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Remus didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it. He really didn't. All he knew was that this was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what he'd implied Harry shouldn't do; get the idea in his head that Sirius was innocent and do something stupid, as a result.
But he'd been watching the Marauders Map religiously since he confiscated it, and had seen two names on the parchment— two names he never thought he'd see again. Peter Pettigrew in the hallway, close to the kitchens, and Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack. His initial instinct was to go find Peter, but then both names had disappeared, and, realistically, Peter could have been anywhere, but Sirius had nowhere else to go. So, before he'd had time to think it out, he found himself throwing on his outdoor cloak, shoving the Map in his pocket, and rushing outside.
It was only when he was hunched over in the tunnel, minutes away from the Shack, that he realized how stupid his idea was. Despite the evidence and the fact Sirius was proven guilty in court of law, Remus couldn't imagine him betraying James, not after all those years of near-codependency and borderline obsession with each other. And, maybe, just maybe, some part of Remus still cared for (see: loved) Sirius.
Regardless, though, if Sirius was guilty... if Sirius was guilty, he might not make it out alive. What he warned Harry about was true, more so than the boy likely understood. Sirius was powerful, intelligent, and horribly stubborn, to the point Remus had never actually seen him give up on something he had his mind set on, and the werewolf was inclined to believe he had not only his mind, but his heart set on whatever he was at Hogwarts for.
But, by the time Remus decided, for sure, he shouldn't have gone, he was standing on old, wooden floorboards. What he should have done was tell Dumbledore he saw Sirius slip into the tunnel to the Shack and let Aurors deal with him. Unfortunately, he was already there, so he did his best to summon his Gryffindor bravery. He had a wand, he had twelve years of living a life (not a great one, granted, but a life nonetheless) out of Azkaban and the strength that comes with that, he had his sanity fully intact. Despite the magnitude of Sirius' unfiltered, raw power, he would win if push came to shove. Obviously. Probably. Hopefully.
Of course, Remus was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the massive, mangy, black dog lying low as it slinked down the stairs and slipped into the corner, nearly vanishing into the inky blackness that was the Shrieking Shack near midnight. Well, he didn't notice until a small, nervous-sounding yip drew his attention to the clear, silver eyes shining out of the darkness, locked on him.
"Sirius," Remus had blurted out before he could stop himself. He didn't even have a plan for going there, he'd just randomly decided to go— do what, exactly? Talk to his murderous, traitorous, liar of an ex-fiancé? How the fuck did he expect that to go?
The large shape in the dark was blurry and fuzzy, making it difficult to tell where the shadows ended and black fur of the animagus started. Remus remembered just how big a dog Padfoot was from when they were young. When he was twenty and six-foot-four, the beast had been able to rear up on his back legs, put his paws on Remus' shoulders, and lick his forehead. If James and Peter were to be trusted, Padfoot wasn't all that much smaller than Moony, a fucking wolf. Yeah, he was smaller, but James had deduced his breed to be a (very fluffy) Great Dane, and those maxed out at around thirty-two inches at the shoulder and one-hundred-twenty pounds. Wolves, on average, maxed out at thirty-five inches at the shoulder and one-hundred-thirty pounds.
In short, Remus had very spectacularly failed to consider the fact that Sirius, in dog form, could absolutely maul him. He wouldn't even be identifiable if the other man chose to attack him.
He took a hesitant step back, and the silver eyes (and, presumably, the animal, himself) receded, too. Remus breathed deeply, knowing he had to say something of substance, "Sirius... I need you to be hum-man," he cursed himself for stuttering. Displaying his fear was the last thing that would help him.
Surprisingly, the eyes in the dark closed, and, in a fraction of a second, a man was standing in its place. Despite the pain Sirius had caused, the destruction he brought, the hurt he'd pushed on Harry, especially, Remus couldn't help the traitorous lurch his heart gave. The worst part about it was that he couldn't tell whether it was because he still held feelings for Sirius, or because he was quite the sorry sight.
Sirius' formerly shiny hair was matted and greasy, now long enough almost it reached his ass, thanks to the years of uninhibited growth and lack of proper showering. His already pale skin was nearly translucent, veins blue and prominent, scars standing out far too much, and the patchwork of his dark tattoos only made him look more sickly. The tattered Azkaban uniform, grey and worn until it was threadbare, even if is consisted of more than a short-sleeved shirt and pants, didn't look like it would do much against any sort of weather conditions. His bare feet and hands were dirty with blood and general muck, and he was shaking all over, be it from the cold or whatever else. He'd lost weight, as well, his broad frame gaunt and clearly starved.
Like the rest of him, Sirius' face was streaked with grime (Remus dutifully ignored the tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, cutting through the mess), and his cheekbones were hollowed out, lips cracked and bloodied. He was no longer clean-shaven, rather, his beard had grown out— though, it seemed like he'd found some way to keep it relatively short. His eyes, though, were the worst. They'd sunken thoroughly, carrying dark, almost black bags under them, and they were red-rimmed, like he'd been crying non-stop since he'd escaped. Maybe longer. Probably longer. Though, the beautiful silver of his irises was still, by some miracle, the same; sparkling with mischief and excitement, but hiding decades of pain and suffering in their depths.
