Simple Math / Part Seventeen
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words
Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.
“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.
“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”
He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”
“Simon?”
“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.
“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.
“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.
“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.
“Let’s sit down on the couch.”
He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.
You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.
There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”
“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.
“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.
“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”
“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”
“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.
“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“
“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”
“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.
You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.
It’s a dream.
One you won’t easily surrender.
“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”
“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.
“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.
“What happened?”
“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”
“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”
“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.
“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.
“Sorry.”
“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“
“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”
“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.
“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.
“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.
“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”
“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”
“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.
“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.
“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.
“Let’s get ye to bed then.”
“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.
“It’s not safe.”
“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”
“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.
“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.
“She’s too little.”
“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”
“Fine.”
“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”
“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.
“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”
“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.
“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.
“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.
“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”
“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.
“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.
“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”
“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”
“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.
“Feel good then?”
“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.
And then one more.
“What’s wro-“
“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.
Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.
You can’t.
Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.
“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.
You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”
Your stomach is what wakes you.
Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.
You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.
Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.
You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.
The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.
“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”
“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.
“That’s the way, good girl.”
“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”
“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”
“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.
“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.
“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.
“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.
“Think it’s the nursery bug?”
“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.
“Want to go back to bed?”
“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”
“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.
“What’s up?”
“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.
Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.
She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.
“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.
“What do I do?”
“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-
Marshall.
Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.
You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”
“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.
“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.
“Care to fix it?”
“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.
“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.
“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.
You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.
“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.
“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.
“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.
“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-
“Anna. From radiology.”
“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.
“Yeah.”
“Okay…”
“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”
“How long has it been?”
“Two months.” You laugh.
“That’s it?”
“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.
“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.
“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”
Don’t give up.
The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?
Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?
“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.
“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.
“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.
“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.
Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.
“I’m fine.”
“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.
“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”
“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.
“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.
“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”
Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.
You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.
A box falls to the floor.
HCG strips.
You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.
You’re not…
No.
Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.
You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.
Still…
You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.
The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Fear.
Anxiety.
Panic.
Sadness.
Grief.
It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.
If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.
But-
Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.
Nothing has changed, but everything could.
The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.
A bold pink line.
And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.
Tangible. Present.
Pregnant.
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[WM — September 2024] Prompt 6 — Time-Turner.
Rating: G.
TW: none.
Characters: Remus Lupin, Seren Lupin (OC), Mary Macdonald, Sirius Black (in the haunting-the-narrative kind of way).
Additional Tags: actor Sirius Black; celebrity Sirius Black; trans Remus Lupin; past trans male pregnancy; Mary and Peter are great friends I just need to say it; modern au; actress Seren Lupin but she’s just starting; Seren as a wolfstar baby except Sirius doesn’t know she’s his (or Remus’s for that matter).
Summary: Seren Lupin gets the lead role for upcoming coming-of-age movie Time-Turner.
Words count: 975.
A/N: Heya! I dropped this au in @impishtubist askbox some time ago and since it refused to leave my brain I'm now forced to write about it idk. I’ll write Sirius and Remus’ first meeting (in twelve years) for a later microfic I think lmao. Hope you like it! 💕
@wolfstarmicrofic
read on ao3.
-
Remus is worrying himself sick, pacing alone in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge to make sure the cake is still here, getting the glasses out, putting them back in, starting making tea, forgetting it halfway through the process. He should have joined them after work, but he was too stressed and too scared of somehow destroying Seren’s chances.
It’s her last audition today. Some sort of chemistry test? To see if she gets along with the other actors? It all made sense when she was excitedly telling him about it yesterday again, but it’s like his brain is mush now.
The door opens, cutting him down from his own spiral, and Remus perks up, more stressed out by the whole affair than his daughter ever was.
“Dad! Dad! I got it!”
Seren appears in the kitchen, grinning like the little gremlin she is, teeth out and her brown curls slipping free from the careful braid Mary pushed them into this morning. Her eyes, a circle of dark brown cascading into a warm grey, are shining with delight and joy, and Remus finds himself breathless with love — just like almost twelve years ago, when they put this small, red, squealing baby on his chest with a congratulation.
His daughter jumps into his arms and he laughs in tandem with her. “That’s amazing! I knew you could do it!” He lets her free, just enough to put his hands on her cheeks and look at her in the eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
She beams with the force of a thousand suns.
“Thanks! It was so cool, and, oh, you’ll never guess who’s gonna play my dad in the film! And Mister Dumbledore said that we could get a TV show too!”
Albus Dumbledore, one of the most acclaimed film directors still alive, with so many successes behind him — yet so eccentric you could never guess what he will go for next. After a blockbuster about a young crowds of vigilantes saving their world from tyranny, a rather depressing story about a young orphan in the middle of WWII becoming the oppressor, and a passionate but tragic gay romance at the end of the 19th century, a coming-of-age children story is right on par for the course. Time-Turner, as it’s called, will follow a young girl — played by Seren, his own daughter! — discovering her time travel power, while dealing with her mother’s recent demise.
Which makes the father of the heroine the other lead of the film, and someone Seren will have to spend a lot of time with. Remus hopes he’s a good person. Someone nice, who wouldn’t be put-out by her unlimited energy and her never-ending supply of questions.
“So?” he asks as Seren stops talking to take a breath. “Who will play your dad?”
She grins, more excited even than before. She has always looked more like him, in general, with more elegance in her traits and grace in her body than he ever possessed. But like that — oh, like that, she looks just like…
“Sirius Black!” she yells, bouncing on her feet, and she can’t help but do a little, victorious dance.
“That’s great,” he says, croaks out more than anything, and smiles as wide as he can, drowning the drumming of his heart and fear as much as he can. “Why don’t you call your grandparents to tell them the news?” He checks the time. “And your uncle Peter? He should be out of work by now.”
Seren nods and babbles some more and disappears toward her room. Mary, who was standing silently near the door the whole time, finally comes around.
Remus starts busying himself with tea. It’s easier than thinking through his rising panic.
“So,” says Mary, because of course she cannot not say anything. For a brief second, Remus wishes Peter had been the one disponible today — he would have judged silently but not said anything, him. “You never told us Sirius Black is Seren’s father.”
He groans. His face hits the table and he considers staying here forever.
“No one knows,” he finally mumbles. “How did you even guess?”
“He was here today.” She ponders her words an instant. “They’re a lot alike.”
“But he doesn’t—” He stops himself, but Mary has known him since they were kids. She can read him too easily.
“I don't think he does.”
Remus sighs. It’s not ideal; it was already not great when Sirius Black was Seren’s idol, but it will be worse now that they’re in contact. Now that he will be in her life.
“Do I ask how it happened, since you didn’t tell me at the time, or are we doing that later when you can get drunk?”
“Second option,” Remus immediately answers. He can still remember, after all those years, how Sirius kissed him like he was important, the warmth of his hands on his body, the softness of his hair— But they had basically been strangers to each other, several hook-ups to escape boring parties resulting in Remus's panic at his sudden pregnancy and a total loss of contact. And now— Now he has so much to lose.
“I’ll call Peter,” Mary nods sagely. Then, after a beat of silence, “it will come out at some point, you know.”
“I doubt it,” he mutters, prays. “It’s not like he’ll remember me, anyway.”
How could an acclaimed actor, known all around the world, remember a random waiter he slept with twelve years ago? Remus didn’t impact his life the way Sirius impacted his. He’ll never regret it, of course — Seren is the most precious thing in his life, and all the moments preceding her existence were pretty great too — but it's not like Sirius would want to have anything to do with them, anyway.
Remus can at least try to speak it into existence.
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