what it's like to feel as though you're holding your breath, waiting for something to happen and break you again."

"How would you know?"

"It's not important." Remus caught his eye, smiling wryly. "It just means I understand."

Sirius smiled back, feeling as if a tiny weight had been pulled of his shoulders, like brushed-away lint from fabric.

They allowed the silence to stretch on for a few moments, relishing the feeling of some hidden connection between them.

"Will you tell me one day?" Sirius asked.

"Perhaps. If you leave me alone to finish this damned poem." And they were back to usual. But that was alright.

Sighing heavily, Sirius got up. "Very well, then, I shall leave." He flounced away, Remus' parting chuckle warming his ears.

"Don't go too far, I'll need you later."

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Bastard."

Remus watched him go, a crease between his eyebrows as he thought. Then he picked up his quill once again, and scribbled:

Little humanities, our infinities,
Stretch so far beyond eternity.

Oh, well. It was good enough.

***

It was late. Very late. Even the men who often stayed out beyond midnight had collapsed in drunken heaps upon the sidewalks.

Remus lay back in his bed, breathing heavily, slowly, trying to force himself to remain calm. To not think too hard about times long past, because there were futures to live and he wanted to exist in them.

But the night was dark. And in the dark, the mind goes wandering.

He got up, pushing back a memory of rough hands and manic eyes, standing by his window and staring out into the moonlight that shrouded the street.

The silence was untouchable, enclosing him in its cool hands. He shivered.

Sirius had left long ago. Which was understandable, he had his own home to go to. All the same, Remus quietly wished for his company, for the sound of his head was rather too much to bear alone. But he ignored the longing.

He instead thought about what Sirius had told him, about his family. It hurt to hear. It hurt to know that beautiful people could be broken too.

But you've always known that, haven't you? he thought to himself.

That was true. Beneath the surface of almost every beautiful thing, Remus had found the dark hollow socket of regret or terror or sadness, or something equally awful. A ravine that was protected with the facade of perfection; a gulf that yawned under a pale smiling sheet. Something no one embraced, or discussed, but instead pushed away into its silence, doomed to an eternity of stifled pain.

But not... not Sirius. No, Sirius had pulled away the layers and wrappings that held his pieces together.

What a strange man.

Brow furrowed, Remus walked back to his bed. He would think harder in the morning, but for now he would try to sleep.

As he turned, the moon cast light on the long white scar that was draped over his shoulder, tracing the path it made as it rolled down his back.