Remus knew he was asking a lot of Sirius. By definition, the responsibility of being the secret keeper demanded that it remained a secret, but it struck something juvenile and vulnerable in Remus knowing that if things had been even slightly different, he would have been part of the decision; maybe he would have even been considered.
Sirius’ insistence in keeping Remus on the outside of that decision, crucial as it was to what they were all trying to do, made Remus’ anger shift and change, left only with a bitter hurt.
“Whatever, Sirius,” Remus repeated dismissively, the conversation a fruitless loop, having ended up almost exactly where they had started.
With nothing more to say, nowhere for their relationship to go, Remus left the kitchen without looking at Sirius.

____
It was late when Sirius finally got back to the safe house, which was pitch black and the only sound disturbing the air was the muffled sounds of people sleeping. Under normal circumstances, Sirius probably would have been a little more careful in how he moved about the house when people were asleep, but he was exhausted to the bone and just needed some rest.
He and Remus hadn’t seen each other or talked much since their latest fight, but now Sirius was desperate for his company. He knew that Remus had to set out in just a couple of hours to join yet another colony of wolves for a while, but Sirius hoped that he hadn’t left yet.
As he crept inside the room that Remus was sleeping in, he was immediately hit with a wave of relief when he saw the familiar sleeping form on the bed; it was almost enough to make him weep.
Too exhausted to put much care into his movements, Sirius fell down on the bed next to Remus, wrapping an arm possessively around his waist as he made himself comfortable against his chest, allowing himself to soak it all up.

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Despite having spent his youth in a dorm, the stays at the camps had quickly turned Remus into a light sleeper. It only added to the misery, having gone months if not years without getting more than a couple of hours of sleep without interruption or paranoid spells.
While the rustle of someone approaching his bed had startled Remus awake, and for how much his nervous system was worn thin by the war, it failed to compare to the bone-deep familiarity of Sirius creeping into his bed.
It made Remus' shoulders resettle before the adrenaline even took a proper foothold, making him exhale the breath he had hitched.
Long before they had started sleeping together, they had actually slept together, and like he had always done, Remus instinctively offered Sirius half of what he had, even if they had grown and the bed had shrunk. Turning onto his side, Remus made space for Sirius to fill, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him properly onto the bed.

Once Remus made space for him, Sirius was quick to fill it, so starved for gentle human touch that he couldn’t tolerate even a slight separation between their bodies.
He nestled his face in the crook of Remus’ neck, feeling surrounded by him in a way that felt like a warm blanket on a cold day; cherishing the feeling of finally feeling safe and cared for again.
“I missed you,” Sirius muttered directly into Remus’ skin, unsure and uncaring whether Remus even heard him, just desperate to get to say the words out loud.

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Sirius’ words were all but injected directly into Remus’ bloodstream, feeling them bloom down his spine with relief.
He was under no illusions that Sirius didn’t feel the aftershocks of their fight, still, feeling their relationship fundamentally changed for the worse. Remus had felt it break something fragile between them, but the war had wrecked his pride; regardless of whether or not Sirius trusted him, Remus still wanted this, returning to Sirius like a beaten dog.
“Me, too,” he gasped into Sirius’ hair, the words punched out of him.
Running his hand up Sirius’ back, Remus grew vaguely aware of the fact that Sirius hadn’t undressed after arriving, still in real clothes. It tugged at Remus’ heart, immediately reading too much into it, knowing he would have rushed to be close, too, having not expected getting to see him at all.

The reply made Sirius’ grip tighten around Remus, a small part of him having felt unsure whether this would still be allowed him, but the possible repercussions of his actions hadn’t hit him until right this moment. The fact that they could still have this made a wave of relief flow through Sirius, only then realising just how badly he needed this.
Not knowing how to put his relief into words, Sirius started pressing soft kisses to Remus’ neck, having no proper words left to say; feeling consumed by his need to be close to Remus in any way possible.

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Having no awareness of time or of how long he had until he were to take a Portkey out of the area, Remus’ heart clenched with urgency, with a sense of never having enough time with Sirius. It made Remus’ eyes shut, desperately trying to commit to memory the feeling of Sirius in his arm, of the kisses to his neck. Having spent Remus’ last break fighting and avoiding each other had nearly killed him, having had to face the camps without the recent memory of anything good; having had no expectations of getting to see Sirius at all before leaving this time, Remus had spent the last day trying to prepare himself for the same, awful ordeal.
His hand skimmed over Sirius’ back in favour of his forehead, pushing him away from his neck enough for Remus to catch his lips in a kiss, before brushing his hand over Sirius’ hair to rest at the nape of his neck, needing that memory more.

