He was doing so well. So so well. He's the best he’s been in years. He has a wonderful boyfriend, a little cottage on the shore, friends down the road, a godson on the way, and life feels right. The most right it’s ever felt. He had no reason to do it. But then again, has he ever really needed a reason? Or were the reasons just excuses he used to satisfy the craving? Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? A craving or an “addiction,” James liked to call it. He hates it when James uses that word. He doesn’t want one more label, one more thing by which people could define him. Sirius, fallen heir, nutcase, blood traitor, disgrace, anorexic, dangerous, murderous Black. Those are the kinds of names you get from your death-eater parents and their death-eater friends who have death-eater children who all worship a vanished (hopefully dead) genocidal Dark Lord.
But he’s looking past that now. The war is over…or at a standstill…for you can never truly be sure. What he does know is that he’s safe for now. Besides, the people he cares about don’t see him that way. The person he loves doesn’t see him that way.
He had no reason to do it. At least he thinks it’s not a good enough reason. Remus was up at Hogwarts for the week, preparing his classroom and tending to the creatures he kept there. He promised Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey that he would also check on their domains. This isn’t the first time Remus has been away. Sirius is not a child who needs looking after. He, too, has a job, for the time being, assisting Dumbledore with curse-breaking. Finding those affected by the war and doing his very best to fix them. He thinks it’s just one more way to try and fix himself.
But on Sunday, the first day Remus was gone, Sirius received a letter from Narcissa. Well, it's not really a letter, just a picture of a baby and a note at the bottom: Draco Lucius Malfoy: Born on the 5th of June 1980. It made his heart drop, his chest hurt, and his throat became tight to breathe. A new heir to the House of Black, he thought to himself. Seeing a picture of the baby made him think of Cissa, which made him think of her awful husband, her awful sister, and their awful parents. Which made him think of his awful parents and his dead brother, and it became too much.
So he started restricting himself, something he hadn’t done since he moved in with the Potters during 5th year. He skipped breakfast. Then breakfast and lunch. He threw out his “safe foods”. By Wednesday, he had a bowl of broth and a corner of toast to keep himself from passing out. He felt frustrated. Frustrated because he used to be better at this. But now, he’s “healthy,” and therefore, the hunger hurts more than he’d like it to.
The lack of food led to a lack of sleep, waking up drenched in the middle of the night, the voice of his mother repeating a “crucio” over and over again ringing in his ears, his body twitching as the pain will forever be engraved in his bones.
Life started to become hazy, and by Friday morning, Sirius didn’t recognize the person staring back at him in the mirror. One more day and then Moony will be home. One more day, you can do it. He tried to distract himself all day.
He tried. He picked some tomatoes from the garden and washed his motorcycle so they could go for a ride tomorrow. He hung the laundry out to dry and swept the kitchen. But he started to get very tired. That’s what no food and no sleep will do to you. He eventually gave in and ended up on the couch, attempting to read a chapter of his book. But his thoughts, or rather his mother’s thoughts, were getting far too loud. You’re a horrible boy, Sirius. I can’t believe I ever called you my son. Look at you. So pathetic. So washed up. Disgusting. Dirty. You look practically emaciated. So disgusting. So unclean. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. There is no “Black Blood” in you. Just filth. Filth. Filth. Filth. Unworthy. Unclean. Filth. He covered his ears as if she was in the room with him. Go wash the dirt off, Sirius. Clean yourself up.
He got up and stumbled his way to the bathroom, fiddling with the handle and pulling back the curtain. He was out of breath from even doing that. That’s when he saw it. The razor Remus used earlier this week to get a clean shave. Just sitting there in the shower, waiting for him, like it was an invitation. Like it was begging to be used.
He had no reason to do it. He has the perfect life. He worked for years to erase those voices from his head but was disappointed to learn that he’d never be truly free. That is what he’ll use for his reason. He just wanted to be free. He just wanted the “Black Blood” to be gone.
So he raises his arm and makes the first slice. And it hurts. But it hurts so good. And it feels familiar and comforting and with each new cut, the voices begin to fade and the haze begins to clear and before he knows it, crimson red blood is dripping to his hands and off his fingertips, and before he has a second to stop on his own, he hears the front door open.
