Lean On Me

Sirius Black despised their studio flat the next day. Once Mary had gone and he was alone, he was left with only the memories of Remus. He was everywhere. In the polaroids, at the breakfast table, his light blue coffee mug in the cabinet, his side of the bed, his smell. Sirius was sure he’d go mad if he stayed there any longer.

So the next week, he packed up all of their belongings and casted the obliviate spell on the muggles in the building. That way he could disappear without a trace, just as Remus had, and return to the place he’d never thought he’d return to.

Grimmauld’s Place.

When he told her what he was doing, Mary offered to help him clean up the old place and get situated, and despite the help and little joy it had brought him in the moment, that night he lie awake in bed, a child once again, as if he were afraid that the ghost of Walburga Black would waltz into the room and curse him in his sleep.

After hours of tossing and turning, he climbed out of bed and stomped up to the attic, knowing that tonight there was no chance that he’d be able to drift off. 

But he stopped in the doorway, his eyes trained on the simple trunk and cardboard boxes only a few steps away. He had no idea why he had decided to come up there. Maybe he was trying to torture himself, but something terrible had been nagging at him ever since Mary had put Remus’s things up in the attic that morning.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” she had claimed, “You still need time to process everything, Sirius. Staring at Re- his belongings won’t help.”

Maybe Mary was right. But that only urged one stupid side of his brain to walk forward, one step closer, then two, until he had finally made it over to the stack. He sucked in a breath, glancing around at everything. There was only his trunk and two boxes, but he couldn’t get over the fact that Remus’s whole life was stored away in there. 

He didn’t dare open the trunk of his clothes, afraid that if he did then it would release the werewolf’s smell, so he focused on a smaller box in front of him. Carefully, Sirius kneeled down, as if he were afraid something would leap out of the box and bite him. He placed his hands on the cardboard and carefully opened the flaps.

Sirius nearly laughed at the sight. Books. A stack of books. 

Of course, of all things, books were what filled one of the boxes that made up his partner’s life. He pulled one of the hardbacks out and found a chocolate bar wrapper holding his place between the pages. He swallowed hard and put it down. Would Sirius ever get to finish reading it, or would it lay abandoned up in Grimmauld’s Place until he gained the courage to get rid of everything.

There were other things as well; a snowglobe from Marlene in third year, an old pair of doc martens, but there was one thing sitting at the bottom of the box that Sirius hadn’t even considered being in there…

Remus’s wand.

With trembling hands, he removed the wand from the box, running his fingers against the wood, every crevice and curve, and if he squeezed hard enough, he swore that he could feel where Remus’s hand would’ve wrapped perfectly around the device. 

His throat burned like he’d swallowed acid, his eyes brimming with tears. He tucked the wand close to his chest, the last thing Remus had touched, buried his face in his knees, and sobbed.

----------

Twelve years later, Sirius had apparated the two of them back to Grimmauld Place, his hand clamped around Remus’s small wrist. They appeared from thin air in front of the building he’d grown to tolerate and make his own, but it would never be as comforting as their studio flat had once been to him.

Remus quickly pulled away from his grasp, turning away and bending over, dry heaving into a rubbish bin,even though they both knew that there was probably nothing in his stomach to heave up. Sirius, unsure of what to do, just hovered awkwardly next to the man, not sure whether he should comfort him or keep his distance.

“Sorry mate,” he said after Remus seemed to have finished coughing, “Forgot how hard apparating can be when you’re not used to it.”

“You can say that again,” he grumbled, straightening up. He wiped his mouth off on his dirty sleeve and Sirius physically recoiled. “Where are we?”

“Grimmauld’s Place,” he answered, realizing that Remus had never been to his childhood home. Strangely, he felt like he had been there a thousand times in his youth, or maybe that was because Remus was all he could ever think about when he was home for the summer. “Dumbledore said we need to keep you hidden. I suggested that you could stay with me here. No one would suspect a thing. Everyone thinks this place is abandoned.”

Remus looked a little skeptical, but he nodded. If he was wondering what had happened to their flat, he didn’t ask, just muttered, “Alright.”

They stood on the street awkwardly for a moment, neither of them speaking, until Sirius cleared his throat and finally led him inside, showing him around. “Your old clothes are in the attic,” he stated, shifting from foot to foot, “If you want to take a bath as well it’s just down the hall.”

Remus stared at him for a second. It scared him how gaunt his face was, how he’d grown a scruffy beard over his time in Azkaban, something Remus Lupin wouldn’t have even imagined twelve years ago. And worst of all, he had always been a scrawny kid, but his clothes were so big on him that they practically swallowed the adult. “You kept my things?”

