avoidance
“Bloody hell, that hurts!” yelped Sirius. Lupin wasn’t exactly being gentle while brushing through the mane Sirius called hair. He wasn’t rough, per se, but he ran it through quickly, one hand holding Sirius’s head still. He brushed what he could, and chopped off the rest.
When he had finished, Sirius’s hair fell in half-wet curls to his shoulders. He hadn’t felt like himself in a long time, but now, he almost felt normal again. Almost. He doubted he ever completely could– not without James. They were two halves of a whole, an inseparable duo. They would have died for each other. Sirius always thought he’d die first, in some glorious battle against Death Eaters. James was his brother. His real brother. And now James was gone, and Sirius was still here.
He blinked back tears, and nodded, smiling, at Lupin. He stood shakily to his feet, unsure of what to do now.Sirius couldn’t stand the knowing look in Lupin’s eyes. He knew. He always knew. Lupin put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder. He never thought Lupin would touch him again– he had ruined that, like he had ruined everything else.
The hand on his shoulder grounded him to reality. “...you can take the bed, Sirius,” Lupin said. “You must be tired.”
Sirius shook his head. “I couldn't take your bed. And besides, I don’t think I could sleep right now.” Not without seeing James’s lifeless face every time he closed his eyes. Not without seeing Lily crumpled in front of Harry’s crib. Not without–
Lupin must have been able to read him like a book, by the pitying look he gave Sirius. How he still, after all these years, was a mystery to him. Lupin, despite his protests, always had been better with people than Sirius. Sirius craved approval, validation. He never got any at home. But he didn’t quite know how to get it. So he tried everything, went to every extreme, and hurt people. It’s all he’s ever seemed to do. Lupin understood things on a deeper level– he thought things through, sometimes too much. He ended up only hurting himself, in the end. Sirius understood that now.
“Firewhisky?” Asked Lupin. “Firewhisky.”
Sirius’s shoulders sagged with relief as Lupin dashed off to the kitchen. A moment alone. A moment to collect his thoughts. It hurt. It hurt, with Lupin here. Lupin was a reminder of what he had lost– James, Lily, and even Remus himself. They had been closer, then– until Sirius had ruined it all. He had ruined it all. He had–
Before he knew it, Lupin was ushering him back to the couch, shoving a cup of firewhisky in his hand. In the past, they had simply shared the bottle, exchanging kisses between every sip.
They drank in silence, Lupin occasionally refilling both of their cups. Firewhisky was a luxury he hadn’t had since before Azkaban– his last time with the drink was his last visit with James and Lily. They had shared laughs despite the darkening of the times, alcohol brightening their spirits. Now all the alcohol did was leave a bitter taste in his mouth and a burn in his throat. He didn’t stop drinking, though.
It was Lupin who broke the silence.
“I’ve missed you, this past year, you know.”
That only made Sirius more bitter. Only now. Now that he knew the truth. Sirius took it as Lupin preparing to lecture him about not writing, so he decided to cut it off at the start. “Sorry.”
They continued drinking until the bottle was empty. Sirius couldn’t bring it in himself to care, but he figured he was drunk enough not to dream, so he turned into the familiar form of Padfoot and curled into a ball on the couch. Lupin simply watched.
“I haven’t drank in 3 years, you know,” Lupin said. His words were slightly slurred, an uncharacteristic roundness to the syllables. Sirius flicked an ear up, listening. His thoughts didn’t run as wild, as repetitive, when he was a dog. But he was still clever. “I was sober. Three years clean of alcohol. I really did miss you, you know.” He’s rambling now.
“I really did. Even when you were in Azkaban, I thought about visiting you. Just to ask why, you know? I didn’t understand. But I didn’t hate you, either. I wanted to. I wanted to hate you.”
Sirius wished Lupin would just stop talking. But he didn’t. And since words took too much effort, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of late nights curled up with Lupin, pranks plotted with James, and arguments with Lily. In his dreams Pettigrew had never existed. And he couldn’t bring himself to care.