AN: A prompt based on a wonderful song by Belle and Sebastian (If You Find Yourself Caught in Love)
So, I just realized I'm supposed to be confessing that I'm not the real author. Here it is. I'm not Conan Doyle, J.K. Rowling, and/or Joss Whedon. I'm just as shocked as anyone else.
xxx
When he was with girls, he dreaded falling in love. It felt like the moment he did, she was gone in a flush of perfume, excuses, and inevitable heartbreak.
With Remus, slipping into love is like changing into Padfoot, or the way they slide into friendship, nothing like the terror of free fall when he tumbles head over heels into love or off a broom or balcony.
With Remus, love is so natural. So easy.
With Remus, he can believe in gods and religions and all that nonsense. As he lies wrapped up in Remus and blankets and beauty and love, he finds himself sending a prayer up to the man above. A prayer of thanks and relief, because that's what Remus is to him. With every kiss and every breath and every day that passes, he thanks him for everything he knows.
xxx
He doesn't remember when he started watching Remus, making sure he never slinks away, and he doesn't care because it's habit now.
He watches Remus, leaning on the headboard, slipping into slumber.
He watches Remus, feather pen scratching furiously in an attempt to finish an essay before class.
He watches Remus after a perfectly executed prank, laughing, cheeks pinks, glowing with a life so strong that it spills out onto the people around him and beautiful.
He watches Remus sleep after the full moon, brow creased in discomfort as he lies on a gash and shifts him, so that Remus is resting on him and in the morning he is stiff and aching but Remus is no longer hurting himself.
He watches Remus live through life, but most of all he watches Remus read and wonders if the only freedom he'll ever really know is written in books from long ago.
He watches Remus and it is with a strange sort of happiness that he gives up his will to the one he loves and it's perfect.
xxx
He knows that things will change. Perhaps not overnight, but with the tide of war (so cliché, but it's almost morbidly funny how true it feels) hovering over them, he knows its coming. It's going to start somewhere.
They're going off to war and Sirius wishes them all well, even if he hates it all.
He wishes it doesn't have to be in his lifetime, when everything is so perfect and new.
Most of all, he likes to marvel at the beauty of the boy in his arms, by his side, in his life, in his mind. Remus' scars and lips and eyes and hair and skin and every perfection and imperfection. Every cut, smooth plane, scar, soft skin.
Why should Remus be the one to suffer? Sirius knows that he will do anything and as long as he's there, Remus will never be the simple village girl that they found the other day and Remus will never be the one who's killed.