Sirius’s heart melted. “Of course,” he said, unable to speak over a soft whisper.

Remus’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Padfoot.”

“Yeah… Always.”

He made his way up the ladder to the attic, then shut himself in the bathroom. Sirius left him alone, not wanting to startle him. It was strange seeing this shell of a human in front of him, one that he had once cared for so deeply and now barely recognized. But he kept his mouth shut. He’d never want to hurt his…friend. 

When Remus finally emerged from the bathroom, clean shaven and hair still wet from the shower, Sirius couldn’t help but stare. He wore one of his old brown sweaters, a faded pair of plaid pajama bottoms with it. They hung loose on him, but nonetheless Sirius couldn’t stop looking. 

“What,” Remus asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. Sirius quickly turned his head away, realizing his cheeks were burning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied with a shake of his head, risking another glance at the confused man, and he sighed and said, “It’s just… nice to see you look like…”

“Me?”

Sirius nodded. “Exactly.”

“To be quite honest, Sirius, I don’t really know who ‘me’ is anymore.”

They watched each other for a long moment, standing so close and yet so far apart. Sirius cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, erm- I left a plate out on the kitchen table for you. I assumed you were hungry. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”

There was another long moment before he remembered how to move his feet and slowly made his way to the living room.

“Sirius?”

He stopped in his tracks. “Yeah, Remus?”

“I-uh-I’m sorry.”

Sirius’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

“Everything.” Then he walked off without another word.

----------

“Padfoot. Are you awake?”

He rubbed his eyes and turned over, his back aching from the uncomfortably stiff leather sofa. Sirius pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking heavily in the dark. He could just make out Remus’s slender form, picking at his nails.

“I,” he began, then trailed off, as if he were embarrassed, “Could you stay with me?”

Sirius’s head snapped up, unsure if he had misheard. “Stay with you?”

“You don’t have to! I understand if you- If you don’t, but um-”

“No,” he responded a little too sharply, causing Remus to flinch. He quickly lowered his voice, his heart aching. “No, that’s fine. That’s fine, I’ll- I’ll be there in a minute. Go back to bed, I promise I’ll be there in just a moment.”

Remus hesitated, remaining in the doorway like a looming shadow, until finally he must’ve decided that he was telling the truth and retreated back to Sirius’s room. When the door creaked shut in the hall and Grimmauld Place was encased with a deafening quiet once more, Sirius sighed and pushed himself up onto his feet, blinking heavily as his eyes attempted to adjust to the light.

If he leaned into his animagus side and listened closely, he could hear Remus’s gentle breaths, a little shaky as he climbed back into bed. A soft grunt escaped his lips, caused by what Sirius could only guess was his hip that had bothered him since he was thirteen, a break that had not healed correctly and had left the werewolf a limp.

Eventually, he found the strength to push forward, placing one foot in front of the other like a machine, stiff and controlled, forceful. The walk down the dark hallway felt like it stretched on for ages and the trip up the steps was torture as the portraits of his relatives snapped and grumbled about how he was a ‘blood traitor’ and ‘a disgrace to the name of Black.’ Some were so awful about their little comments that Sirius had to flip them so that their painting faced the wall, drowning out their endless swears on his name.

Tremors shot from his hand and up his arm as he placed his hand upon the cool, metal doorknob. He swore under his breath. Just open it, he pleaded with himself. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s just Moony.

His stomach flipped, his palms sweaty. He had every right to have the urge to run out of the house and never return, because for twelve years he’d thought that Remus had killed Lily and James, had betrayed the only friends he’d ever had, betrayed Sirius, his-

No. He didn’t want to think about what they had been. He didn’t even want to think about what they were now, or what they could be. And he despised the fact that it would’ve been so much easier to turn Remus in and send him kicking and screaming back to Azkaban, a convict once again. 

It wasn’t until he realized that Remus could probably hear him standing there as still as a statue, heart hammering in his chest, that he gained the courage to twist the knob and hurry inside, shutting the door quietly behind him, trapping them inside.

There was a faint glow coming from the lamp on the nightstand. His childhood bedroom was small compared to his parent’s huge, elaborate room, but he had refused to even step foot into that room since he’d moved in, as if Orion and Walburga were waiting on the other side. 

The wallpaper was emerald green with a pattern on the walls like branches of a tree spreading throughout, similar to the Black family tree in the drawing room with his picture scorched off, and he’d kept up his old posters of naked females just to please the teenage Sirius deep within. There was his old trunk at the end of the large jet black four poster, a shelf with some dusty old books, but other than that there wasn’t much to fill the space. 