"Moony," Sirius said, voice just as deep as Remus recalled, but significantly raspier, "You... actually came," his eyes were wide with something akin to awe. It made Remus sick. Sick that, despite having convinced himself that he hated Sirius fucking Black, he was still standing there, heart palpitating like it did when they first kissed at fifteen.
"You killed them," Remus said, voice wavering as tears burned the backs of his eyes, "James, Lily, and Peter," he couldn't help the upwards inflection at the end of the sentence, turning it into something of a question he knew the truth of, but so desperately wanted to be lied to.
Sirius looked like he'd just been stabbed. Or kicked in the nuts. Or crucio'd. Or all three at once. Either way, Remus' almost-statement had affected him rather severely, it seemed. Fresh tears clumped his dark eyelashes together, and the dim light from the still-thin moon and stars reflected the moisture building.
"You believe that?" he asked, voice cracking. Remus' heart cracked with it.
"What else is there to believe?" he responded.
Sirius, instead of answering, fumbled to turn his arms over, revealing pale, scarred forearms, some skin blackened with tattoos, but... "I'm not— I'm not a Death Eater, Moony, I wouldn't— you know I wouldn't, not Jamie, or Lily, or, Merlin forbid, Harry," Sirius' voice grew more and more frantic, and tears began trailing down his face, "We changed the Secret Keeper! The Death Eaters— Pettigrew told them it w-was me, and I would never, but if they got a potion in me— a spell— I don't know, but I went to James and we had to change it fast, and— well, both of us thought of you, but you were on one of your mission-things or whatever they were, s-so— so he was the best option, and— and— he sold them out!" he was in hysterics, at that point, scrubbing at his face, "I went to the house right when I found out and they were dead, so I went to get Pup, and Hagrid— he took him, said Dumbledore wanted to put protection spells on him, fucking lying bastard— and I didn't know what else to do, so I went and found him and h-he had the Dark Mark and— a-and— the spell— the muggles— I d-don't—" finally, finally, he broke off with a sob.
Remus stood there, processing, for a long moment, watching Sirius break down in front of him. He fell to the floor, face buried in his hands, and all that could be heard was hiccups and sobs. Remus desperately wanted to call him a liar. He didn't want to believe he had made himself think Sirius would ever— could ever do that to the Potters, of all people, and had been wrong. But... as good a liar as he was, Sirius had never been able to fool Remus. At the end of the day, he didn't have the Dark Mark branded on his skin— all that was there, on the inside of his forearm, was a sparkling green jewel, the date July 31st, 1980 next to it, one of his only coloured tattoos.
Losing a finger would hardly be enough to kill someone, and with Peter's ability to turn into a rat, he would've been able to run away completely unnoticed in the chaos following the explosion. Sirius' laughter when he was arrested... he did have a tendency to do that when he was in shock, and there's no way he wouldn't have been in shock after seeing his brother and best friend dead, then watching twelve muggles die, all at the hand of a former friend.
Then, Remus felt sick for an entirely new reason. Because there was no way in hell Sirius had committed the crimes he was arrested for. Because he loved James, Lily, and Harry, and would never have sold them out. Because he was the most self-sacrificial person Remus had ever come into contact with, and would have died before hurting anyone like this, let alone his family. Because, despite all that, Remus had, somehow, managed to convinced himself Sirius had done it.
"Oh, Padfoot," Remus rushed over and, old-man-joints be damned, fell to the ground next to Sirius and pulled him into his arms, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I'm so fucking sorry," he was aware he was sobbing, too, but didn't care, "Merlin, I don't know how I believed that, I'm so, so sorry," he grabbed the fabric of Sirius' shirt tight enough it ripped, "Fuck, I'm sorry," he didn't know what else to say. It was all he could think, all he could get out of his throat. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
"Please, don't— oh, Moony, no," Sirius sniffled and nosed into Remus' neck, holding him just as tight, "No, no, don't be sorry. Don't be sorry, just... d-don't leave, please," his voice was shaky and barely audible by the end of his sentence as his fists balled up, pulling until there was no space between them.
"I won't, I won't," Remus promised, "Never again," he mumbled into matted hair. He couldn't still his hands as they travelled up and down Sirius' back, petting over his sides and shoulders, holding the back of his head. He didn't seem to mind, at least, if the way he was clinging as close as humanly possible and grabbing at Remus' own clothes was anything to go off of. Remus pressed kiss after kiss into his hair, tears pouring down his face at an alarming rate, "I'm sorry, I believe you. I'm so sorry. I love you," he whimpered.
"I love you, I love you so much," Sirius said back, not missing a beat. Remus sobbed. Sirius was so skinny, Remus could feel the deep valleys between his ribs, sharp protrusions of his hipbones, and pronounced bumps of his spinal cord. He was freezing to the touch, even through his clothes, and Remus wanted to tuck him against his chest to try and warm him up, make him feel like a living human, not a corpse.
He suddenly pulled away and grabbed Remus' face with uncomfortably cold hands. Before he had time to question what the other man was doing, their lips were pressed together and Sirius was grabbing at his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. Remus didn't hesitate for a second, bringing his hands up to cup Sirius' sharp jawline. The sensation of kissing felt both like coming home after a century and a brand new experience all at once. In the past, Sirius' lips were soft and warm, but they'd turned chapped and cold. Despite that, the way he kissed was still the exact same— practiced, gentle movements, offset only by the roughness of his skin.