Had their circumstances been even a little bit different, Sirius knew that they probably should have discussed their fight and their long spell of silence, but with the war getting more and more real each day, Sirius also knew that they couldn’t afford that conversation.
Remus was going out again in mere hours and Sirius wanted this closeness so badly that he could feel it in every single muscle of his body. He was so much less of himself when he didn’t get to share this with Remus and he didn’t want to ruin this moment by talking.
Instead, he simply returned the kiss, too tired for the roaring fire that usually overtook him, and instead he slightly loosened his grip on Remus, instead moving his hand backwards to softly run up and down Remus’ spine.

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Remus could tell Sirius was exhausted, putty in the embrace. There was no telling how long Sirius had been awake, or how long he had been away; Remus could ask, but they had stopped doing so years ago. Breaking the kiss was easy, everything far gentler than it usually was.
Brushing the stray hairs away from Sirius’ forehead again, Remus allowed himself a selfish moment to just look at him, though the room was so dark he could barely see him, even though they were mere inches apart. He leaned in to press a last kiss to the highpoint of Sirius’ cheek, familiar with his face even in the dark.
“Turn around, love,” he encouraged softly, loosening his grip around Sirius all together.

The request made Sirius’ grip around Remus tighten slightly again, finding that there really was nothing he wanted more than to keep being able to look at him and get to take him in.
Even in the dark, Sirius could almost make out Remus’ features, if not by sight then by touch and memory alone, and he wanted to be able to soak it in before they were going to be separated again.
“No,” he said in a soft voice, not as a rejection but as a plea. His arm wrapped almost entirely around Remus’ chest and pulling him close, a softer desperation than what he usually showed but a desperation nonetheless.
“Let me see you.”

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Sirius’ objection made Remus’ heart stutter a beat, taken aback by the intimacy of the request. Even in the darkness, the weight of Sirius’ attention felt endless, wholly unwarranted and dizzying, forced to face something he thought only he wanted.
It made Remus wonder if something else had happened, if somehow Sirius was even less alright now than usual, but no words came. Remus was painfully aware of the downward spiral they were all caught in and the redundancy of speaking to it, least of all now.
With a quiet acceptance, he once again reached for Sirius, deciding it wouldn’t make a difference, too pitiful to go looking for an explanation when, deep down, this was everything Remus wanted, too.
Catching Sirius by his waist, Remus drew a gentle line up Sirius’ back. Pushing the fabric of Sirius’ shirt up just enough to dip his hand beneath the fabric, Remus’ fingers fanned across the expanse of Sirius’ ribs, every touch a question.

It was thrilling to have Remus give into his pleads so easily, Sirius having so very little energy to actually argue about anything, but it was never necessary when they were like this. As it often happened when they got a small pocket of peace like this, Sirius couldn’t help but wonder what could’ve been if they had not been caught in a war.
It was absolutely useless thinking though, and rather than linger on it for too long, Sirius instead bridged the gap between them once more, kissing Remus on the lips and trying to memorise the feeling of it.
“I can take the shirt off if you want me to,” he muttered against Remus’ lips, the kiss trailing towards the corner of his mouth. Sirius didn’t care much about the exact nature of their caress as long as he got to be like this with Remus.

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Meeting the kiss willingly, Remus chased after as Sirius’ allowed them to trail. Resting his forehead against Sirius’ temple, Remus struggled to articulate whether he actually wanted more than this, the usual insatiable yearning he felt for Sirius suddenly quieted, fulfilled. He wasn’t even sure he wasn’t still sleeping, this version of Sirius the version he knew from his dreams.
Remus’ fingers trailed the curve of Sirius’ ribs towards his spine, an indulgent caress, trying to find the words, but he was nowhere as brave as Sirius, unable to ask anything of him.
More steadfastly, Remus’ hand returned to Sirius’ chest, fabric bunching around his wrist as he did. Everything becoming clumsy and complicated on the narrow bed, Remus shifted onto one elbow, untangling himself from Sirius as he kept pushing the shirt up around Sirius’ armpits, ducking to kiss an encouragement to his piercing, a scrape of teeth.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath at Remus’ caress, wanting to feel every single part of him so badly that he could hardly breathe.
Everything felt so much more raw than it usually did, almost as if both of them were convinced that this was going to be the last time, though Sirius couldn’t bear to even consider that.
Instead, he simply slipped off his shirt the rest of the way, wanting Remus to get to see him as well.

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Though Remus had been happy and content with much less, there was no denying the way Remus’ stomach flipped as Sirius undressed. It was pitiful - Pavlovian - the way desire was pulled to the forefront of every other thing on his mind as soon as it was presented to him as an option, wanting whatever was available to him.
Slotting a knee between Sirius’ thighs, Remus trailed a kiss to Sirius’ collarbone. The pale expanse of Sirius’ chest was considerably more visible than the dark colour of his shirt, but even in pitch darkness, Remus would have found the tattoo on Sirius’ shoulder, seeing the word clearly in his mind’s eye.
Pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the ugly ****ing tattoo he had given Sirius’ months ago, Remus desperately wanted a declaration of love to take its place.

