A/N This is another... experiment. Yeah, experiment sounds about right. I actually really like this so I thought I might as well post it =) It was for a challenge on the HPFC yet I can't remember which one it was for - was written months and months and months ago.

Summary; How hard can you fall before you smash into thousands of unfixable pieces? RemusSirius. Fluff.

Falling

Past

You were so very nervous that first time you stumbled your way onto Platform 9 and 3/4. The great scarlet train was the first thing to attract your eye, the white smoke billowing from it's funnel. Then the sheer number of people – some your age with huge grins, others older, but still grinning and then, finally, the Hogwarts Trunks and trolleys, piled high with belongings and owls and cats and rats and all kinds of magical items you were just itching to get your fingers on.

You strolled along the Platform, every bone in your body trembling from pure fear and excitement.

And you turned to hug your parents for one last time, reassuring them you'd be fine and you'd write a lot and you were sure it was going to brilliant; all the time trying to quell that panic, that longing that made you wish you could walk around with a smile on your face, laughing and joking, making new friends as easily and as carefree like the others. You wanted that. But you knew you couldn't have that. Perhaps that's why you hugged your mother for that second too long, reluctant to leave the safety of her arms? Perhaps that's why your smile turned watery when your father clasped your shoulder?

Perhaps that's why you waited until the very last moment to drag your trunk aboard and slip inside the first empty compartment you came across?

Except you couldn't find one. So instead you found a compartment with a single first-year inside, a small, pudgy boy with weak eyes and blonde hair. He squeaked a very nervous reply to your polite question as to whether or not you could sit with him.

You'd introduced yourself as calmly as you could and sat down, wondering all the while if he knew what you were just by looking at you... If he knew your dreadful secret... if he was going to get up and run away screaming his tiny little heart out...

But he didn't. He stayed. And after an awkward few minutes, two other boys barged their way inside and sat down without permission, grinning at the pair of you with wide innocent eyes and they'd started chatting almost immediately about 'Snivellus' and what a bastard he was. You'd blinked at the word, your first real encounter with swearing that wasn't a mumbled curse when your father dropped something.

You'd stared at them, wondering who, what, these two loud, hyper creatures before you were and why they were in here when you were sure there were cooler people they could sit with – for there was no doubt in your mind that these two would be popular.

And as you'd stared – trying not to make it obvious - you'd taken in the shared black hair, though one was stuck up at odd angles and the other smooth and perfect; you'd taken in the warm hazel eyes on one, partly hidden by the glasses he wore, and the cold grey eyes of the other and the fact they were both good looking – but each with a different charm – and you'd thought they were the strangest creatures you'd ever seen.

You'd watched for a long time, savouring the warmth it left when the one with the brown eyes glanced your way and smiled, almost as though you were friends. In fact, you pretended you had friends all the way to Hogwarts because you knew once you got there, they'd be off in another class; another planet and they'd soon forget about that weirdly quiet boy on the train.

Perhaps it would've worked out better if you'd been right?

.x0x.

After the feast you'd sat on your bed, knees drawn to your chest as you watched your three dorm mates – the boys who'd shared your carriage so easily earlier on – having a pillow fight, bouncing round the beds, from one to the next and only saying a hasty apology the first two or three times they'd bounced on yours.

But you didn't mind. It made you feel included, made that ache that had started in your chest a little bit easier to handle, let you keep on pretending you had friends.

And then they'd finished and collapsed in a big, sweaty heap on the boy with glasses' – or James, as you'd later come to call him – bed, wondering out loud if the girls were engaging in similar pillow fights but totally naked.

You'd watched Black pull away, excusing himself to his own bed where he sank down with a sigh you were sure only you heard and leant his head in his hands. Ever since the hat had shouted out Gryffindor, he'd been closed. His eyes had lost emotion and his smile; his grin; his laugh had all become fixed.

You knew none of the others had noticed but you half-wanted them to so they would ask him what was wrong. You knew a little something about the Black's – the family he so obviously belonged too – and you thought you had some sort of inkling as to what was so paining him.