When they finally separated, Remus had to hold himself back from grabbing Sirius by the shoulders and dragging him back in. How he went so long without kissing Sirius, Remus didn't know, but he would never, never let the animagus out of his arms again.
Sirius slowly ran his hands down Remus' sides and slid them under his thick cloak, chasing the warmth, and wriggled closer. Remus fastened his arms around Sirius' body, effectively cocooning them both in the fabric (not that Sirius seemed to mind, if his contented hum was anything to go by). The way the fit together hadn't changed in the least over the past twelve years, their bodies still slotted against each other like two puzzle pieces.
Remus' knees were beginning to protest how long he'd been sitting, and his back certainly didn't appreciate how hunched over he was, but he really didn't want to ruin the moment. Sirius just seemed so comfortable in the warmth of his cloak and gentle confinement of his arms, and he'd already been put through the wringer, so... Remus' own comfort could wait.
It was easy, losing himself in the sensations. Warm breath on the crook of his neck, big hands pressed against his back, solid body leaning into his own. Remus had tried— really tried to move on. He'd managed to land all of two dates; one with a woman, one with a man, both of whom looked, in retrospect, a lot like Sirius. Long, dark hair, pale, greyish eyes, tall, broad. Admittedly, he had a type— that type being Sirius Orion Black. Both dates had been one-offs, he'd never spoken to either person again, and had initiated all of nothing. The man had, actually, tried to kiss him at the end, and Remus had panicked, thought of Sirius, ducked away, and ran. Literally, he had turned on his heel and started sprinting, ignoring the guy's pleas to return. Nothing had worked. He just walked away feeling shitty for constantly comparing his dates to Sirius.
"Moony?" Sirius whispered against his clavicle, drawing his attention from his own thoughts.
"Hm?" Remus reached up to card his fingers through Sirius' hair, a move he used to do all the time. Though, instead of sliding through easily, his fingers caught on a nasty tangle and he pulled back, hand greasy as a result. That wouldn't do, Sirius loved his hair.
"What do we do, now?" Sirius asked, "I'm a convict. I'll be arrested on-sight, you'll be taken with me, and— you're a werewolf. You'll be..." he didn't need to finish his sentence. They both knew what would happen if Remus was found guilty of a crime. Sirius adjusts to look at Remus properly, "Point being, how do we do this? I don't want to leave you ever again, but I don't know how to stay with you, either."
Remus paused. He was getting really, really good at leaping into things without so much as a fraction of a second of forethought. If they couldn't come up with a solution, Remus knew he would be willing go on the run with the other man in a heartbeat. He did hope it wouldn't come to that, he rather enjoyed his job, but he would, with no hesitation.
"The only thing I can think of is following you to Hogwarts as Padfoot and telling everyone I'm your pet dog," Sirius said, huffing out a little laugh, "I mean, I'd totally do it if it means I can stay with you," he added, like an afterthought that he'd first assumed to be obvious, but then decided he should say it.
And, actually, that wasn't the worst idea. Remus had already thoroughly convinced everyone at the school he was fucking mental, and possibly stupid, with how often he carried around boggarts and the like; a massive black dog was perfectly in-character for him. Remus recalled an instance, in their sixth year, when a second year had seen Padfoot, and had screamed about a Grimm, which would only make more sense. If Remus would willingly walk around with a boggart in a little cardboard box, who's to say he wouldn't walk around with another dark creature? Plus, with no one knowing about Sirius being an animagus, no one would suspect anything.
"Y'know, that's actually a pretty good idea," Remus said. Sirius looked quite surprised, but quickly began grinning.
"All my ideas are good ideas," Sirius replied easily, beaming like his cheeks weren't streaked with tear tracks in the dirt caked onto him. Remus pulled his wand from his back pocket and tapped his chin, casting a wordless cleaning charm, watching the grime peel itself away. Not all of it, cleaning charms only do so much, but Remus was pleased to properly see the face he loved so much. Sirius patted a hand over his cheek, "Aw, thanks, Love," he tilted Remus' head down to kiss his nose.
"Don't get it twisted, Cariad. I did that for my own good," Remus blatantly lied. Though, he was sure Sirius saw right through it. Just as Sirius had never been able to trick him, the same was true vice versa. Sirius just shook his head.
"You can do whatever you want, just stay," he said softly, resting his head against Remus' shoulder once again, "Don't leave me, yeah? I don't particularly care what you do to me, I only want you," his words were more open, vulnerable, than Remus expected, as though Sirius had taken the moment to tear a hole in his chest, open up his ribcage, and spill his heart for the two of them to see. Lips brushed over Remus' neck, pressing a kiss to the tanned skin there.
"I'm not going anywhere, you're stuck with me for the rest of eternity," Remus informed him while trying to subtly shift his weight to quell the growing pain in his joints. If Sirius realized he was uncomfortable, he would move, and Remus thought he would cry if that happened.
"I'm sure I won't mind that, Amour," Sirius said surely.
