Disclaimer: I have no rights to this character or his angst.
Summary: Remus looks shabby and depressed. He feels much
worse.
Remus
shivers when he thinks about it, so he tries not to. He tries to pretend the
shivers are just from the cold and he sets his mind to other matters.
At night, he
undresses slowly, fingers trembling. He hasn’t touched himself since before that
night. He drops his shabby robes onto the chair and strips off his socks with the
holes in the toes. He’s taken to wearing two pairs because of their condition.
He shivers
again and climbs into bed naked. The less he wears, the less he dirties, and
the less laundry he has to do. But the sheets are cold and don’t warm to him quickly.
So he lies awake, trying not to think about it. Trying not to
shiver because that keeps him awake.
His fingers
tremble again as he pulls the covers up to his neck and ignores the way his
erection grows. The slide of cotton sheets against his length feels good.
Almost like a real touch. Almost.
Eyes close.
Mind empties. Dick softens. Tension in his chest releases.
Exhaustion takes over.
Before that
night, Remus dreamed the same dream. A dream about becoming a
wolf. Hurting the person he most loved or being unable to stop others
from hurting him. Since that night, Remus dreams different dreams. Dreams about everyone else. Dreams about what happened.
Dreams that are real or could become real. Worse dreams.
And after he wakes up in a cold sweat and falls back to sleep, he dreams
exclusively about Sirius.
He wakes up
wet and sticky and sometimes crying. All things he can control when he’s awake.
He cleans off in the shower, and it usually takes him that long to compose
himself anyway. Takes him that long to push the thoughts from
his head.
It’s not about feeling sorry for himself,
because he’d never do that. It’s about accepting who he is now and what he has…
or hasn’t anymore.
Mornings
are cold, and he shivers when he steps out of the hot shower. The towels are
thin. His clothes are patched. And he pulls them on without looking at his
body. He ignores his urges and breathes deeply.
The only
time the thoughts really leave is when he’s around others. When he’s working
for the order or eating a meal at headquarters. He doesn’t talk much. He sits
by himself, staring into nothingness. But when he’s with others, it’s easier to
feel warm.
Every day
he hopes it will be different. Every day he hopes he’ll be able to face
himself. And every day he knows he’ll never be able to. Not alone. Not without
help.