AN: So, playing round, feeling odd. Albinoing. Let me know :]

***

Remus reaches up with his fingers, so joyously free of fur that he might cry one of these moments-seconds hours, and threads the air gently between his fingers. The grass grows under his head with the heartbeat of time, thumping and chipping away until there’s not really much left except for the grass itself. His fingers hold all too gently onto the oxygen and nitrogen and hydrogen and too many other things that end in –gen and there’s the feeling of gravity between his toes, even though they’re all too wrapped up in sensible school shoes made of respectable leather.

“Just imagine,” and Remus is so close that Sirius can nearly taste him- Remus tastes so odd, so different that at first Sirius didn’t like to say that the taste was nearly better than the smell of fresh laundry on your tongue. “Just think that light-years and light-years away there’s giant bloody balls of fire hanging in the air, waiting for somebody.”

Remus wonders what sorts of gasses manage to get inside your shoes and mingle with gravity between your toes.

They are only boys, really, and it’s so sad that they wish they weren’t that it’s all that the elderly can do not to choke and cry on about youth and beauty and the withering of a flower with the passage of time and watch them fly away without listening into the mass of –gen’s. But they do anyway, and there’s nothing to be said about it that will be listened to.

“You know, when oxygen is liquid, it explodes.” Remus’ eyes are closed gently and his arms have fallen down, but he’s still holding as tight as he can on to the air around them with the desperation of a short lifetime of losses. The sky is gray above them, the same color as Remus’ sweater. Clouds are moving over the sun at ridiculous speeds Not to be Attempted and making little blotches as they make their way it.

The day is all-wrong for this, and it’s all right, but it doesn’t matter as much as it probably should. Probably does.

The sky is full of gravity and chemicals we wish we didn’t have to learn how to pronounce in high school science classes, and Remus tastes so odd on Sirius’ tongue it makes him feel as though a little dose of something illegal has been shot into his bloodstream.