"I think it'll get annoying when you try to go to the bathroom and I follow you, so we just have to make eye-contact the whole time," Remus quipped, only half joking. Obviously, he did plan to let Sirius shit in peace, but he also planned to become the biggest nuisance anyone had ever seen by being the clingiest bitch in the entire universe and stealing all of Sirius' free time. He was going to soak up every ounce of his lover's attention like a sponge, and no one could fucking stop him, responsibilities be damned.
"Yeah, no, I still don't care," Sirius laughed at the concept, "You've seen me naked more than enough— I mean, it's not like you haven't witnessed be going to the bathroom; we lived together for a decade and are both far too accident prone. You remember when I managed to nearly obliterate my leg, took that curse to the shoulder, and broke my wrist on a mission?" Remus laughed, then, too, because of course he remembered.
Sirius had been sent on a mission that had turned sour, and, while he had managed to knock out the group of Death Eaters that attacked him, he'd come back looking far worse for wear. He'd been bed-bound for four days (it was supposed to be a week, but he was a pushy bastard), couldn't lift his left arm more than thirty degrees, and was unable to use his right hand, either. He was properly healed in two weeks. It was a very long, arduous fourteen days.
"The things I've done for love," Remus sighed, shaking his head.
"The things you continue doing for love," Sirius cooed, "Now, get the fuck up, I can tell you're in pain."
Remus should have known that trying to hide anything from Sirius would have failed spectacularly, especially his own discomfort, which the man had spent literal years learning to spot.
~~~~~
"Sirius, Annwyl," Remus sighed, tugging him forwards, "We need to actually walk, at some point," he reminded him. Sirius seemed to have decided, the moment they started walking, that he would make their travel back to the castle as slow and tedious as he possibly could.
He'd dawned Remus' cloak, because Remus was wearing a thick jumper under it and had his werewolf-resilience, meaning it would take significantly longer for him to freeze than Sirius' malnourished body. It had taken them a while to actually leave, they'd been too enraptured by each other to do much more than hold one another, kiss, and talk about nothing that mattered for forty-five minutes.
"I love when you call me Welsh things, you know that?" Sirius said instead of addressing Remus' main point, "It sounds so pretty," Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius spoke French, and here he was, commenting on how pretty Welsh was. Surely, between the two languages, French was the prettier one, no?
"Thank you, you're very sweet," Remus said, "But we do need to get back to Hogwarts at some point tonight," he added, stopping in the tunnel to face him. They were both slightly hunched over because of the height of the space, and Remus' back was really starting to hurt after the amount of time he'd spent bent over like that. Sirius had to duck, too, so his neck was likely aching. Remus really couldn't figure out why he was refusing to move at a reasonable pace.
"Well, yeah," Sirius said easily, like it was logical. And it was, but that didn't mean he was abiding by the logic.
Remus looked at him for a moment, studying Sirius' face. He looked... kinda anxious, actually. Remus' expression softened, "Then... why are you stalling like this?" he asked softly, reaching up with the hand not holding Sirius' own to cup his cheek, "Are you okay? What's bothering you?" the animagus frowned, averting his eyes.
"Mm," he hesitated, "Well, when we get to Hogwarts, I'll have to turn into Padfoot, so we're not gonna be able to talk, and..." Sirius shrugged, leaning closer to Remus, who realized very quickly what his problem was, "I mean, obviously we have to, and we'll be together, but... I don't wanna have to stop talking to you, y'know?" he grinned anxiously, "W-we've been apart a long time, and I just got you back, so..."
"Oh," Remus said, then smiled, and cooed, "Oh, Sirius," he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his lips, then failed to bite back another one at Sirius' huff and pout, "Hey, hey, no, stop pouting, my Love," he said, something in his heart warming his chest at the familiar expression; Sirius' lower lip sticking out, eyebrows furrowed, hair tucked behind his ear, just like it always was when he didn't get the petty little things he wanted when they were younger.
"You're laughing at me, you asshole," Sirius grumbled, pout intensifying and only making Remus laugh once again.
"I'm sorry," Remus reached out, wrapping his arms around Sirius and pulling him into his chest. Despite his huffiness, the other man allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. Remus kissed his head, "It just that once we get back to my dorm, we can both be human, but we can be clean and have food and don't need to awkwardly crouch in a tunnel," he said, and Sirius stopped pouting into his neck and stood up as straight as the not-quite six-foot-tall ceiling would allow him to.
"Oh," he stated, and Remus got to watch the pieces fall into place in his head, "Oh, shit," Remus laughed again, head falling forward, onto Sirius' shoulder, as he giggled, something he hadn't done in years. Sirius was the only person who had ever been able to make him produce that sound (other than his mother, when he was very young). It was odd, like rereading a book he hadn't read in decades. Familiar; a sensation his body knew, but hadn't been used in a long time.
"Yeah, 'oh, shit!'" Remus repeated, slinging his arms around Sirius' waist. Sirius' low chuckling soon joined his, followed by loud, raucous, beautiful laughter. Fuck, Remus loved that laugh; it was intoxicating. Sirius held onto his shirt, and Remus' heart and chest felt warm, like he was being swaddled in a nice, cozy blanket, in bed, with a steaming cup of tea.
