Chapter 5
June 2024
“Please,” Sirius says when he opens the door, “make yourself at home.”
Remus pauses at the door, mouth slightly agape, and his eyes meet Sirius’s as he lets out a tiny shocked laugh at the words that have just come out of his mouth. This was, after all, Remus’s home for a really, really long time. Until it wasn’t.
“I’m so sorry,” he adds as he steps out of the way for Remus to come in. “Force of habit.”
“You’re good, don’t worry.”
He looks down at Sirius’s slipper-shod feet and his stomach twists, after having spent years of his life “nagging” him to stop wearing his outside shoes in.
“No-shoes household?” Remus jokes, but in actuality, he feels slightly sick, like he might keel over and throw up.
“Oh,” Sirius says, looking around his entryway in dumbstruck realization that he’s lacking a bench for Remus to sit on and take his shoes off.
His eyes dart around the tiny space as his cheeks flush and he shakes his head ever so slightly.
“Don’t worry about it, come in.”
Remus takes a few tentative steps in, leaning on his cane. It feels surreal to be back at the house that epitomized home for the majority of his conscious existence, and to be a guest here. There’s a lump in his throat as he takes the place in and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath in.
Then he takes his shoes off—a pair of slip-on sneakers he bought precisely to avoid situations like this—and he grins at Sirius, even as he feels the smile is partially forced.
“See?” He says, “All good. Can I have a pair of slippers now?”
Sirius shakes his head but places the slippers down on the ground in front of him, then gestures for Remus to follow him.
The two of them have had dinner with James and Regulus a couple of times but this is the first time they’re spending time together one-on-one and Remus feels butterflies in his stomach like he’s a teenager on a first date again. There is no etiquette book for how to behave when you’re trying to be friends again with your ex-husband, or at least not one that he knows of. This is all entirely new ground.
There’s a tension in the air that hangs thick and heavy like a weight on Remus’s chest. He notes, with another pang below his ribs, that all the lights in the house are off, save for the ambient lighting in the living room. For a second, he’s haunted by all those nights he came home from work and walked around the house to turn every single light off that Sirius left on. He swallows the barbed wire in his throat and takes another step in towards the sofa.
Nothing seems to have changed since he walked out of here four years ago, the place preserved in amber, a snapshot of their life before he left frozen in time. The framed photos on the walls are ostensibly lacking in Remus and there is a gaping hole where Sirius’s wine fridge once was, but other than that, it is as if he has stepped into a time portal that has taken him right back to any other night in his past life.
No wonder Sirius fell apart. He’s been living in a mausoleum of their dead marriage for the past four years of his life. It’s like a blow right to his gut and Remus clutches his cane a little tighter to keep himself from stumbling.
The empty pots where he once kept his plants are still in their old spots, even though the plants seem to be long gone. He sits down on the sofa, subconsciously choosing his old favorite spot, and he squeezes his eyes shut once again, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s a ghost inside his own home.
“I’ve got the kettle on,” Sirius calls out from the kitchen, “Feel free to turn the telly on.”
Remus takes another look around, soaking the place up, and realizes just how much he’s missed it—how much he’s missed this, and his stomach does another lurch.
“Can I help?” he asks, and sees Sirius shake his head no, but he still gets up from his seat and joins him in the kitchen.
“You still take yours with milk?”
“Yeah,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes at Remus in what feels like a glimpse at their usual playful banter, a slip back into old routines, “You don’t need to do that, you’re my guest.”
“Shush,” Remus cuts him off affectionately, and walks up to the fridge.
Once again, for what has to be the hundredth time since he walked in through the door, he feels like the rug has been pulled beneath his feet and all the air has been knocked out of him. It’s not the fact that Sirius has a carton of his favorite brand of oat milk stocked up that does it, though.
“Is that,” he forces himself to swallow the painful lump in his throat, “Tesco brand butter?”
