Sirirus had always been good at avoiding his memories. The ones that he'd never escape. The ones that festered no matter how much he avoided them, though avoiding them only seemed to make them more fierce and less easy to escape. The ones that were etched not only in his mind but on his skin in old bruises that marbled along his back and scars that cut across his shoulders. He'd never escape them. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how many new memories he made to push the old ones away, they stayed. Stubborn and relentless, they stayed.
They weren't always memories. Not always just simple recollections that he could brush away to quickly refocus. Sometimes they were dreams. Other times they were physical pain. The memories of his body, not only his mind. He didn't always suspect the memories. They rarely gave warning of their arrival, starting at a subtle tingle in the back of his neck and quickly escalating to the inescapable and agonizing stinging over every inch of his skin. And along with the memories that found refuge in his skin and bones, came the ones that he repressed in his mind. Flashbacks that only increased the stinging in his body. Ones that only ripped helpless screams from a place deeper within his chest than he knew existed, splitting through his ears and burning out of his throat as the cries escaped him.
And he could do nothing but wait.
Wait for the stinging to stop, wait for his tear ducts to dry, wait for his body to tire. The wait was excruciating. Even if the memories would dwindle back to the carefully-protected recesses of his mind within minutes, the wait felt like reliving all sixteen years of the former hell that was more commonly acknowledged as "childhood." Childhood. What a useless word, he thought. So innocent and untouched. It wasn't supposed to mean pain. It wasn't supposed to be just what preceded running away. It wasn't supposed to be what his was. Hell. A pure fucking hell whose fires would still flare in his chest when he was too exhausted to extinguish them.
Sometimes he'd be, simply put, sad, about never having a true childhood. One with a mother who gave authentic hugs. With a brother who wasn't blatantly favored. With a father who didn't ensure that Sirius' memories would forever be painted on his skin. No. Not painted. 'Painted' is too poetic a word. If the scars were 'painted,' then maybe Sirius would be able to look at them. Maybe he wouldn't cover, powder, hide, or anything else he could think to do to them to make sure that he didn't catch so much as a glimpse of them. Not painted. Branded, maybe. Permanently forced into the history of his trying-to-recover skin.
Sirius had always been a physically affectionate person. Quick kisses placed on Remus' forehead whenever he left the room or just felt like it, playful nudges whenever James said something stupid, lasting hugs with Euphemia Potter whenever he really needed it. But he rarely acknowledged that he needed the hugs. Hugs had only ever been lies. Faked, forced for the sake of maintaining the image of a 'family.' God, how he hated that word. But hugs weren't ever reassuring or loving. They weren't supposed to be. They were only ever meant to claim him. Not help him. Same with 'I love you's. They weren't ever supposed to mean anything. Nothing but the reminder that he was trapped in whatever lie his 'family' was. He'd say it. But he never meant it until he met the Marauders. But with them it was a different phrase entirely. The same amount of syllables, the same pronunciation, but a different definition. A sweet truth rather than a blatant lie. With the word 'love,' he didn't know he could mean it.
It took him years to realize he could feel it.
Love wasn't ever real. It wasn't ever dependable. How could someone say 'I love you' and then leave those scars that Sirius hid so well if they really meant it? How could 'I love you' mean anything if it was so easily lied?
What did he do to deserve it only as a lie?
It must have been something. The countless slurs that his father would yell at him were one possible explanation. But Sirius grew as numb to those words as he had to the word 'love.' They were just a constant, reliable noise screamed into his ear. And he endured it. Was this not what childhood was? Forcing hugs, faking 'I love you's, pretending to be someone's son. He was only ever a son to Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. But that didn't make him feel any less guilty for hating the "parents" with whom he lived for the first sixteen years of his life. A son was supposed to love his mother, he thought. A son was supposed to admire his father, he thought. A son wasn't supposed to feel just a little excited whenever one of them got sick. There had to have been something wrong with him. But a son's parents definitely weren't supposed to shout slur after slur at him.
And a son definitely wasn't supposed to believe them.
He never truly considered himself their son. More just an outlet. Something to distract them whenever they felt like taking out their anger. At first he had thought of himself as their toy. But toys were typically loved. Dropped on the floor accidentally, maybe. But hugged and coddled nonetheless. Not Sirius. Sirius was just fun to shatter, apparently.