"Fuck, okay," Sirius pushed him upright before either had stopped laughing, "C'mon, let's go back, you've made me excited for going to your dorm!" he said, beaming. Remus huffed, finally clamping down on his giggling. Sirius; excitable, wonderful Sirius, who was always so eager to do any and everything that involved his people. How in the world Remus went without him for so long, he'll never know, because, now, after less than two hours with Sirius, Remus thinks he might die if he lost him again.
~~~~~
Once Sirius had finally stopped dragging his heels and allowed them to walk at a proper pace, it didn't take them all that long to arrive at Remus' dorm. Padfoot had taken great joy in flouncing around the corridors, dashing in front of the man he walked with and taking a few moments to squirm on the floor, stuffing his nose in corners, nipping a few plants that decorated corners, and continuously rubbing his sides against Remus' legs and licking his hands.
Remus had asked a house elf to leave an extra-big dinner for him, under a warming charm, when they returned, before ushering Padfoot into the bathroom so he could become Sirius once again. Padfoot had already looked unwell in the fluorescent bathroom lighting; malnourished and dirty and probably in need of some flea-removal shampoo. Sirius looked similarly. Remus couldn't help the expression that crossed his face upon laying eyes on his lover's abused form without the cloak of dim lighting. Sirius' expression flickered, and Remus felt guilty.
"Quite a sorry sight, hm?" Sirius said, grinning awkwardly, "I— I know I don't look the best, I'm sorry," he shrugged, shifting and leaning back on the counter, putting his back to the mirror as his smile faltered. Insecurity wasn't something Remus was used to seeing from Sirius. It wasn't like the man was insanely egocentric, nor had he ever spent too long fussing over his appearance; he was naturally pretty and he knew it, and knew when and how to use it to his advantage, but was never all that insecure. But, then again, he'd never been sent to Azkaban and had such a toll taken on his physical appearance.
"That's not something you need to be sorry for, Cariad," Remus said, shaking his head, "You were in Azkaban for twelve years, I'm not going to fault you for anything related to that. You're still you. You could be in an entirely different body and I'd still love you, y'know that? Your body is just a pretty decoration for the soul I love," Remus reached out, putting his hands on Sirius hips and pulling him in as he quoted his own words back. It had been Sirius who said that first— "your body is just a pretty decoration for the soul I love." Originally, it had been because Remus was insanely worried about his scars, and Sirius wanted to reassure him that they weren't a problem, and it stuck. Every time one of them was feeling negative, unlovable for whatever physical reason, the other said that. Admittedly, it was usually Sirius saying it, but Remus felt nice being able to tell him.
Sirius smiled, and his eyes looked a little watery all of a sudden, "Mm, I love your pretty soul, too," he said, kissing Remus' cheek. He wrapped his arms around Remus' shoulders pressing his face into his neck, "I don't know, I mean... I know you love me, right, but... I look so different, now. I've not seen myself in a mirror all that much, but I know I've lost a lot of weight, and I look like shite," Sirius barrelled on before Remus could dispute that, "And don't argue with me, Moony. I know it's true. I've been on the run for months now, I've barely washed, all of it. I mean, I did get to wash off a few times— lakes and all that do exist, and I can cast wandless, but still. You can't tell me I'm not looking pretty shitty right now, Chéri," he laughed sardonically.
"You are, but you're still beautiful," Remus told him, "Let's shower, hm? Get the dirt off, then we'll eat and sleep," he suggested. Really, the biggest problem Remus had with Sirius' current state were all things he couldn't feasibly blame him for— how unhealthily skinny he was, thanks to the lack of proper food; the grime built up from no showers; the constant shaking Remus wasn't sure was because of the cold.
"Shower sounds good," Sirius said, "Really, really good, actually," he pushed himself up, off of Remus.
As they pulled their clothes off, Sirius slowed down greatly once his body wasn't entirely covered up. The cloak and socks came off quickly, but once he wore only his tee-shirt, trousers, and (presumably) pants, he hesitated. Remus paused halfway through setting his jumper, tie, socks, and belt on the counter with Sirius' things, turning to the other man, who was fidgeting with the hem of his old shirt, eyes lingering on his reflection in the mirror. He shook his head suddenly, then went back to his shirt.
He glanced at Remus, seemingly for reassurance, but, when he realized he was being watched, he smiled sweetly. The upturn of his lips was adorable— not adorable enough to make Remus forget his concern, but adorable, so he smiled back and brought his hands back up to his shirt, pulling at the topmost button and trying to ignore the anxiety of letting Sirius watch him undress for the first time in twelve years.
Remus knew he'd put on weight— not a lot, but he was no longer the worryingly underweight teenager he'd once been. That did mean he had some slight love handles, which he usually didn't think about much, but Sirius had liked how he looked back then, and... and he'd aged. Sure, so had Sirius, himself, but it didn't feel the same when it wasn't him. Not only that, but Remus had new scars, which were, as previously mentioned, always a source of insecurity.
He breathed in, trying to calm himself, and began pulling his button-down off. He tried not to think about how he looked, tried not to think about Sirius thinking about how he looked, but he couldn't help thinking about it. Thinking about how he looked different, how Sirius might react to the changes. Remus' anxiety had always jumped at opportunities to act up, and this was proving to be a very affective time to do so.
