made it to the word count this time, so there's a success. written for the weekly pairings drabble competition with Sirius/James/Remus, which was extremely fun until I ended up writing extreme angst. oh, well. title comes from a line in Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, as does the "Be serious," "I am wild," bit in the text, as I can completely imagine Sirius as Grantaire, and the line fit well with the overall feel of this story. it's uber pretentious, I know, but I recently watched Les Mis and it's all I can talk about. it was either this or Game of Thrones folks, because wow that season finale.
warnings for: mild language, vague references to child abuse, and thinly veiled parallels to classical French literature.
One day, boys too young to be men and too old to be silent, sat together, comfortably, unaware that outside their silence the world was falling apart. James was a vision in black, from his shoes, scuffed and worn, to his turtleneck, stretching over his Adam's apple, struggling not to slip down his neck with every breath. For once, Remus was without his nervous energy, lying still and calmly with his head in James' lap, as Sirius sat across from the pair, fingers twisting around a flask.
James stretched his neck left and right as it stiffened. The three of them had been sitting together for an unknowable and improbable amount of time. His eyes focused on Sirius, on the flask, on the bruises under his eyes telling a story that words never could.
"I hope you're not planning on drinking anything in that. It looks like it hasn't been touched for years," he said, his words prompting Remus to shift in his lap, craning his head to give Sirius a perfect view of his frown.
The other boy just laughed, bitterly. It was a harsh sound that neither of his companions wanted to hear come from him again. "A decades old flask, holding decades old booze. Rusted on the outside, rotted on the inside," another laugh, "Sounds like someone we know doesn't it?" Remus' hands clenched at his sides, the knuckles still red and raw, and James ran an absentminded hand through his hair to relax him. The last thing they needed was to fight amongst themselves.
"Be serious," he said, because a poor joke made out of a name would be better than a self-deprecating joke made out of blood.
All Sirius did was smile sadly, still fiddling with the flask, "I am wild."
Remus sighed, "Sirius, please. It's not a metaphor, it's not an example, it's not some grand gesture. It's a shit gift from a shit dad, stop hurting yourself by reading deeper than you need to."
James prepared himself for the inevitable explosion, but Sirius' frown just deepened. He wanted to go over to him, to wrap himself around him, and whisper sweet-nothings in his ear and press kisses into his jaw, but now was not the time. One day, he thought, when things were bright again, they will be happy. He promised himself.
When Sirius spoke up, his voice was thicker than usual, "I shouldn't care. I know that. I know that. He disowned me, called me-" Sirius took a deep breath, his eyes squeezed together, "He was awful. And I know that. But he was still my dad. He hugged me when I fell, and taught me french and, and-"
"Come here," Remus said, gently, like he was coaxing a wild animal.
Sirius needed no coaxing, however. He all but dashed across the space to them, flask still in hand, which James took pleasure in extracting and discarding, collapsing against them. Remus pulled him closer, pressing the boy's head into his shoulder, so James could engulf them both into a hug. Sirius sobbed and cursed, his fingers digging into their shirts first, then their skin, but James found he didn't mind.
And later, when Sirius was asleep out of exhaustion, Remus still curled around him like a cat, James smiled slowly, realizing he loved these boys both beyond explanation. He smiled, and he thought, they would be okay.