He'd always hated his last name. Not just because of the cocked heads and furrowed brows he would get when he answered a color when he was asked his last name, but because of its history. It was a tether. No, a chain. An impenetrable chain that linked him to the people responsible for his scars. Physical and emotional.
Whenever the memories would come flooding back, his skin served no purpose besides restraining him. Capturing him and holding him against his will to be permanently trapped in his body. His thoughts detached from his movement and his arms were nothing but useless limbs over which he had no control. His eyes were nothing but circles that let in the unwanted light of the cruel world. His mind took initiative to recreate so vividly the feeling of every scar that had ever been thrashed across his back, every bruise that had ever been dented into his skin, and even the indescribable anguish of one of the three unforgivable curses that sent him writhing in pain before finally passing out. He was only subject to his thoughts and the memories that he would never escape.
When his memories took control, it was near impossible to feel safe. But he no longer had to memorize the patterns of every person's footsteps. Or pretend to be sleeping most of the day, or detach from any and all physical feeling. He didn't have to but it was a habit. It had been survival for sixteen years, how was he supposed to feel safe without it?
But when he lived with James, he learned that footsteps weren't meant to be feared indicators of someone's arrival. He discovered that he enjoyed being told a sweet 'goodnight' by Euphemia Potter every night and didn't have to pretend to already be asleep. He found out that hugs were nice. And then he was finally allowed to be Sirius Black, the almost-too-affectionate, loving, clingy boy whose smile never seemed to fade unless it was into a smirk. Sirius Black, who found that being alone wasn't a survival skill he needed anymore. Sirius Black, who learned that 'I love you' wasn't supposed to be a lie. James Potter proved himself to be the witty, smug, too-clever-for-his-own-good brother that Sirius never had. Euphemia and Fleamont the parents he never thought he'd have.
And then there was Remus.
Who was the first indication that Sirius could live instead of survive. Moony, his sarcastic, wise, surprisingly-soft boyfriend who Sirius would have never imagined he'd deserve. The chocolate-loving, fuzzy sweater-wearing, old book-smelling boy who Sirius loved more than he ever thought he was capable. He never thought he'd grow to love even out of obligation, like he was supposed to with his family. Let alone love out of genuine care. The kind of care that didn't need constant reassurance, even though it was always appreciated. The kind that Sirius had never before been shown and the kind that he was more than willing to show for Remus.
Habitually, Sirius wouldn't let a day go by without at least a million kisses planted all along Remus' sharp jawline. Or hugs from behind where he'd wrap his arms around Remus' waist and kiss his shoulders since he wasn't tall enough to reach his face. Sharing a bed every night with the blanket favored just slightly in Sirius' direction even though he was shorter, and the moon protecting Sirius' face from the darkness and insecurity of the night sky, Sirius finally felt safe. Safe to sleep, safe to hold his boyfriend, safe to breathe.
Very rarely did he need an abundance of personal space. So when he did, he really needed it. His skin wouldn't just tingle or fizzle, it would crawl as though his cells were on a merry-go-round. Except painful. So fucking painful. And indescribably uncomfortable. To the point where even the whisper of someone's breath against his arm would crack him. Not that he was fragile, just that the memories were so plentifully crammed into him that the smallest touch sent them all spilling out. Spilling out in fits of dissociation where he felt his mother's arms wrapped around him too tight, restraining him from freedom, and her mocking warmth burning his marked skin. Where her breath felt so real that he wished he could take it away. Where his scars were burning and scathing as if they were being made again.
All he could do was bury his face into his knees and leave his hands far from any other part of his body. So much as the slightest brush of his finger against his knee would encourage the memories to flare again. Normally he could repress the stinging's urge to take control of him, but not on bad days.
Today was a bad day.
Sirius crouched on the floor, curled into his own careful embrace and rocking back and forth along the floors of his empty apartment. Remus wasn't there. He wasn't sure he wanted him there. Not only did he need the space, the reminder that no footsteps were going to start towards him, but Remus didn't need to see this. Remus didn't need to know the unmatched fear that rolled down Sirius' cheeks in endless streams of tears and slipped from his quivering lips in hopeless whispers so frail they could be snapped at the gentlest touch.