As his shirt came all the way off, he felt Sirius eyes lingering on him, and instantly internally panicked. He tuned, his long-standing self-doubt issues stirring, then confusion seeped in, because Sirius... did not look disgusted in the slightest. He actually looked quite awed. His own shirt had also finally been shed, which made Remus very upset, just as a result of seeing exactly how much he'd changed in his time in Azkaban.
"You're like... really fucking beautiful, you know that, ma Belle Lune?" Sirius said, putting his shirt down with the rest of their clothes. The casual nickname, one Remus recognized from their time at Hogwarts, made his heart flutter once again. He really didn't expect that statement, but Sirius seemed pleased, walking over to put his hands on Remus' hips, run them over his sides, and pull him closer. Remus felt a little nervous at being looked at so closely, but Sirius' gaze seemed positive, so, maybe it would be okay? Sirius continued, "You're anxious," he stated, "Why are you anxious, mon Amour?" he asked gently.
Remus really hadn't meant to be that obvious, not wanting to bring up his insecurities just yet, but, "I'm fucking thirty-four now," Remus said, "I... my body has... changed. I've put on weight," Remus tried to explain, shrugging and squirming under Sirius' scarily disarming gaze and big, strong hands.
"Well, yeah?" Sirius said, head tilting to the side, "That's what happens when you get older?" he smiled a little bit, "Remus, I already told you I think you're beautiful. I'm glad you've put on weight, as well. I mean, you were really skinny back then, to the point it was unhealthy. I don't want that. I think you're at your prettiest when you're healthy," he said, gently running his hands around Remus' waist and up his back, pressing a kiss to his neck.
Remus hesitated. Of course Sirius viewed him putting weight on as a good thing. Obviously! He just got out of fucking Azkaban, of course that would be positive in his head! He'd been surrounded by people starving, malnourished and neglected, himself, forced to lose so much body fat that Remus felt physically uncomfortable at the thought of it, for the past twelve years. With that background, Remus would probably be pleased to see someone he loved so much become a healthy weight, too.
"Oh," Remus said dumbly, "I... yeah, yeah, that makes sense," he reached out, kissing Sirius' cheek as he felt his cheeks colouring. His own arms found their way around the other man's torso, holding them chest-to-chest. Really, if he thought about it for so much as a second, Remus very much wanted Sirius to be a healthy weight as well, that was consuming a lot of his thoughts at the time, so why would the animagus think differently?
"Lune," Sirius mumbled into his shoulder, "We need to get in the shower at some point, right?" he asked, not moving to get his trousers and pants off, nor pull back and allow Remus to do the same for himself, nor turn the shower on. Sirius was right, the man was still covered in grime, filthy with blood, and dirt, and who-knows-what-else, and Remus hadn't showered yet that day, either. But turning on the shower would mean no longer touching, and that would be hell.
At the same time, though, once they were in the shower, they could hold each other and be clean at the same time. On top of that, it would be more skin-on-skin contact; would be more intimate. Remus didn't particularly want to fuck just yet; not only was he tired, he didn't know if Sirius could take it at the moment, but being naked and that close together was always a special kind of intimacy, regardless of the circumstances.
Sirius' bare back already felt distinctly right under the werewolf's hands, and he wanted to feel more of that skin. He wanted to trace all of his scars, moles, and tattoos; wanted to press his thumbs into the dimples he knew lay right at the base of his spine; wanted to run his fingers through that beautiful, dark hair. In short, Remus wanted to be able to do all of the things he did damn near every day before Pettigrew went and fucked everything up.
It was very, very obvious that Sirius would not be the one to pull away, so Remus had to force himself to, "Take your clothes off, I'm going to turn on the shower," he said as he did, ignoring the familiar feeling of loss in his heart when his hands left the other man. He'd dealt with that feeling of loss for years, the gap only filled when he finally had Sirius back. How on Earth he'd gotten used to it, Remus had no idea, because the lack of contact really felt like he was missing a damn limb.
Before Remus could turn around, Sirius' surprisingly muscled arms were around him, fiddling with his fly, "Get these the fuck off," he complained against Remus' shoulder. His shaky hands weren't the most adept at the task, but he seemed determined to get it undone on his own. Finally, Sirius popped the button and yanked the zipper down, "Get less annoying trousers, Mignon, this is absurd," he grumbled, and Remus helped pull his trousers and pants down and kick them off, "Don't know why you wear clothes, anyway, you're far too pretty for 'em," he added.
"Mostly because I'd be arrested for public indecency if I didn't," Remus said, patting the arms crossed over his torso, "Get in the shower, Seren," he tugged Sirius around, nudging him towards the stall.
"You, too, c'mon," Sirius reached back and grabbed Remus, pulling him under the hot spray, as well, chuckling at the surprised yelp he got. Once he was tucked against Remus' chest once again, arms slung around his shoulders, he said, "Hi."
"Hi, you," Remus said back, kissing his wet hair as he did an awkward little shuffle to get his face out of the direct splash of the water, "I've only got two-in-one shampoo-conditioner, not your fancy stuff, so, sorry, I guess," he glanced at his pitiful shower set-up. While he did have the money to get more than just a loofah, body wash, and his single hair product, growing up in poverty and his lack of care for his appearance had very much affected his shower routine.
