Title: Nineteen
Author: GreenMeansGo
Rating: T just for the angst.
Warnings: Implied Remus/Sirius slash. Can be read as general too if you prefer. Also some strong language.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Poem by Rumi.
A/N: Don't really know how this has turned out besides the fact that there are an alarming amount of fragments. Haha. Just a short little thing since the summer sun has fried my brain into incoherency. Also, happy 4th to all those celebrating.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense.

- Rumi

It's raining outside and sometimes Remus forgets that he's only nineteen.

He supposes it's a normal thing, considering the times, but it's still jarring when he sees how far left his life has veered from what he expected. Sometimes it's just unsettling to find that he'd expected something to begin with. Mostly it's because he feels like he should be a hundred and two by now.

He absently pokes at his fried eggs with one of the bright red forks Sirius bought. Back in Hogwarts, when he was young, inexperienced and desperate to hide it, he had been sure that war was selfish, the means to an end of something that could never really be finished. Now that he finds himself forced to the frontlines, the only thing he's sure of are the shades of grey. He's learned that everyone has their tragedies. People have their reasons. Good and evil are relative. The fact that as a werewolf he didn't know this before now seems like it should be funny. He almost wishes it was.

Remus takes a gulp of bitter coffee and remembers when he used to drink tea with too much sugar.

It's so easy to lose in a game where there are no directions. In a world full of grey, it's hard not to lose sight of what you're fight for. After taking a man's life, no matter who he was, the dark side suddenly doesn't seem quite as dark, the light side quite as bright. At the end of the day, he was still somebody's son; somebody's lover; somebody's someone who'll never come back.

The early morning hush is only interrupted by the soft sounds of water on glass and Remus thinks of all the things war asks for and all the things he's already given up. There are things he's still willing to do without, if only to make sure the people around him are still going. He remembers when he used to think he couldn't afford to love. Laughs at how now it's about the only thing he can manage. He's not some fucking hero, not even close. None of them are. But there are people he'd die for without question and he knows that there are people willing to do the same for him. Sirius. James. Lily. Peter. Dumbledore. Frank. Alice. The list went on. Two years ago that thought would have made him shit his pants. Now it's what keeps him sane for tomorrow, tucked safely into his back pocket where he can reach for them anytime.

"I smell bacon."

Remus looks up, startling from his thoughts, to see Sirius grab a red fork on his way into the kitchen. Clad in only his checkered knickers and ratty tube socks, he pours himself some tea and reaches for the sugar.

"I know you're looking at my bum," he sing-songs, shaking his butt as he bends his tall frame over the stove to pick at the frying pan. He turns and Remus is struck by how that smile forms just like a searchlight. First to the right then stretching towards the left.

Remus can tell that Sirius is trying. That he was probably watching Remus brood from the doorway before declaring his quest for bacon. Knows because his voice is loud and a little too cheerful, pushing the shadows out of the kitchen, if only for now. Remus rubs at the deep ache somewhere in his chest with a steady hand. It feels like gratitude.

So he makes it easier on Sirius, tells him "maybe," and playfully leers at him as he swaggers over towards the table and stabs the fork into Remus' eggs.

"Ugh, Moony, these eggs are cold!" and Remus can't help but laugh as Sirius recoils in distaste.

Nineteen is just a number. This war won't last forever. And Sirius still drinks tea with too much sugar. If he can hold on to these things, Remus thinks that he can make it to tomorrow. Besides, his back pocket is full and he has eggs to reheat.

Fin