Just like Sirius.
The flames of his memories had simmered to a constant but slightly more bearable pinch rather than a blinding sting. And all that remained was fear. But without it he thought he'd feel hollow. He tapped anxiously at the floor beside him with his nail, trying to manufacture a sound, any sound, louder than the footsteps that stomped in his head, forever crescendoing with no end in sight. His thoughts were too chaotic to catch even one.
Exhaustion. That's all his mind had the energy to identify. He was exhausted. Scraped almost clean to the bone of any will to recollect himself. Empty, almost see-through. He'd wait the fear out. He'd let it fade to the back of his mind and when Remus got home he'd be okay to give him a kiss and quick hug without spiraling again. He'd be just fine.
The jingling of keys turning in the lock distracted from the rapid rhythm that Sirius' fingernails tapped into the floor. He jumped to his feet, accidentally nudging the wall behind him. 'Fuck,' he thought as his skin began to tingle again. The tingling spread like the plague, infecting every innocent nerve that had just calmed down. It was just a gentle brush against the wall and he was shoved back into panic.
He could feel his control slipping back away as though he hadn't held onto it for even a second; a whisper fading into the wind, water slipping through his fingers.
His mind finally formed cohesive phrases, though they were no more helpful than the jumble of words that had rambled through his mind just a minute before.
'Don't touch me.'
'Go away.'
'No. No. No.'
'Leave me alone.'
'Get the fuck away from me.'
'Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me.'
The tingling numbed him. He pinched at his skin feverishly, reddening half of his forearm in just a few seconds. He dug his nails deeper into his arm. Still nothing. Not even a pinch.
"Pads?" Remus' innocent voice flowed sweetly from the table where he set his keys through the closed door of their shared bedroom.
Sirius didn't say anything. He couldn't. He stayed pinching his skin and kicking his ankles between steps as he paced in the too-small space between the window and their bed.
"Pads?" The voice came again, just outside the door this time.
Sirius said nothing. He still couldn't, but even if he could, it was pointless. He had gotten so close to forcing the tingling back inside, but it was back and there was no point in pretending it wasn't. Remus would know. Remus always knew. As much as Sirius liked to pretend that he was fully capable of disguising the agonizing memories and stinging scars, Remus knew. Though he would pretend he didn't when he knew Sirius didn't want him to. But Sirius wanted Remus to hold him. He wanted nothing more than for Remus to know and tell him that it was all just a dream. That those sixteen years had been nothing but a nightmare that his mind had conjured. That he hadn't in fact been shattered time and time again by the two people who were supposed to love him the most. But no. It wasn't. And Remus couldn't hug him. Sirius couldn't let him.
"Do you need space?" Remus asked. Sirius needed to say yes. But he didn't want to because he knew that Remus would give it to him. With no hesitation. Sirius said nothing and watched Remus' shadow slip away from the crack under the door that separated its edge from the wooden floors.
'Fuck,' he thought. He couldn't even hug his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who deserved so much more affection than the cold, small hands of the world could ever possibly hold. He clenched his fist as tight as he could into his forearm, wincing at the pain of his nails ripping through his skin, but relieved that they finally dug into his flesh deep enough for him to feel it. "Help." His voice was weaker than his mind. Fragile, like porcelain. Easy to shatter.
But Remus heard.
With not a whisper of hesitation, Remus opened the door, clearly doing his best to disguise the concern that so badly wanted to show itself on his face. He took a cautious step toward Sirius, who took a step back without meaning to. Remus immediately stopped and retreated back to the doorframe when he noticed the bright pink skin of Sirius' arm, which he was still pinching. Sirius wanted to say something. Anything. But all he could do was repeat the only word he had been able to so softly mutter a moment before, "help."
The desperate simplicity of the word cracked Remus' chest but he didn't let it show. He fought the anchor of his sympathy that wanted to drag him to the ground. His only movement was the twitch of his leg as he so desperately fought the urge to run over and hold Sirius.
But he didn't.
"What can I do?"
The same fragile word. "Help."