____
After the first wizarding war, Sirius had been convinced that there would never be anything that would be able to throw him off balance ever again. Even when he got thrown into Azkaban for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, that damned rat, he had barely felt anything at all.
This past week though had rattled him so enormously that he felt numb and overstimulated at the same time. It felt like every single nerve ending in his body was on fire and yet none of the signals were getting properly through to his brain, leaving him detached from his own body and the people around him.
As he sat in the kitchen of some random house, having barely even noticed how he had gotten there, Sirius trying to feel more comfortable in his own body, having spent so much time as a dog the past couple of months that even walking on two legs felt strange and off putting.
The tea in the chipped mug in front of him had to be long cold, but that hadn’t stopped him from wrapping his fingers, which seemed to be perpetually cold at this point, around it as if it could heat him up.
The sound of the door slamming, announcing the departure of the last member of the order, rattled his skull so badly that it made him grit his teeth and suck in a breath, constantly feeling everything too intensely while not properly feeling it at all.
He would have thought that having Remus there would help him feel more at ease, but honestly he just added to the surreal feeling that had already taking over him, body and soul.
After getting locked up, Sirius had thought that he was never going to see Remus again, having effectively lost all of is friends in one fell swoop. He had grieved the loss so much that seeing Remus again almost felt like seeing his friend risen fro the grave, but there was no joy in it, having to face the fact that they were strangers now, despite everything that they had shared in the past.

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The transformation had wrecked Remus and bedridden him for days, years on Wolfsbane having dulled the memory of the trauma it entailed. Along with the shock of seeing Sirius - ****ing Peter, too - at the Shack had propelled Remus back to his youth in a way he hadn’t been able to shake, feeling desperately helpless even after a week. He had contributed nothing at all to the conversation, having simply sat quiet and stared at Sirius. Remus hadn’t moved when the rest of the Order filtered out, leaving them alone.
Sirius almost looked worse here, in something that resembled an actual home, dropped in from a foreign planet. Azkaban had eaten away at everything that made up a person, and still Remus saw him so clearly that it made him nauseous with remorse and shame, the sour remnants of anger and heartbreak.
Something about the thought of Sirius’ tea having gone cold, however, was particularly heartbreaking.
With a sudden display of intention, Remus pulled himself out of his stupor, picking his wand out of his pocket; the mere sound of the fabric rustling and the chair creaking obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the kitchen. With it in hand, he learned forward in his seat, stretching his arm across the wide table in order to tap the tip of his wand against the rim of Sirius’ mug, muttering a heating charm.

The silence of the kitchen had been so deep and cloying that when Remus finally moved Sirius couldn’t help but flinch, old reflexes that had stitched themselves so deeply into his nervous system that he couldn’t let them go.
However, once he realised that it was simply a heating charm for his tea, Sirius tried to relax again, feeling a deep ache in his muscles from the action.
“Ta,” he stated but his voice was flat and without much emotion. He had spent all of what little voice he had left on answering questions from Moody and he could feel his vocal cords straining from even that little syllable.

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Remus knew he had misstepped the moment Sirius flinched, realising too late that the gesture would have been perceived as jarring or aggressive. It almost managed to make him flinch, too, as if it was possible to take it all back.
“Sorry,” he mumbled instinctively, sinking back in his chair with more care than he had had when shifting forward, stifled.
Had Remus given anything a single thought he might have said anything else but sorry, the apology so ****ing trivial compared to the endless list of apologies Remus felt like he owed Sirius.
There was nothing Remus did or could have done that would have changed the course the war took, but whether or not Sirius ever knew, Remus had harboured a great deal of contempt for him, privately blaming him for so much. Seeing Peter at the Shack, however, had sent Remus for a loop, bringing him right back to a bone-deep remorse, certain Sirius could see it painted on his face.
He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know how to say anything, he didn’t know Sirius, at all.
“I can brew you a new one, all together,” he offered, uncomfortable, aiming for gently. “Sometimes magic makes it taste shite.”

Seeing the guilt painted on Remus’ face immediately made Sirius feel guilty as well, knowing that he was gonna be safe here, but he couldn’t really help it. Being in Azkaban really had done a number on his nerves and he wasn’t sure he was ever going to feel normal about a wand pointed in his general direction again.
“Is alright,” he said, already feeling the heat seep from the mug into his bones, and that was honestly what he wanted more than the actually tea.
“Is mostly for warmth,” he added, his voice raw, both from disuse but also from all the emotions caught up within him.
While locked up, he had often dreamt that he would get to see Remus again, knowing that he really was his only friend left, but this really wasn’t the reunion that he had been dreaming about and he had no idea how to fix it.

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