But you knew you couldn't ask; didn't dare. A Black noticing you was the last thing you needed.

.x0x.

You'd ran into him the next morning. He'd been walking out of the bathroom and you'd been walking in, head down, looking at the floor as you so often did when you felt threatened.

You'd bounced off him and landed on your backside. He'd blinked for a few seconds before he'd burst out laughing, holding out a hand to help you up. You'd taken it somewhat suspiciously, expecting him to drop you back down.

But he didn't. And once you were on your feet he'd said, "Sorry, mate." And then he'd walked off leaving you with a weird feeling in your stomach at hearing his voice, which was altogether too smooth and perfect to be natural, you'd thought.

.x0x.

The next time you spoke to him was in the bathroom again. Your alarm clock had never gone off so you'd woken up late – not even time for breakfast – and you'd hurried straight to first lesson, planning on going to the toilet at break. But you'd somehow managed to charm Flitwick to turn different colours – something you had no idea how you'd done as your wand hadn't even been in your hand at the time – and landed yourself detention so early in the year. It was lunch by the time you got to the toilet, running all the way there without stopping to ease the stitch in your side.

You'd ran through the door and saw Black leant against the sink, blood dripping down his wrist from a cut and the glint of a metal blade in his hand. You'd paused, trying not to gape and muttered stupidly, "Good job I'm not a vampire."

Then you'd leapt into a cubicle – too shy to use the urinals – and slammed the door behind you.

Two minutes later when you walked out, blushing at your stupid comment, Black was sat on a sink waiting for you, legs swinging nonchalantly and all sign of the blade and cut gone. You'd washed your hands quickly, wondering why Black was staring at you and wishing to be out of there as soon as possible.

But as you'd turned to go, picking up the bag you'd so carelessly dumped, he said, "So what are you, Remus?"

And you'd froze, mind racing to all sorts of horrible scenarios where Black was going to curse you or kill you and hang you up stuffed as though you were a hunting prize. But you calmed yourself down, turning round slowly, trying to quell the emotion on your face. "I'm a nobody," you'd whispered, meeting his eyes for the very first time and feeling a shiver crawl slowly up your spine and creep over your entire body.

.x0x.

You never knew that a couple of weeks later – when you'd been in the grip of one of your terrible nightmares – he'd been sat on his bed next to yours, watching you toss and turn and listening to your growls and whimpers and pain-filled howls and wishing he could do something to help you.

Anything.

You didn't know he'd gotten out of his bed eventually and stopped – almost nervously – next to yours and gently touched your shoulder.

You didn't know that you'd instantly stilled and quietened at his touch, rolling towards him.

You didn't know that he'd sat down next to you, touching your face and wondering why you were so secretive and why you let yourself sit with them for meals and occasionally in class but why you'd never let them close, why you wouldn't even let James be a friend to you.

You didn't know that you'd turned your face towards his hand and curled up against the warmth of his body.

You didn't know that he'd laid down next to you – feeling your strange, frail body quivering and damp with sweat - and fallen asleep besides you, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

You didn't know that for every night after that – until second year when they found out your secret – he'd creep in besides you and creep out in the morning, before anyone woke.

All you knew was the nightmares had stopped – you didn't know why, but you were grateful.

.x0x.

The months melded together and still your awe at learning magic didn't go and neither did your love for the Library.

At the first snow-fall you were outside, sat beneath your favourite tree near the lake with chocolate from home and a simple warming charm to keep you from catching a chill. Not to mention the ridiculously thick book clasped in your hands.

You'd just gotten to the good part when a shadow fell over you. "I don't think you're a nobody, Remus," it had said.

You'd looked up, somewhat reluctantly putting the book to one side as you wondered why he was talking to you. "So what am I then?" you'd asked.

Black – Sirius – crouched down opposite you, peering at you with open curiosity. "You're a somebody, Remus."

You'd shook your head. "No. You're a somebody. Everybody loves you." There was no bitterness to your voice, just a plain statement of fact.