“Hm?” Sirius says distractedly, then looks over his shoulder, “Oh, yeah, the Tesco’s like, right 'round the corner.”
Remus shuts the refrigerator door and leans back against the kitchen counter, soothingly rubbing his forehead. It’s remarkable how many times they have had that fight.
“Sirius,” he used to say, at least once a week, “I don’t understand why you need to do the shop at Waitrose. It’s like, six miles from here.”
“So?” Sirius would say with a shrug, “I like the Waitrose.”
“The Tesco’s like, right 'round the corner,” Remus would shoot back, “You can literally walk there.”
“So?”
“So?” Remus would push back, “What do you mean ‘So?’, you drive forty-five minutes to go to the Waitrose.”
“I like the Waitrose,” Sirius would say with a scoff.
“Yeah, because it’s posh, you big snob.”
He sighs now and re-opens the fridge to take the oat milk and Sirius’s regular, cow milk out on the counter, tears prickling behind his eyes.
He’s certain now that if he were to walk into the bedroom, he wouldn’t find Sirius’s not-yet-ready-to-be-washed clothes not on a pile on top of a chair but inside the hamper Remus bought a while ago and Sirius never used. He’s also certain that if he walked into the bathroom, he would find the toothpaste with the cap screwed on, and if he were to check the laundry room, he would find the detergent bottle with the lid on, and the whites and colors separated, with the colors further split into darker and lighter colors.
It’s like Sirius has kept a tally of every single thing Remus ever criticized him for during the entirety of their marriage and has now gone and fixed it, so he can try and become a person Remus could love. He feels sick to his stomach, and he wants to go home, except he is home, because even now this house is more his home than his new flat ever was, but he’s not even sure he’s really welcome here anymore.
If he was overcome with guilt and self-loathing before, he can feel them rotting his insides now, dissolving what was left of his backbone like acid.
“You alright, love?” Sirius asks and he has to force himself to look up and smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “Just got a little dizzy.”
“Well, I told you I didn’t need any help,” Sirius scolds him gently, “but you insisted.”
Remus walks himself back to the sofa, walking through a fog, and sinks back into his spot, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Brandi says he should be kinder to himself, he should extend the same compassion to himself that he does to others, but it feels exceedingly hard to do that when he’s faced with the evidence of just how completely his selfishness has wrecked the life of someone he loves.
“It’s BBC One?” he asks, chasing the bad thoughts away, and he reaches for the remote.
“Yeah,” Sirius says as he sets down the tea cups on the coffee table, “Should be on any minute. I didn’t want to be too presumptuous and assume you’re staying for supper but I’ve got biscuits and scones—”
Remus shakes his head, then places his hand on top of Sirius’s. It’s barely perceptible but Sirius flinches oh-so-slightly at the touch and Remus pulls his hand away, trying not to be hurt by this.
“This is great, Sirius, thank you.”
Sirius offers him a tight-lipped smile and a nod and he settles on the sofa next to Remus, keeping his distance.
“Tea’s good?” he asks after Remus takes a sip and he gives him a curt nod, “Good, I thought I remembered right just how you take it.”
There’s a charged, pregnant silence hanging in the air and Sirius shifts in his spot uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry tea is all I can offer you,” he says stiffly, “I don’t really—keep much else around the house these days—”
“Sirius,” Remus’s voice is soft but he keeps his hands to himself, “You don’t have to apologize about that, and especially not to me when it’s my—”
He pauses, overcome with regret at what he was about to say; what he’s effectively said. This was supposed to be a light-hearted social visit, two friends getting together to watch a season finale of a show they’ve been watching together since it aired back in 2005. It’s not the time for whatever conversation this is shaping up to be, especially not this early into their newly minted friendship. Remus wants to bite his tongue off.
“When it’s your what?” Sirius whispers, eyes locked on his teacup, once again refusing to look at Remus.
