Remus
“Jesus Christ!” Remus yelled, his scalding hot tea searing through his skin like acid rain.
He scrambled to shake it off, dripping on the carpet. He flicked his amber eyes up in fury. “What are you doing? Use the door like a normal person!”
Sirius stumbled to his feet, rubbing his head. He whipped his head around, tripping over his own feet like a drunkard.
Remus didn’t know if he was burning from the spilled tea or anger. You lived with me for a year, you dramatic bastard. Why are you acting like it’s your first time here?
“You got a new coffee table,” Sirius said pointedly, gesturing to the table under him. One of the legs was splintered and tea stains splashed across the couch and Remus’ lap. “Did I land on it?”
“Yeah, you did.” Remus’ eyes burned into Sirius’.
Sirius’ head remained on a swivel. Remus had no doubt that he was looking for one hint of familiarity, one final gasp of nostalgia that he could latch onto. Remus watched him flounder.
He wasn't going to find anything. This was Remus’ flat. The engineering books had long since been replaced by a seven book set about Welsh history. There was one coat hook with one sweater hanging by the front door. The living room was almost spotless (except for the tea), and there wasn't a single dog hair in sight.
This was Remus’ flat. He paid the rent—actually, he was a couple months behind, but it didn’t matter. This was his space. Just enough for one. Sirius did not belong there.
Realizing that his belongings had been scrubbed from the flat like a plague, Sirius turned to Remus and gave him a pained smile. “Sweetheart, with all due respect, you’re a terrible host. I’m going to make myself a drink and you can go change, yeah? It’s not my fault you got all excited to see me.”
Remus just stared at him.
With an infuriating smile, Sirius ducked out of the living room, and Remus heard the fridge open, close, then the pop of a bottle cap.
Remus clenched and unclenched his hands. In a moment of pure insanity, his eyes darted to the front door and he wondered if Sirius would notice if he just slipped out.
Sirius turned the corner, taking note that Remus had not moved and he was still covered in tea. “So.”
Remus raised his eyebrows. “So.”
“Seems we’re both out of work,” Sirius said slowly.
“Seems like it,” Remus said. “What reason did McGonagall give you?”
Sirius sank onto the couch, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. “Apparently I’m a loose cannon.”
A silence fell, and every sarcastic, told-you-so, self-righteous molecule in Remus' body strained to break free.
Sirius lifted his beer bottle in Remus’ direction. “Don’t you dare agree.”
Remus clicked his teeth. “I didn’t agree. I thought it, but I didn’t say it.”
Sirius locked eyes with Remus. Grey and amber. “Well I’m sorry my dear mother never put us in swim lessons.”
Oh. So this was about Regulus.
As fast as Sirius’ emotion appeared, it faded. He settled back into the armchair as if the past few months hadn’t happened. As if this flat were still his. “What about you?” he asked.
“I’m a werewolf,” Remus answered.
Sirius stilled. “She said you couldn’t fight because you’re a werewolf? That’s… not entirely fair, is it?”
“It’s fine,” Remus said, a little too harshly. “I had just told Emmeline I didn’t want to be in active combat, anyway. I wanted a desk job, definitely not… not…”
“I can’t say it either, Moony. It’s horrible.”
A familiar feeling tugged at Remus’ heart. Moony. He twisted a loose string from his sweater around his pointer finger.
My name’s not Moony, he almost said. He almost took the bait, he almost shut it down immediately, he almost looked to the door again.
But Sirius didn’t know he had said it. It was purely subconscious. A sadness clouded Sirius’ usually bright eyes and Remus knew he was somewhere else.
“So you don’t want to do it?” Remus asked, almost hopefully.
“No. Not at all. But…”
Remus' heart plummeted. “But?”
Sirius set his beer bottle down on the floor with a clunk. He dragged his hands across his face, refusing to look over at Remus. “But there’s nothing else for me to do.”
“Well, it's not like I have an excuse, either.”
“Fuck.”
Remus looked over at Sirius. When they were at school, sometimes it felt like he could read his mind. Not in the way that Sirius’ monster of a mother used to do, but in a much simpler way. Sirius picked his bottom lip when he was deep in thought. He squinted his eyes when he wanted to remember something. When he was making a decision, most times he forgot to actually say it.
He was doing all three of those things now.
Suddenly, Sirius swivelled his head to look at Remus. “Are we really…?”
Remus winced.
“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius groaned, holding his head in his hands.
Remus closed his eyes. “A daycare.”
“A daycare,” Sirius repeated.
Remus started to laugh.