Sirius snorted. "They don't, Remus," he'd said quietly, voice soft and almost-angry, "So many people hate me, Remus."

And then he'd looked up to you, meeting your eyes and making your heart break with the tortured, self-hate he so obviously felt. "I don't hate you," you'd said primly, "And I don't know anybody that does."

"My family, Remus. My family hate me," he'd said, shivering in the cold.

"Then they don't deserve you," you don't know why you said it – what made you say it – other than the fact it felt like what he needed to hear, felt like what he needed to be told.

He'd grinned slightly at you then, "Why aren't we friends, Remus?"

And you were too busy thinking about the fact he seemed to like saying your name – the fact he seemed to roll it round his mouth, savouring the taste before letting it grace his lips in a flurry of rich, warm feeling. Nobody had ever said your name like that before and you were far too preoccupied to realise the full implications of what he was saying. "Because we've never really spoke before," you'd replied, just as matter-of-factly, "And because you could be friends with anybody you wanted. Why would you be friends with me?"

Sirius had cocked his head, "But I want to be friends with you. You're interesting, you're different to the others, Remus." Then he'd held out his hand in a rather businesslike manner and said, "Let's start again. Hi, I'm Sirius Black, my family hates me because I'm a Gryffindor and I'd like to be your friend, Remus."

And you'd stared at that hand for a heart-beat, knowing you couldn't – shouldn't – have friends but the need for them tugging on your heart until you found yourself taking that hand and grinning at him as though it was infectious and saying, "Hi, Sirius Black. I'm Remus Lupin and I'd quite like to be your friend too."

Present.

You swallow nervously, hardly daring to look at your three friends as you prepare yourself to say it. They deserve to know, you argue furiously to yourself, this is nothing to being a werewolf! They won't care!

But you still can't bring yourself to say it so the four of you sit in silence for a little while, the other three staring at you with confusion until finally you jerk your head and mutter, "I can't do it."

How hard can it be to simply say, 'I'm gay.' you're thinking, fists clenched tightly at your sides, Very hard, apparently.

And still you stare at them and they stare back.

"Well, Moony," James prompts after a while, "Are you going to tell us or not?"

You look at him, trying to talk but now your throat has locked up and for a minute you feel vaguely light-headed until a warm hand on your arm brings you back to earth. "It's okay, Moony, whatever it is, we don't care," Sirius is saying to you, squashing himself into the armchair next to you and his presence alone calms you.

He tends to have that effect on you, though you don't yet realise why.

"Yeah," Peter joins in, moving closer to sit in Sirius' vacated chair, "We'll still love you whatever it is."

You know you don't really need to tell them, you know that if you were to just keep on going with it as a secret, your life would probably be no different. Probably. But they deserve to know. And you've had too many secrets in your life to be keeping anymore.

You look at each of their faces in turn, not one is looking impatient because they know you need the time to say this. They know you'll get there eventually and that you need them to listen, to hear.

They know. They understand. Trust them...

"I'm gay," you blurt eventually, covering your face with your hands to shield yourself from their reactions.

Stunned.

Silence for a few seconds and then James – lovely, accepting James – laughs rather nervously, "Well, fuck, is that it, mate? I was thinking you were dying or something what with the expression on your face!" His voice is just a tad high-pitched, you notice.

Peter nods along with James, a rather weak smile twitching at his lips.

Stunned.

But it's Sirius you care about and you turn to him, suddenly acutely aware of how close together you are in this chair and suddenly wishing there was more space between you because the heat feels inescapable.

"Sirius?" you say, worried you've finally scared him off.

He looks up at you – and he's confused, as though he's arguing within himself – before he does his best to smile and says, "Well, at least you're not a vampire-werewolf hybrid or anything."

And it's meant to make you feel better but it doesn't because he's suddenly a blank mask and then he's on his feet, mumbling some stupid-excuse before walking out of the portrait-hole, leaving you with a pain somewhere in your chest, and your head swimming.

"Twat," James mutters forcibly and you look at him - and Peter – seeing the protectiveness to their faces and shuddering slightly from the warmth and contentment that falls over you because you know that at least they care about you.