Well, there was one thing that seemed to fill the whole room.

Remus.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his caramel hair in desperate need of a trim, uncharacteristically shaggy, curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck. He snapped to attention when Sirius entered, his limbs stiff until he offered the man a faint smile and the tension slowly left his body, as if he had needed a reminder that this was all real and Sirius was not a figment of his imagination. Sirius desperately wanted a taste of that reassurance. 

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, his voice rough with sleep.

Remus attempted to smile in return, but his eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners and his teeth did not show, lips sealed. “Hi.”

Sirius took a step forward. “May I sit?”

The other nodded slowly, as if he still weren’t sure despite the fact that he’d been the one to wake him and ask if he could come stay with him. But Sirius didn’t bring this up, knowing it would only push the little of his friend that remained further away. He sat down next to the other, making sure to keep a safe distance.

“Can’t sleep,” Sirius asked plainly.

Remus nodded in return. He picked absentmindedly at the corners of his fingernails, sure to make them bleed. Normally, Sirius had been the one to never be able to sit still, but now as he grew into his thirties, he found himself growing less agitated with time. Clearly, Azkaban had had the opposite effect on Remus.

Moony shrugged, shoulders drawn tight. “It’s dark here. It’s too…”

“Familiar?”

The man looked up at him through his long lashes, then quickly diverted his gaze. “Yeah. That.”

A frown tempted its way across his face and he quickly suppressed it, trying to remain neutral. He reached a hand out, tempted to place it on the man’s shoulder, give it a reassuring squeeze, but he pulled away just as fast as he had raised it and let his hand fall limp on his lap.

“What do you need me to do, Remus?”

Silence rippled through the room, Remus’s face obscured from view, until finally he raised his head and said, helpless and hopeful, “Just be here?”

He spoke like a frightened child, scared of the dark, so utterly small in the shadows of Grimmauld Place and Sirius’s heart ached all over. He nodded and flashed him a kind smile. “Always.”

Remus nodded tightly in return, but there was no mistaking the look of relief that crossed his features. “Thank you, Padfoot.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Sirius assured softly. His hand lingered on the sheets near Remus’s, his slender fingers so close to his that they could easily fill the space. He pulled away. “You never have to thank me Re-”

“Moony,” Remus interrupted him quickly, almost panicked, “Call me Moony. I miss hearing you say it.”

“You-” He cut himself off, afraid that he might say the wrong thing, but curiosity got the best of him. “You missed me?”

Remus looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Every day,” he muttered, his voice as quiet as a prayer.

Sirius’s cheeks burned and he found his gaze falling to the floor, fists clenched tightly together in his lap. Remus didn’t ask if he’d missed him. Even if he had, he probably would’ve said yes, because even when he was angry, even when he thought he’d been betrayed, it was hard not to stop loving Remus Lupin.

“You should sleep,” he advised, clearing his throat in an attempt to ease the tension, “Or at least try to.”

“And you’ll be right here? You’ll stay?”

It was strange hearing Remus speak with such a youthful tone. All throughout his childhood, the werewolf had always acted like a little adult, hardened from years in an orphanage. Sirius used to be impressed by the eleven year old who stood up to his bullies and studied hard, the one who could slip into rooms without being noticed. Now, it was like looking at a version of his friend that he would’ve been if he’d grown up with a family like James’s, hopeful and bright, innocent. 

Sirius nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

Remus blew out the lantern, surrounding the room in darkness once again. Sirius could feel the lanky boy shifting around under the covers as he attempted to get comfortable. He walked over to the other side of the large bed and laid down, thankful for the plentiful space between them. 

Sirius stared at the ceiling, heart pounding like a drummer trying to keep up with the rest of the band. He was aware of everything. Remus’s puffing breaths, Remus’s body heat radiating like a heater, Remus’s weight pressing against the mattress. Remus, Remus, Remus…

A shift of weight.

A brush of the fingertips.

Sirius froze.

“Padfoot?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I?” The pads of his fingers brushed against the palm of his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. “If you’re fine with-”

“It’s fine,” he blurted suddenly, causing Remus to startle and pull away. Sirius sighed and lowered his voice. “You can.”

Remus paused, until finally they brushed hands and slowly, their palms pressed against each other and their fingers intertwined. They laid apart, their hands together and their bodies apart, yet he still found himself blushing like he had the first time they’d kissed.

“Goodnight, Sirius,” Remus spoke, his voice a gentle rumble.

“Goodnight… Moony.”