eroticsclerotic:

When Sirius is anxious, he draw on himself. Little dashes, hearts, triangles, arrows. When the Marauders see him with hands covered in a rainbow of markings, they know. They pile up pillows and blankets in their dorm and cuddle until Sirius can breathe again, until he can see the world again.

When Remus is anxious, he covers himself up. He pulls his shirts over his hands, he puts on his largest sweaters, he steals Sirius’ giant boots. Remus hides in little niches of the castle that shouldn’t be able to fit his lanky body. Sometimes he invites Padfoot, and they sit there until Remus stops trembling, until he can think.

Sirius reclaims the body his family, his very blood, tried to steal from him. He draws shapes that read: “I own this skin.”

Remus renounces his body, the body covered in scars that remind him of injury he can’t undo. He covers himself so he can remember that he is more than his skin, more than his disease.

They both just want to exist. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.