“Honey, I’m home,” Remus singsongs from the living room. Sirius snaps back to reality quickly as the panic sets in. He jumps up from the floor and washes his hands, grabbing toilet paper and trying to wipe the blood from his forearms.
“There’s supposed to be a storm tonight, so I figured I’d come back early and surprise you,” Remus calls again, but is met with silence as Sirius feels the tears of shame well in his eyes. All of a sudden, he feels like he’s suffocating, and he’s terrified. So terrified because he knows what Remus is about to find.
“Sirius?” Remus called again as his footsteps approached the bathroom. He knocks on the door softly. “Pads, are you alright?” He murmurs. Sirius quickly takes a seat on the lid of the toilet, crossing his arms and pushing them against his stomach, trying to hide the bleeding. He tries to answer, telling his love that he’ll be out in just a moment, but only sobs leave his throat. Remus, hearing this, swings open the door to find a shaking Sirius, head hung low, blood seeping into his t-shirt.
“Oh, baby.” Remus's voice cracks as he quickly kneels beside his boyfriend.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” These are the only words that come out of the wounded boy's mouth as he flinches away from Remus's attempt to comfort him.
“Hey hey hey,” Remus whispers. “Eyes on me, love.” He coaxes. “Look at me, Sirius.” He urges ever so gently, causing the fearful Sirius to turn and look his love in the eye. “Hi.” He greets Sirius, smiling warmly.
“Hi.” He croaks out, unable to keep eye contact for long.
“Do I look mad?” Remus asks. Sirius studies his face for a moment before shaking his head no, causing the werewolf to smile and shake his head. “That’s right. I’ll never be mad at you for this. Never ever mad. Okay?” He responds, and Sirius nods his head up and down.
“But I do need to check them and clean them. We don’t want them getting infected. Can I touch you, love?” Remus pleads before Sirius nods again. Remus gingerly takes the boy's forearm and turns it to assess the damage. The cuts are intersecting each other, causing some to be deeper than others; the bleeding on one in particular hasn’t slowed down. Remus warms a towel and gently presses it to the affected area, making Sirius wince softly.
“I’m so sorry, baby. It’ll be over soon.” Remus whispers, placing a kiss on his temple. He holds pressure on the cuts for a few minutes before gently wiping away the blood so he can truly see how deep they are. He hums an acknowledgment to himself, seeing that none of them will need any special stitching or spells.
“I’m going to close them now. You’re doing so well, Pads. We’re almost done.” He murmurs again, placing another kiss on the crook of his neck.
“I’m doing so well?” Sirius questions, like it’s a plea coming from his lips. It startles Remus, who hasn’t heard the dog say more than a word since he entered the bathroom. When he looks up, he can tell Sirius isn’t there.
He’s floating somewhere, letting himself be removed from this very painful moment. A coping mechanism he has mastered since the age of 5. He’s somewhere between reality and a sunken place, knowing Remus is there, but it’s muffled and far away. Just like the pain: muffled and far away.
“Yes. Yes, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.” Remus tells him as he watches the boy nearly whimper at the praise. Remus announces a few healing spells as he watches the open wounds mesh together, leaving raised pink scars he knows will go down in a few days time.
Sirius begins to move his fingers as he feels the tingling in his arms, his face twisting in discomfort. Remus places another gentle kiss on the healed scars before placing his warm hands on his boyfriend's cheeks.
“You’re floating right now. It’s all over, Sirius. Come back to me when you're ready.” Remus tells him as he sees Sirius try to find more words, his eyes searching for reality. “That’s it. Come back to me, love. You’re safe. You’re okay, baby.” Remus coaxes a bit more, stroking Sirius’s hair as he sees the life return to his lover's eyes. The eyes begin to fill with new tears as the sad boy throws himself around the man kneeling in front of him.
“My moony. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.” Sirius exclaims, finding his real voice again.
“I’m not angry. I promise. I’m just a bit worried. Do you think you can tell me what happened?”