Remus didn't ask again. He left the room only to return just a few seconds later with a mirror about the size of his head. He showed it to Sirius, still keeping his distance. "Nobody's touching you." His voice was familiar. Reassuring. Sirius stared at his reflection, letting the ghost of his mother's arms around him fade as he saw the blank wall at his back. "You're safe, they're not here, they can't hurt you." More reassurances.
Sirius nodded weakly and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he collapsed into the solid embrace of the floor, exhaling weakly as the last of his energy drained him. The stinging had subsided. He shifted his gaze from the mirror to Remus. Remus, whose eyes were grounding. Remus, whose breath was steady. Remus, who made Sirius sure that he was safe.
Sirius was trembling as much as his voice. His skin would have been freckled with goosebumps had it not been for the pinching and scratching. Remus was quick to turn to the closet, careful not to indicate that he was moving toward Sirius. He dug through his things, quickly and with no hesitation to disrupt the flawless organization that he had worked so hard to keep. But it didn't matter. It didn't so much as cross his mind. He found a box; small and blanketed with a thin layer of dust that he brushed away with a gentle exhale.
He emptied the box and laid the two items that he always stored in it on the bed. He stepped back to lean against the doorframe.
To his surprise, Sirius didn't shatter. He melted into a weak smile as he observed the items. He took a couple slow, small steps forward and grabbed the first; a hoodie. His favorite hoodie that at a time had belonged to a younger Remus, but eventually became Sirius' comfort hoodie. He wore it when he wanted so desperately to hug Remus, but couldn't. When his skin crawled but still needed the reminder that he was not alone. He slipped it on. It smelled like Remus.
He reached for the second item; a stuffed animal. A fluffy grey wolf with innocent eyes and a soft tail that soothed the scathing pain in Sirius' scars when they flared up again. Remus had gifted it to him the summer of their fourth year at Hogwarts. It served as a makeshift Moony for when the real one wasn't there to lend his kind gaze and familiar arms. It also served as something to hug when Sirius couldn't handle touch. Remus had charmed it to smell like him.
Sirius' hands disappeared in the hoodie, which was made for Remus, so, naturally too long for Sirius' arms. He stained the sleeves with his tears as he wiped them away, but they kept spilling. He held his makeshift Moony close to his chest, hugging it as tightly as he wished he could hug the real one. He pressed his back to the wall firmly so that he was aware of its presence there and slid down to the floor.
Curled into his knees with the hoodie wrapped loosely around him and the stuffed animal pressed to his cheek, he looked up to Remus and then to the empty space next to him.
"Are you sure?" Remus asked.
Sirius nodded.
Remus took careful steps toward the spot to which Sirius had gestured with his teary eyes and slid down to sit, stretching his too-long legs out in front of him. He was still at least an arm's length from Sirius, who looked longingly at the space between them as though it were an entire ocean. He used the last strain of strength in his voice to whisper one word, "closer."
Remus obliged without question. With caution, he scooted closer, leaving his shoulder just a finger's distance from Sirius'. "Is this okay?" he asked.
Sirius wanted more. He desperately wanted to sink into Remus' familiar embrace. But he couldn't. The aftershock of his panic still fizzled gently along his skin. Like a shaken soda. He nodded, resolving to leave himself untouched.
Comfortable in one another's wordless, touchless embrace, they relaxed, letting the window behind them fade from the orange-pink of the sunset to the darkness of the night, whose stars watched over Sirius and Remus and whose moon hugged their silhouettes with its light. Eventually, Sirius trusted himself to let his head rest on Remus' reliable shoulder, sinking its weight into him immediately after he sensed he could trust it enough. Remus accepted Sirius' head onto his shoulder gladly, but was careful not to touch him. Only the moonlight did.
Remus' breathing was steady and soothing, not brushing against Sirius, but purring in his ear just a little ways away as the gentle rise and fall lured Sirius into a peaceful state. He matched his own breathing with Remus'.
"Moony?" Sirius' voice had regained some of its strength.
Remus hummed his acknowledgment.
"Can I hug you?"
"Of course. Are you sure?"
Sirius paused. "No."
Remus didn't push. He lifted his shoulder ever so slightly to better support Sirius' head and acknowledge Sirius' response. "Mental hugs," Remus offered.
Sirius giggled lightly, happy to be held without touch in the presence of his Moony. "Mental hugs," he repeated.