“It’s my fault,” he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and his shoulders slump. “It’s all me, and I feel so guilty about it—”
“Oh, Remus,” Sirius finally turns around to face him, reaching out to take Remus’s hand in his, thumb rubbing gentle circles over the back of his palm, “You can’t—you can’t think that. I—it was always there, it was nothing you did, and how I chose to cope is—it’s not on you, okay?”
Remus finds that hard to believe but he still nods, squeezing Sirius’s hand back.
“I mean it, Remus,” Sirius keeps going, holding his stare insistently, “My issues are not on you, I didn’t become an—” he almost chokes on the word, like even after all this time he still struggles with admitting it, “I didn’t become an alcoholic because you left, and it’s not on you. This is my cross to bear and goodness knows you’ve got enough of your own to worry about mine. Yeah?”
Once again tonight, Remus finds himself on the brink of tears. Blinking rapidly, he glances away from Sirius and looks up at the ceiling, still clinging onto Sirius’s hand.
“Yeah,” he says back at last, and turns around to turn the telly on at last.
They’re greeted by Ross Kemp’s shiny bald head on the screen as he wraps up the latest episode of Bridge of Lies.
“God, I hate this show,” Sirius snorts, settling back into the sofa and pulling a blanket over his legs, “Only way they got any viewers is to slot it right before Doctor Who.”
“Didn’t you fancy him when he was on Eastenders back in the 90s?” Remus grins at him, earning himself a prideful scoff.
“No,” Sirius rolls his eyes in faux outrage, “as if ! That was all Pete, mind you.”
And just like that, they’ve settled back into their familiar routine, as easily and comfortably as shrugging on an old, favorite jumper. The Doctor Who theme song fills up the room, and Sirius’s face lights up as he elbows Remus in the side to join him in singing along (“Sirius, there are no lyrics!”), and at last, Remus allows himself to think that they might, after all, be alright.
September 2024
Towards the end of August, the MRI reveals four new spine lesions. Remus doesn’t get out of bed the next morning; he just lies under a pile of blankets and pillows and stares up at the ceiling, dreading the phone call he needs to have with Minerva. He could try and teach his Fall semester classes as hybrid, but his doctor thinks he’s headed for a relapse, which could mean he might be able to teach online. It could also mean he would have to take another leave of absence.
He calls Kelsea, the part-time caretaker he hired after he moved into the new flat, and lets her know she will probably be getting more hours. He calls Harry and George to let them know he likely won't be able to make it to the wedding. He calls Lily and lets himself sob on the phone, half-paralyzed with fear because even though he's anticipating it, nothing can fully prepare you for waking up one morning with your vision almost fully gone.
Then he forces himself to get out of bed, he goes on his daily walk around the block to exercise his calf muscles, makes himself a green juice and sits at his desk to finish preparing his Shakespeare syllabus, which will now have to be adjusted for Zoom classes and no swordplay. He texts Brandi for comfort and encouragement, then FaceTimes Teddy for a bit, keeping the conversation light and as far away from his impending relapse as possible. Teddy’s settling in, enjoying his new classes, making friends, and suffering from extreme separation anxiety now that he’s not living with TJ anymore (“ Incroyable ,” Victoire rolls her eyes, peeking at the camera over Teddy’s shoulder and a veil of silvery blonde hair spills out, “Remus, you have raised such an ungrateful son—he gets to live with me , and complains I’m not his stinky boy roommate!”).
Life goes on as normal, or as close to normal as can be. He reaches out to some of his students to apologize. He works on his latest research project. His walks get shorter and shorter, as he gets more tired more quickly.
One morning in early September, he wakes up and his legs hurt as bad as they did when he would run a 5k with Teddy back in the day, even though he hasn’t had his daily walks for a few days now and has hardly left his office and his chair. There’s an impending sense of doom hanging over him, his stomach tied in knots the way it was when he was a kid and his Da caught him climbing the tree in the backyard he was told to stay away from.
