per·fec·tion
The quality or condition of being perfect. The act or process of perfecting: Perfection of the invention took years. A person or thing considered to be perfect. An instance of excellence.
Perfection. That was the one thing Remus longed for. The one thing that would make him whole. He needed perfection more than anything in the world, and he ached for it. Sometimes, he would lock himself in the bathrooms at the end of the eastern corridor on the fifth floor, and watch his reflection in the mirror for imperfections. And each of those imperfections he tried to improve on. Because if he were perfect, no one would refuse him. No one would want to.
And maybe Sirius would want him if he were perfect.
He sat in front of the mirror in the dormitory, examining himself. It was a regular Tuesday evening, and after an afternoon of Potions, he was exhausted. Soon it would be dinner, and he would have to leave his mirror, and go face his fears. But for now, everyone was in the Common Room, doing homework, or maybe playing Exploding Snap. And so he sat, watching himself in the mirror. It taunted him, this mirror, making fun of his attachment to it.
"Will you ever let me have some peace?" it asked, with an exhausted sign.
He carefully placed his hand upon the cool glassy surface as he started putting on a little bit of white eyeliner. He'd read in one of the girl's magazines that sometimes Muggle make-up was ideal for wooing the lads. Apparently white eyeliner made the eyes seem twinkly. Just what he needed. His eyes had nothing on Sirius' storm filled eyes, that contained a million shades without meaning to, and always betrayed Sirius his emotions.
An alarm went off, ringing harsh in the still silence of the room. It was time for dinner, and Remus was far from perfect. He couldn't face his friends like this, far less could he face Sirius. His insecurities bubbled up to meet him, and he panicked.
A knock on the door made Remus jump in fright. He cautiously called out for the person behind the door to come in, as he knew it would be impolite to refuse them access. The door opened, and he saw Sirius standing there. Remus had already been caught off guard, so it didn't matter now he let a tear slip down his cheek.
"What are you doing? It's dinnertime now, Remy," he said, glaring concernedly at his friend.
"I'm.....oh Siri. I wish I were like you."
"Like me?"
"You're so confident, and nothing bothers you. I just want a little perfection, you know?"
"Oh Remy," said Sirius, sliding down onto the floor. He was on his knees, kneeling next to the stool Remus was sat on. Like this, they were at the same level of height.
"You are perfection."
And he brought forth his lips, and the pair kissed, their tears fusing together to create an entirely new kind of perfection.
The quality or condition of being perfect. The act or process of perfecting: Perfection of the invention took years. A person or thing considered to be perfect. An instance of excellence.
Perfection. That was the one thing Remus longed for. The one thing that would make him whole. He needed perfection more than anything in the world, and he ached for it. Sometimes, he would lock himself in the bathrooms at the end of the eastern corridor on the fifth floor, and watch his reflection in the mirror for imperfections. And each of those imperfections he tried to improve on. Because if he were perfect, no one would refuse him. No one would want to.
And maybe Sirius would want him if he were perfect.
He sat in front of the mirror in the dormitory, examining himself. It was a regular Tuesday evening, and after an afternoon of Potions, he was exhausted. Soon it would be dinner, and he would have to leave his mirror, and go face his fears. But for now, everyone was in the Common Room, doing homework, or maybe playing Exploding Snap. And so he sat, watching himself in the mirror. It taunted him, this mirror, making fun of his attachment to it.
"Will you ever let me have some peace?" it asked, with an exhausted sign.
He carefully placed his hand upon the cool glassy surface as he started putting on a little bit of white eyeliner. He'd read in one of the girl's magazines that sometimes Muggle make-up was ideal for wooing the lads. Apparently white eyeliner made the eyes seem twinkly. Just what he needed. His eyes had nothing on Sirius' storm filled eyes, that contained a million shades without meaning to, and always betrayed Sirius his emotions.
An alarm went off, ringing harsh in the still silence of the room. It was time for dinner, and Remus was far from perfect. He couldn't face his friends like this, far less could he face Sirius. His insecurities bubbled up to meet him, and he panicked.
A knock on the door made Remus jump in fright. He cautiously called out for the person behind the door to come in, as he knew it would be impolite to refuse them access. The door opened, and he saw Sirius standing there. Remus had already been caught off guard, so it didn't matter now he let a tear slip down his cheek.
"What are you doing? It's dinnertime now, Remy," he said, glaring concernedly at his friend.
"I'm.....oh Siri. I wish I were like you."
"Like me?"
"You're so confident, and nothing bothers you. I just want a little perfection, you know?"
"Oh Remy," said Sirius, sliding down onto the floor. He was on his knees, kneeling next to the stool Remus was sat on. Like this, they were at the same level of height.
"You are perfection."
And he brought forth his lips, and the pair kissed, their tears fusing together to create an entirely new kind of perfection.