“I just…I haven't showered all week, and I felt…I don’t know how I felt….I was going to shower, and I saw it sitting there, and then my arms…everything was itchy, and my mother's voice…I…I” Sirius tried to explain, but his words couldn’t catch up to his mind as he grew more and more frazzled.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Remus coos, rocking them back and forth. “Do you want to shower now? It might make you feel better.” He suggests. Sirius pulls back, contemplating his answer. He hasn’t eaten all week, evidenced by his ribs protruding more than usual. It looks like he’s had the stomach flu. It’s nothing drastic; most would barely notice, but most people aren’t Remus. Most people don’t love Sirius in an all-consuming way. Remus notices if Sirius breathes differently and can tell his mood by the clothes he picks out or how he carries himself. Remus knows everything about the man he loves. It is innate within him: just like a fish knows how to swim or a bird knows how to fly, Remus knows how to love Sirius. Their souls are intertwined.
“I dunno.” Is the only answer Sirius could muster.
“I’ll help you. You’ve had a hard week, love. Let’s wash some of that away. Yeah?” Remus states, running his thumb on Sirius’s cheek as the tear-filled boy finally gives him a hint of a smile, brushing their lips together before standing up, taking a shuddering breath, trying to gain the strength to take his clothes off.
He eventually musters the courage as Remus waits patiently, letting Sirius take his time and go at his own pace. Remus starts the water, the steam filling the bathroom and warming both of them up as Sirius steps in, facing the water, his breath hitching as he does. It’s not pain but an awakening of sorts. The water makes him clean in more ways than one.
Remus joins him a moment later, standing behind him, pressing a kiss into his shoulder before lathering his hands in shampoo and massaging it into his boyfriend's raven locks. Sirius hums at the touch, realizing at that moment how badly he needs to be held, to be taken care of. He turns to face his boyfriend, looking up at his eyes and smiling gently, a silent thank you coming from his eyes. The taller boy smiles in return, a kiss of always landing on his lover's forehead before washing the rest of his body. No words need to be spoken, they are past words for now, touch being all they need.
Once they are dry and changed, cozy and warm, Remus leads Sirius to the kitchen, pulling out a chair and having him take a seat, rubbing out the knots in his shoulders.
“You haven’t eaten,” Remus states, and Sirius tenses for a brief moment. It’s not a question. It’s merely a statement. A neutral statement that has no underlying tone of disappointment or disdain. Remus is simply stating a fact that warrants no response or explanation. Sirius just tilts his head up to look at him, fearful that any amount of food will make him sick.
“I’m going to make something warm for dinner. Would you rather eat chicken noodle soup or shepherd's pie?”
“Soup.” Sirius croaks out, fiddling with his hands. Remus simply nods before taking out the ingredients.
“You don’t have to eat a lot, Pads. I know it will take a bit for you to work up an appetite again, but you do need to eat a bit of something.” He explains calmly, pouring the ingredients into the simmering pot before returning to the seat across the table. “Do you think you’re ready to talk about it or want more time?” He asks gently, ducking down to meet the eyes of Sirius, who is picking the corner of the placemat.
“I’m ready.” Sirius sighs, lifting the placemat off the table and taking the postcard from Narcissa, he hid under it, handing it to Remus, who lets out his own sigh.
“A new heir to the House of Black?” Remus asks as a question and an answer at the same time, now understanding what started his boyfriend’s spiral. This is not the first time this has happened. He knows that Sirius’ family is usually the biggest trigger.
“Exactly,” Sirius mumbles before taking a breath and continuing. “I tried, Rem, I really tried to block it out. But, I lost my appetite and started losing sleep, and one thing led to another and…the thoughts just got so loud.” He explains, eyes starting to water again.
“When did this start, sweetheart?”
“Sunday. I got the letter right after you left.” His voice cracks, knowing what Remus is going to say next.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come back.” Remus asks, standing to retrieve the soup from the stove.
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m tired of being a burden.” He hangs his head deeper as Remus places a cup of soup in front of him, crouching down to meet the boy at eye level.
“You, my love, have never been and never will be a burden.” He tells him, tilting his chin so Sirius has to look at him. He blinks slowly, the tears escaping his eyes. Remus smiles sadly at him, wiping the tears away. “Have a few bites. Just a few.” He urges as Sirius eyes the soup suspiciously. He already feels nauseous as it is. “The nausea is from not eating,” Remus tells him as if he had read Sirius’ mind. Sirius picks up his spoon and shakily brings it to his mouth, reluctantly swallowing.