Remus tries to shake off the feeling but it only grows stronger as the day progresses and he tries to get through his daily routine. It has happened often enough now that he’s able to recognize the telltale signs of a relapse. All he wants to do is curl up in bed, but he forces himself to brave through the day, knowing that he won’t be able to do any of his usual tasks tomorrow. Mid-afternoon, he gets a ringing sound in his ears, like his own built-in sonar radar. He ignores that, too, and wraps up grading a round of particularly badly written papers.
By early evening the pain in his extremities becomes unbearable.With a heavy sigh, he moves from his desk to his sofa so he can stretch his legs, and sends an email to his students, canceling tomorrow’s classes. Kelsea stops by with the groceries he asked her to pick up and draws him a bath. They hope the warm water and the bath salts might help his aching muscles relax. It’s to no avail.
After, he sits at the edge of his bed and puts a clean T-shirt on. In the mirror across the room, he notices the rash that has started to spread across his chest, and that’s when he knows with absolute certainty. He lets Kelsea go and orders takeaway—a Chinese, it was always Sirius’s favorite and, by extension, or by force of habit, it became Remus’s too. He has dinner in bed, something he wouldn’t normally allow himself to do, reads a few chapters from the book he’s reading—Sirius lent him Regulus’s copy of Babel—then he turns the light out and lets the feeling of dread pull him under.
The light seeping through the curtains when he wakes up the next day tells him it’s way past noon. There is a shuffling noise in his kitchen, but when he tries to get out of bed, he finds his left leg numb. With a shaky breath, he pushes the covers away with his right hand, knowing full well that if he tries to move the left, he’ll find it just as numb as his leg. The vision in his left eye is almost fully gone, and he sinks back into his pillows, resigned. He knew it was coming, but he’s suddenly overcome with grief, and doesn’t really know how to handle it.
He tries the breathing exercises his therapist suggested, and once he’s soothed the onslaught of anxiety, he takes a look around. The boxes of food he left on his bedside table last night are gone, replaced by a cold glass of water and a freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and for a split second he thinks he’s dreaming, because it’s Sirius standing at his bedroom door, arms crossed in front of his chest, “You weren’t picking up and I got worried, and then Lily said you weren’t feeling well yesterday so…”
Sirius’s voice trails off and he offers a tiny shrug. Remus should be filled with dread at the prospect of Sirius seeing him like this but he feels oddly comforted by the idea that Sirius let himself in with the key Remus recently gave him, made him juice and—from the scent wafting in from the kitchen—breakfast too, and is offering to help.
“Thank you,” he says, almost moved to tears, and tries to sit up in bed, unsuccessfully.
“It’s okay,” Sirius says, rushing to his side.
Gently, he hooks his arm under Remus’s armpit and helps him sit up, then perches on the edge of the bed and takes Remus’s left hand in his own.
“Can I…” he offers, voice trailing off again like he’s not entirely certain Remus will let him.
Remus isn’t certain if he’ll let him either, but he remembers what Brandi told him about accepting help when he’s being offered it, so he nods stiffly. Sirius starts by rubbing his palm, then slowly moves up toward the wrist, and higher up his forearm, massaging it carefully, trying to bring some feeling back to it.
Tears prickle at the back of Remus’s eyes, and he lets them fall, finding himself rattled by sobs, not from pain or humiliation, but because he didn’t realize how much of a relief it would be to let someone—not a stranger he’s paying, but someone he cares about—take care of him. He’s nearly wracked by the guilt, the shame of it, that he could have had this all along but gave it up, pushed Sirius away before he even had a chance to prove him wrong.
“Hey,” Sirius says softly, reaching to wipe the tears away. His hand is warm and gentle and Remus leans into the touch involuntarily but Sirius doesn’t pull away this time, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”
“Thank you,” he breathes out, grasping Sirius’s hand with his right and squeezing it lightly.