Future.

Later, the same night after you tell them you're gay, Sirius will stumble back into the dorm when the others are asleep and he'll get into your bed.

Except this time he'll wake you up and stare at you, some private battle in his eyes as he trembles for some reason you don't yet understand and he'll touch your cheek with one hand, determination and fear fighting its way across his face before pure panic sets in.

He looks almost wild, you'll think, and you'll sit up, murmuring, "Sirius?" and touch the hand on your face and feel a burn in your stomach and a tightness to your chest and you'll half-wonder what they are but you'll think you're starting to understand, think you know now.

His thumb will move to stroke your lips as he all but frowns at you, bare shoulders shaking.

And you'll kiss that thumb, pressing your lips against it, half-pulling it into your mouth and part-wondering what you're doing but when a sigh - almost a gasp – escapes his lips the heat flares and fire courses round your body, making your stomach tumble and your eyes widen.

He'll look back at you with equally wide eyes, as though he's so confused about this, before he'll move the hand to curl tightly in your hair and then he'll press your lips together in one searing kiss that makes your heart stop and your eyes flutter shut and your hands fly to his chest and then his neck and his hair.

And then you'll feel his tongue against your lips and you'll open them accordingly and the two of you will slowly sink back onto the bed, him pressing down against you, his chest a warm, heavy, enticing weight against you as your hands knead his muscular back.

Part of you will be crying to stop, because this is wrong, because best friends just don't do this. But then his hand will slip inside your top and brush against your stomach and from your own lips a gasp will fall and you'll stop worrying; stop caring; stop thinking and just feel.

And his mouth will fall to your neck as his hands pull your t-shirt from your body and as he pauses to bite and suck on your skin, you'll gasp again, arching your back up to meet him and then he'll gasp too and you'll realise your breathing is heavy and all you hear is your breathing and the pounding of your heartbeat and the gasps and moans as your hips meet his in some kind of rhythm that's just right.

"Fuck, Remus, fuck!" he'll say in a heavy voice, as though he's so surprised anything can feel this good; this right; this... perfect.

And you'll think that he's done this before, surely? But you won't care because his mouth's against your throat again and his teeth are nipping and his tongue is hot and wet and coaxing you towards the edge and you dig your fingers into his back, murmuring something in his ear – though you'll never be able to remember what – and increase your pace until you're sure the noise is going to wake somebody or the heat – the friction it's causing – is going to make you both melt through the bed.

And then he'll look directly at you, wide, silver eyes, heavy and full with desire staring out of his flushed face. You'll feel the heat boil and froth, spreading down your legs and up your back and you know you're not going to last much longer. "Ready, Sirius?" you'll gasp, voice hoarse and rough in the back of your throat.

"Together?" he'll pant in your ear.

"I – I think so," you'll reply, turning to press your face against his neck.

But his strong fingers will press against your cheek turning your face so he can see your eyes. And with one final kiss upon your lips, his eyes boring into yours, you'll tumble into that blissful oblivion which is only Sirius, biting down on your lip until it bleeds to stop yourself from screaming his name.

"Remus," he'll say heavily with so much need and love and want, you'll tumble further than you ever have before and you know he'll always catch you, "Gods, Rem!"

And then, when your breathing is starting to calm again he'll push your damp hair from out your eyes and he'll kiss your forehead, then your lips, then your closed eyelids and he'll say, "I'm sorry about earlier, Rem. I shouldn't have run like that."

You'll simply hold him tighter to you, curling yourself against the warm safety he promises, and reply, "I know. It's fine."

And it will be fine because you'll have him now, though you never expected it but you'll understand all the shivers at his touch; the smiles he could so easily coax from you. And you won't care.

Even though you'll think it's wrong, even though you'll know that you shouldn't like your best friend like this, you will. And you won't care,

Because you'll enjoy it. You'll love every minute he spends touching you, every secret glance because you'll never dare to tell James or Peter and you'll fall in love with him so many times over that when he does leave you, you'll fall harder than you can ever dare imagine.

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