“It’s warm. It’s good.”
“Mum’s recipe,” Remus tells him, returning to his seat at the table, inching it closer to Sirius.”
“How was your trip, darling?” Sirius asks, hoping to change the subject so he can distract himself while trying to stomach some of the noodles.
“It was nice. I dusted off the books and fed the mandrakes. Walked the grounds every morning. Organized my lectures, wrote a syllabus. I’m going back next month and I want you to come. It’s very peaceful there when nobody is around. It feels…different. What?” Remus smirks, realizing Sirius is looking at him with a lopsided grin.
“I like listening to you talk. You’re going to be a wonderful teacher, Moony.”
“Thank you, Pads. Do you want some more soup or are you done?”
“I think I’ve had enough for now.” He responds, feeling another wave a shame wash over him that he wasn’t able to eat more. Remus says nothing as he takes their bowls to the kitchen to wash.
“Why don’t you go to the living room? I can bring us some tea.” Remus suggests, as Sirius simply nods, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off as his heartbeat starts to slow, exhaustion overtaking him again. He stumbles to the living room, easing himself onto the couch and wrapping himself in a blanket, suddenly feeling shaky again. He knows he’ll be like this for the next few days. He’s always like this after a relapse, a little unsteady, feeling very weak. Remus joins him shortly, setting the tea down on the coffee table to steep.
“What would you like our plan to be moving forward?” Remus asks. It’s always the question after something like this.
“Can we make one together?” Sirius asks, and Remus nods. “Maybe we can go to the market tomorrow and get some more food. I uh…I threw out my safe foods.” Sirius muttered, fidgeting with the strands of wool in the blanket.
“Mmm, yes, I saw that,” Remus replied, giving him a fake look of sternness. “I know you don’t like this one, but I’m going to throw out the razors and take away the sharp objects for a bit.”
“Rem–” Sirius begins with a roll of the eyes.
“You and I both know that when this happens, it’s more likely to occur again within a few days. We should try and prevent that. I know it’s hard, sweetheart. I know it’s so hard,” Remus explains, taking Sirius’s hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles. Sirius just nods in agreement, knowing his lover is right. They sit for a moment in silence before Remus asks the final question. “How are you feeling right now?” And that was all it took for Sirius to break again, burying his hands in his face and letting out a guttural sob.
“I was…I was doing so well. I almost made it a whole year. A whole year, Moons. I thought I was getting better…it’s…I feel…so pathetic. Now I have to start all over. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I can’t believe it did it…I can’t…I can’t…” and then he can’t catch his breath, the shame bubbling to the surface and spilling over into sobs. Remus holds out his arms as Sirius crawls into his lap. Remus starts rocking him back and forth, rubbing circles on his back.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re not starting over, love. Healing is not linear. Relapses happen. It doesn’t make you pathetic, it makes you human. What happened today doesn’t erase all the work you've done to stay clean.” Remus murmurs in Sirius’s ear, continuing to rock him back and forth as Sirius’s sobs become smaller cries. He pulls Sirius back for a moment so their eyes can meet, tears welling in both of their eyes. “You are so strong, my love. So very strong. We’re going to get through this together. One day at a time.” Remus chokes out sincerely, wiping both of their tears away.
“I love you, my moony.” Sirius sniffles, smiling sadly.
“I love you, my star. So very much. Is there anything else I can do right now?”
“I’m so tired.” Sirius sighs, eyes drooping.
“I know, baby. I know. Want me to read to you?” Remus asks as Sirus nods enthusiastically, lying down and placing his head in Remus’s lap, looking up at him with doe eyes, causing Remus to laugh. Remus picks up the novel next to him, turns to the open page, and begins to read. “Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these, there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things….”
As Remus continues to read, Sirius feels his eyelids growing heavy. He embraces the warmth of the man above him, who runs his hands through his hair and is speaking in a way that sounds like a symphony. And for this brief moment, Sirius wants time to stand still, so he can exist like this forever: safe in his lover’s arms.