“I called your doctor,” Sirius goes back to softly massaging Remus’s arm, then his shoulder and down his back. There is something delicate and intimate about the gesture, but Remus says nothing, relaxing into the warmth and closeness of Sirius’s body next to his, suddenly transported into a parallel world where he never left. It feels good.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, she said she would stop by, check on you? See if we should do a steroid IV? She didn’t know how bad the symptoms were but she didn’t want to move you. Didn’t think a hospital environment would be good for you.”
Remus offers a weak nod in response, overwhelmed by the storm of conflicting feelings raging inside his chest, the most overpowering of which is regret.
“Rest now,” Sirius brushes the hair off his forehead and gives him a small smile, “I’ll bring you some food, I made you waffles and bacon, and I popped by the store and got one of those Homesick candles Vic was raving about so I can light that, yeah?”
“Sirius—” Remus tries, “You don’t have to do all this.”
“Stop that,” Sirius scolds gently, “I want to. You can eat and I can read you some—how’s that sound? So you can rest your eyes.”
“Sirius—”
His face falls and he takes a step back, terrified that he’s crossed a line, that he’s done too much, too soon.
“Only what you’re comfortable with,” he whispers, “I can go if you want me to.”
Remus’s eyes look up to meet his, brown on gray-blue, wide and lined with a shimmering layer of tears, filled with something Remus thinks might be love. He shakes his head softly.
“Thank you,” he ends up saying, and then, “Stay.”
So Sirius does.
November 2024
By the time Sirius’s birthday rolls around, Remus has regained nearly 95% of his vision back. The movement in his leg has almost completely come back, but there’s been significant damage to his arm, which the doctor thinks won’t ever be restored to full capacity.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t feel like it,” Sirius says on the phone, and Remus can tell he’s slightly distracted—judging by the sound of a wooden spoon hitting plastic, he’s making the icing for the cake—but still doing his best to be engaged in the conversation, “It’s not gonna be a whole lot of people but I know you’re still dealing with fatigue—”
“Sirius,” he cuts him off, “It’s fine. I’ll be there. I haven’t seen Pete and Mary in like, ages.”
Sirius laughs his barky laugh, distorted slightly over the phone, and Remus finds himself smiling.
“I’ll pretend I’m not offended that you only want to come to my birthday party so you can hang out with Mary, but only because I also only want to go to my birthday party to hang out with Mary.”
“Oh God,” Remus groans, “is she still terribly distraught over Dean’s girlfriend being pregnant?”
“You know it,” Sirius licks the spoon, “she’ll spend the whole night saying how she’s entirely too young to be a grandmother.”
“Can you blame her? I mean, Cas and Marlene are raising a toddler , no wonder she feels old.”
“You can taunt her about it tonight,” Sirius laughs again, “but I have to go because I have to make food for like a million people.”
“Is your chef brother-in-law not helping?” he gasps in mock horror, “The wanker.”
“No, the selfish son of a bitch.”
“I can come help,” Remus offers, even as he knows fully well he’s nowhere near up to the task. He still feels like he owes it to Sirius, after everything he’s done for him in the past few months.
“Don’t worry about it, Reggie and Harry are coming round in a few,” Sirius says, something odd in his voice that Remus can’t quite place.
“Happy birthday, Sirius,” he says before he hangs up. He catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror and feels the need to kick himself in the shin for how stupidly wide the smile on his lips is.
When he arrives at Sirius’s later that night, he’s nearly suffocated by Mary, who throws herself at him and envelops him in her signature bear hug, giving him a mouthful of her tight coily curls. She’s just as he remembers her, bright red lipstick and Chanel N°5, and her silk bodycon dress, and even this close to fifty, still looks absolutely glamorous.
“Hi Mary,” he smiles into her hair, rocking her back and forth in his embrace. Pete’s blonde head and round face peek out from behind her, and Remus pulls him for a hug too, “Happy to see you, mate.”
“You too,” Peter pats him on the back, “Never thought we’d have the whole crew back together again after… you know.”