"For one, I haven't really, properly showered in twelve years, so I really don't care," Sirius said, "And, for two, my 'fancy stuff' isn't even that fancy!" he looked up at Remus, grinning that same smile that made almost everyone at Hogwarts (Remus included) swoon, "I use separate shampoo and conditioner, and sometimes hair serum! That's not fancy, that's basic hair-care," he laughed.
"Oh, hush up," Remus shook his head, shoving Sirius' shoulder playfully so he could nudge them just far apart to get the soap.
Getting his hands thoroughly doused in his two-in-one shampoo-conditioner to sink his finger's into Sirius' hair was incredibly satisfying to Remus. He did, genuinely, wish that he had fancier products. Not for himself; he didn't particularly care for his own hair, but he did care for Sirius' hair and did want the silky, smooth curls he was used to. In the past, Sirius' hair was absolutely beautiful; black and long, slowly curling the farther down it went. Back in their first year, when it was short and boyish, there was only waves and some small twists towards the end. Throughout the years, as it grew, it became wavy, then curly, then, at the tips, tightly coiled. It was always unfairly shiny and perfect, as well— a fact that everyone in Hogwarts at the same time as them was at least vaguely jealous of.
Two rounds of washes later, and Sirius' hair was nice and clean. Sure, it was a ways away from how it once was, but it was clean and would be easier to detangle, so Remus was pleased (he also hoped Sirius would let him brush it out, later on). Remus also allowed Sirius to wash his hair, which was very pleasant. Usually he wasn't one to care all that much about that kind of thing, but Sirius' large hands, despite their roughness and how battered they were, were gentle as they scratched his scalp and rubbed the suds in.
Running his hands up and down Sirius' body as he washed it was, objectively, even more pleasant than both cleaning Sirius' hair and allowing Sirius to clean his own. Remus was sure it had something to do with the fact that it gave him an excuse to familiarize himself with his lover's body once again.
Over the course of their shower, Sirius slowly began melting against Remus, leaning against him even as he took the loofah to clean the other man. Sirius continued pressing kisses over Remus' skin, trailing his fingers over every new scar he found with a guilty expression plastered over his beautiful face. That was confusing and mildly upsetting, so Remus decided to take him up on it the next time Sirius rinsed water off of a new mark with a little pout.
"What is it?" Remus asked, reaching up to hold Sirius' face.
Sirius looked up at him hesitantly, "I... I should've been there," he said softly, eyes flickering over the twenty-year-old scar splitting Remus' face horizontally in half, "Should've been with you on all the full moons. Y'know, helped you, patched you up, stopped you from getting hurt again. I'm so sorry," he nearly whimpered, lower lip quivering for just a second before he bit it, "I should've done better for you, I'm sorry," he apologized again.
"Padfoot," Remus took the loofah from his hand, dropping it back on its shelf, "Sirius, no," he whispered, "No, no. That's not your fault, no. Don't blame yourself, love. I only had a few before wolfsbane was invented, and... I mean, we never got... uh, actually married, but... you put a lot of money into my account, so, even though that shit is expensive, I've been able to afford it," Remus told him, conveniently leaving out the not-so-small detail that he'd been forced to choose between making rent and buying the potion he would be arrested for going without (in other words, he knew damn well that Sirius would absolutely riot if he knew had been Remus on-and-off homeless for the past twelve years, and really didn't want to deal with that terror), "I'm okay, I promise," he said, "And it's really, really not your fault," he added on.
Sirius sniffled, scrubbing at his face, "I— I know I couldn't have d-done anything, but..." Sirius shook his head, "It's the same thing as... as Pup," he mumbled, "I know I literally couldn't have done jack-shit about anything that happened to either of you— I mean, your full moons; fucking Voldemort going after him; Lily-Flower and P-Prongs... I know, but that's part of why I hate myself for it! I should have fucking known— realized that— that fucking rat was a traitor, b-but... I didn't. I failed, Moony. I fucking failed," Sirius breathed, another sob tearing from his throat. Remus truly hated how much crying Sirius had done since they came together once again.
"If it's your fault that Pettigrew did what he did, it's mine, too— and Prongs and Lily's, as well," Remus said, watching Sirius tense, but continuing on, regardless, "Hell, if it was ours, too, then it was probably everyone in the Order's, too. Marlene, Dorcas, the Prewett twins, Mary, the Weasleys, Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Benjy, Dumbledore, Emmeline... if we're at fault, everyone is, Pads," Remus said, doing his best to stay strong despite the desperate, hurt look Sirius was fixing him with, "You are no more at fault for James and Lily's deaths, my full moon ordeals, or whatever the fuck Cub has been put through than anyone else."
