Work Text:
look up, the stars are burning (and darling, so are we)
an rjl fanfic ,
reader-insert
the world ended a little slower in your part of town. it wasn't the sort of place where things exploded or fell apart all at once. it crumbled, cracked in the corners, rotted in the walls. the rain never sounded like music, it just leaked through the roof. people didn’t scream much. they muttered. they left. and sometimes they stayed just long enough to become something worse.
you and remus were born to women who forgot your birthdays and men who vanished before you could learn their middle names. you were raised on discount cigarettes and stories about second chances. his mother had track marks she covered with long sleeves and cheap perfume. yours liked to dance barefoot in the living room, high out of her mind, spinning in circles to fleetwood mac like she could still be young if the song didn’t end.
he lived in the trailer behind the corner store, the one with duct tape on the windows and a chain on the door. you knew the code. 2-3-7. you used it every time you climbed through the back window when home wasn’t home anymore. he always left it open for you.
you were kids together. spent summers skinning your knees and stealing sodas from gas stations. picked wildflowers for each other just to burn them. shared headphones and secrets in a world that didn’t give a damn about either. remus told you about the stars, how they were all burning, dying slowly, how maybe you were one of them. you listened like it meant something. like he meant something.
but something was different now.
you didn’t laugh as loud anymore. he didn’t meet your eyes as easy. there were long pauses between the things you said. silences that used to feel warm now felt like the space between train tracks.
it was late again. past midnight. the sky was that kind of thick black that swallowed sound. you were sitting on the sidewalk behind the high school, knees pressed together, watching his breath fog in the cold. remus stood nearby, his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, swaying a little like he was too full of something and didn’t know where to put it.
“you ever think,” he started, then stopped. swallowed. “you ever think we’re not the same anymore?”
you blinked, looked up at him. the way the streetlamp caught the edges of his face made him look older. not grown. just... tired in a way bones remember.
“i mean,” he said again, quieter now, accent thick like molasses, “i still know you like i always did. still know the shape of your shadow, the way you chew your nails when you lie.”
he moved closer, sat beside you. his thigh brushed yours. he didn’t pull away.
“but i dunno.” a faint laugh, like it hurt. “feels like we’re driftin’. like we’ve been orbitin’ the same thing so long, we’re startin’ to lose each other.”
you said nothing. because you knew.
“i don’t wanna be a star you can’t see anymore,” he murmured, voice so soft it was barely there. “i don’t wanna be somethin’ you used to know.”
then he looked up, tired eyes catching yours in the dark, his voice breaking just once.
“just.. stay, yeah? even if you’re further away. just stay.”
you didn’t answer right away. the cold was creeping into your bones, but it was nothing compared to the weight in your chest. the streetlamp flickered again, casting shadows that danced like ghosts around you both. you wanted to say something—anything—but the words tangled up inside like broken glass.
remus shifted closer, his breath mingling with yours in the cold night air. the smell of him was faint—like old leather and rain-soaked earth. you could feel the tremor in his fingers where they pressed against the cracked concrete beside you.
“i’m scared,” he whispered, voice barely louder than the wind. “scared that if we don’t hold on, we’ll just... disappear.”
you swallowed hard. you wanted to tell him you felt the same, but the words stuck in your throat. instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as it found his. his fingers curled around yours, rough and calloused, but steady.
“stay,” you said, voice cracking. “i’m not ready to let go either.”
for a moment, the world outside the dim glow of the streetlamp didn’t exist. there was only you, remus, and the fragile thread between you—thin, frayed, but still holding.
the days that followed were a strange kind of quiet. you and remus didn’t talk much about what had passed that night, but everything had shifted. the easy laughter and reckless adventures of your childhood felt like echoes from a different life. now, every glance was loaded with unspoken questions, every touch a tentative promise.
one afternoon, you found yourself walking toward the trailer behind the corner store. the place looked even more worn than usual — windows patched with newspaper, the door sagging on its hinges. but the chain was gone. the lock, too.
you hesitated at the threshold, heart pounding. then you pushed the door open.
inside, the air was thick with stale smoke and something faintly sweet—cigarette butts in an ashtray, a half-empty bottle on the table. remus was sitting on the sagging couch, staring at the cracked ceiling like he was trying to read a secret message in the peeling paint.
he looked up when you stepped in, surprise flickering across his face.
“you came,” he said simply.
you nodded, stepping inside. the trailer smelled like broken dreams and faded memories, but it was home. or at least, it had been.
“i don’t wanna lose this,” you said, voice small. “us.”
remus looked down at his hands, then back at you. “me neither.”
he reached out, pulling you close until your heads rested against each other. the silence between you was no longer empty—it was full of everything you couldn’t say.
that night, you lay awake in your bed, the ceiling spinning with thoughts. you thought about the women who raised you—how their love was messy and imperfect, but it was all you had. you thought about the men who vanished, leaving holes no one could fill. and you thought about remus, the boy who had been your anchor in a world that kept slipping away.
you reached for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen. you wanted to call him, to hear his voice, to know he was still there. but you didn’t.
instead, you stared at the dark, waiting for the first light of dawn to break through.
days turned into weeks, and the slow crumble of your world continued. the town didn’t explode or fall apart all at once—it just kept fading, like a photograph left out in the sun too long. but you and remus held on, even as everything else slipped away.
one evening, you met behind the high school again. the sky was bruised purple, the air thick with the promise of rain. remus was waiting, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes searching.
“i got a job,” he said, voice rough. “at the garage. it’s not much, but it’s something.”
you smiled, the first real smile in a long time. “that’s good.”
he shrugged, but there was a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen in months.
“we could get out of here,” he said suddenly. “go somewhere new. start over.”
you looked at him, heart pounding. the idea was terrifying and thrilling all at once.
“do you wanna?” you asked.
he nodded. “more than anything.”
you reached out, taking his hand. “then let’s do it.”
the night before you planned to leave, you and remus sat on the rooftop of the old school gym. the stars were out—faint, distant, but still there.
“remember when you told me we were like stars?” you said softly.
he smiled, eyes reflecting the pinpricks of light. “yeah. i guess we’re still burning, even if no one sees.”
you leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“maybe that’s enough,” you whispered.
remus wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close.
“maybe it is.”
and for the first time in a long time, the world didn’t feel like it was ending. it felt like it was just beginning.