Remus’s spine stiffens, his lips forming a tight line but he plasters a quick smile back on his face. He can’t fault his friends for being upset with him. It was his own selfishness in leaving Sirius that wrecked their tight-knit unit of four, their little band of marauders together since their secondary school years.
Mary shoots daggers at her husband but Remus gives them both a shy, one-shouldered shrug.
“We’re working things out and are on the mend, so…”
“So you’re thinking of getting back together?” Pete looks up at him hopefully.
Mary buries her face in her hands with a sigh as soon as she notices the stunned look on Remus’s face, then showers him with a barrage of apologies as she takes her husband away from him. At last, Remus is able to get more than a few steps into the house, and he looks around, taking it all in.
In the living room, he can see James sprawled on the ground, flat on his back, playing airplane with Dorcas and Marlene’s baby. Dorcas, braids thrown over her shoulder, is leaning over the back of the sofa, laughing her head off at Hermione’s joyous coos. Out in the yard, Marlene is splitting a cigarette with Sirius, who is lightly pushing her on the swing set. Judging by the racket in the kitchen, Regulus and Lily have taken over the dinner preparations, while Pandora sits atop the counter, braiding tiny plaits into Harry’s hair.
Someone has put a James Taylor record on, and the music fills up the large space that’s already ringing with the chatter of conversations and laughter, and the kitchen timer going off. Remus didn’t fully realize just how much he missed this : the full extent of his found family, gathered together all in one spot, and feels, once again, almost incapacitated with guilt for taking such a joy away from his life.
“Hey, Uncle Rem,” Harry calls out, waving at him once he finally spots him standing at the edge of the kitchen, “I’d give you a hug but Mam is holding me hostage.”
Pandora smacks him lightly over the head, then lets him go so he can tuck himself under Remus’s arm and rest his forehead on his shoulder, the way he used to when he was a kid.
“Good to see you, kid,” Remus says, ruffling his hair, “Where’s your husband?”
“Uncle Siri has him fixing the washer, heard it rattling this morning,” Harry rolls his eyes in such a petulant manner that Remus can’t help but snort and shake his head.
“Too bad Teddy couldn’t make it, huh,” he winks at Harry, knowing that this is exactly what Sirius said.
Slowly, with a slight limp, he makes his way into the kitchen, giving Pandora a quick kiss on the cheek as he walks past and Regulus a one-armed hug while he stirs an aromatic garlicky sauce on the stove, earning himself a glare. Lily squeals when she sees him, putting aside the large chopping knife she’s holding, and pulls him into her arms, holding him so tight she might never let him go.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into his neck and he rubs the back of her head, burying his hands in her mane of fiery curls to scratch her scalp like he would a puppy.
“You’d see me more often,” he jokes, “if you weren’t freezing your arse up in Scotland raising cows.”
“Oi,” she steps away from him and flicks him with the towel she has thrown over her shoulder, “careful how you speak to me, Lupin!”
The glass door leading to the backyard slides open and Sirius and Marlene come in, laughing their heads off. Remus stops dead in his feet and looks at him, all carefree grin, face flushed red by the November chill, curls messed up by the wind, arm thrown around Marlene’s shoulder, and he feels his chest cave in a little. Sirius spots him from across the room and their eyes meet, and for a split second, it’s like the whole world falls silent and there’s nobody else but the two of them.
“Unbelievable,” Sirius shakes his head, as if coming out of a trance, “Remus is here and nobody thought to let me know! Traitors, the lot of you! Every single one!”
He takes the length of the room in a few wide strides and he’s by Remus’s side, pulling him in for a hug. Feeling a little warm around the collar, Remus leans into the hug, inhaling the familiar, favorite scent of cigarette smoke and leather, and Sirius, all too aware of the fact that every single person in the room is staring at them. It’s suddenly oddly quiet, James Taylor’s voice the only sound that carries across the wide space. Fuck it , Remus thinks, choosing to ignore them all.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers into Sirius’s ear, and finally lets go, cheeks flushed with self-awareness because their embrace has lasted almost inappropriately too long.
“Thanks,” Sirius says, clearing his throat, and grabs his hand to shake it instead, as all of their friends pretend to be on the wrong side of too invested into whatever they were doing thirty seconds ago.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Sirius asks, running his hands over his hair nervously, “There’s, um, there’s juice, and soda, I think, and, um, wine? I think?”
Remus’s eyes widen for a split second and he tilts his chin just so, asking a wordless question. Sirius nods his head slightly, then blinks slowly, as if to say yeah, it’s okay, I’m fine . Over his shoulder, he notices Lily watching them and she raises an eyebrow at him knowingly, earning herself an eye-roll.
“Water is good,” he tells Sirius, squeezing his arm lightly above the elbow.
Recognizing the sign that he’s tired, that he needs some help, he lets Remus lean on him.
“Why don’t you come meet Hermione, and I’ll get you some water in the meantime,” he says, leading him towards the sofa where he can finally rest.
“Need anything else?” Sirius asks, quietly enough that only Remus can hear, his breath warm on his skin, and Remus’s traitorous heart skips a beat.
“Thank you,” he says, shaking his head no and glances over at James, who was clearly meant to be a girl dad and is currently tying little bows into little Hermione’s hair, eyes wide with adoration.
“I forget how exhausting these are,” Sirius says later, after everyone else has left.
Regulus and Lily left a while ago, after helping Sirius clean up the last of the mess, and it’s just the two of them now, curled up on the sofa with a steaming cup of tea. Because it’s so late and Remus is so tired, Sirius suggested that he stay over, and he reluctantly accepted the offer. He’s starting to regret it a little, as his chest grows tight and his stares grow more wistful by the minute.
“You don’t turn, what is it, twenty-nine, every day,” he jokes, lightly knocking his shoulder against Sirius’s.
“I wish,’ Sirius groans, stretching his achy joints, “it’s closer to forty-nine, actually.”
Smiling shyly over the edge of his cup, Remus takes a sip of his tea. This, too, feels like a scene plucked right out of their old life, and his heart aches with longing for what he’s lost and can never get back.
“Oh,” he says, picking up conversation to fill up the silence that’s starting to grow more comfortable by the day, “I can’t believe I almost forgot but—I got you something.”
“You didn’t have to,” Sirius starts, but Remus waves him off.
“It didn’t get here on time,” he adds, apologetically, “but I wanted to tell you.”
In the dim ambient lighting of the living room, Remus sits and watches as Sirius unfolds the printed out sheet of paper with the birthday present that he’s spent the past few months trying to hunt down. His heart twists painfully in his ribcage as he watches Sirius’s face light up as his eyes move over the words on the order confirmation, awestruck like he’s never seen him before.
“You didn’t,” he breathes out, covering his mouth with his left hand and reaching to take Remus’s in his right one, “Stop, you didn’t,” he repeats, incredulous.
“You have no idea,” Remus smiles at him softly, “how hard it is to find signed Bowie anything , but Ziggy Stardust most of all… but yeah, I did.”
He gives him a tiny shrug, like it’s not a big deal, and it was genuinely worth all the effort for the expression that is now on Sirius’s face. Remus doesn’t think he’s looked at him like this since…well, since before he left.
“Remus,” Sirius whispers, suddenly sitting up straight, still not letting go of Remus’s hand. There’s a shaky, breathy quality to his voice, and a solemness to his eyes, and all of a sudden Remus is overcome with the feeling that this is a sacred moment, a point of no return, a snippet of time he’ll come back to over and over again in the years to come.
Their eyes lock, and the breath snags in Remus’s throat, and he thinks he might cry, except this feels like the wrong reaction to what’s about to happen.
“Remus,” Sirius says again and breathes in deep, as if he’s seeking courage, “Can I kiss you?”
All he can do is nod.
So Sirius does.