"N-no, Moony, y-you don't get it!" Sirius hiccuped, "I'm the one that t-told Jamie to make it Peter! I spent the most time with them, I knew them the best! I should've been better, Moony! I'm Pup's godfather, I should have protected him! I'm your fucking fiancé, I should have protected you!" he sobbed, tears running down his face, mixing with the water from the shower, pouring down his cheeks at an alarming rate, "I am more responsible for everything than anyone else, because Jamie was my brother, Lily was my best friend, Harry is my godson, you're my fiancé, and... and I h-have to be there for you... b-but I wasn't, I haven't been. I should have done better," he was falling into hysterics again. Remus hated this, hated how he had just gotten the love of his life back and the man had completely broken down twice in the hour-and-a-half they'd been reunited for.
"Sirius, don't say that," Remus tried, "Please, don't say that. We were in the middle of a fucking war, everything was so bloody stressful, and w-we all thought he was trustworthy. I was... I was doing work with the werewolves, that's why I kept disappearing every full moon. I'm sure you guessed that much, but I wasn't allowed to tell you. I'm still not, I guess, but... I don't really care. I know I wasn't with everyone too much because of that, but, by that logic, I was spending enough time and had known everyone long enough that I should've known, too. You couldn't have protected Harry, you were in Azkaban. You are not at fault," he said, once again allowing Sirius to nose into his neck.
"M-Moony..." Sirius breathed, "My fucking godson..." he sniffled, voice breaking on the last word. Harry, in specific, seemed to be taking up the most space in his head. The boy's situation was, Remus guessed, the biggest factor of his guilt.
"Your fucking godson will be okay," Remus said, rubbing Sirius' back, "He's alive and kicking, I promise. The kid has a hell of a lot of fight in him, he's a survivor, I can tell already. You're here now, anyways," he said, kissing the other man's head. Sirius whined against his skin.
"I wish I could've been there for him," Sirius mumbled, almost inaudible, "I wish he didn't have to be a survivor. I wish I knew how he was doing first hand. I wish James and Lily were still here, o-or, at the very least, that we could've b-been there for him... y'know, raised him, like we should have been able to..." he said, tracing mindless patterns onto Remus' side, "I just want to know for a fact that he's okay. That's all I want. But... I-I can't— legally, at least," his voice was soft and quiet, resigned and upset, causing Remus' heart to pinch painfully.
"I know, I know," Remus said, playing with the ends of Sirius' hair, starting to detangle it, "It sucks, it's really not fair. I wish there was a way we could fix this, but... I think it might be a bit until we can do anything about it just yet; neither of us have enough influence to do anything..." between Remus' lycanthropy and Sirius' criminal status, no one would ever listen to anything either of them said, "We'll need to get someone else to help, and we can't do that right now. It'll be okay, I'm sure," Remus said, trying to sound more sure of himself than he really was, "But it's still not your fault," he said, this time genuinely sure.
Sirius sighed, "I... sure," he finally relented, not sounding all that believing. Remus could tell he was going to have to continue reiterating Sirius' lack of fault to him again and again for the next while for him to believe it. Sirius continued running his fingers over the numerous scars criss-crossing Remus' back, sides, and stomach. It might've made Remus uncomfortable, had it been anyone else touching them, but Sirius had long-since broken down his walls, sat down in the midst of the fire and chaos that was his heart, and opened his arms to hold him. In other words, there was nothing Remus felt the need to hide from Sirius at that point.
They were all clean, so there was no real point of being in the shower, but holding each other under the warm spray felt good. Remus had taken how well they fit together for granted for years, but, by that point, he was in his mid-thirties, and he'd grown to truly appreciate how right simply being close to one another felt.
Once they'd gotten out of the shower, Remus sat Sirius down, naked, save for the towel around his shoulders and around his waist, on the counter. Now clean, the man looked simultaneously better and worse. Without the grime, his pale skin was smooth and perfect, and his tattoos were fully visible (and absolutely beautiful— Remus didn't know he had a thing for tattoos until that very moment, but, fuck, man, they were really nice). His hair was soaked and dripping on the cold counter, already curling despite the water, and his eyelashes and beard were still clumped up with moisture.
Remus retrieved two pairs underwear, two pairs of sleep trousers, two shirts, and two pairs of socks, pulled one pair of pants on, and then headed back to the bathroom. They were all his own clothes, as he'd burned nearly of all Sirius' clothes (note: nearly all, he hadn't been able to bring himself to burn certain things, like his leather jacket or band tee-shirts) a just a little over a year after Sirius was originally sentenced. It had taken a long time for him to do so, but that was mostly because he couldn't bring himself to look at Sirius' clothes until then, and had, instead, shoved all of them into the basement so he wouldn't need to.
That had been before his access to Sirius' vault account had been cut, because they'd dragged their heels to permanently add Remus' wand to the list of wands that would have the goblins at Gringotts open his vault. That meant that when it came time for the mandatory wand-check and, since Remus didn't have Sirius' wand, the vault had been locked down until someone could supply it and no funds could go in or out. After the money that Sirius had dropped in Remus' vault ran out— which wasn't actually that much money, because they both mostly lived off of Sirius'— well, that was how Remus ended up homeless.
Those thoughts just made pain spark in Remus' chest, because, for the first long while after Sirius was arrested, he hadn't believed it at all. It had only been years of gaslighting, shaming, and hating himself that Remus managed to convince himself that Sirius was guilty.
Remus had genuinely believed Sirius to be capable of those horrible crimes. Sirius, who beamed at him with a smile that held the force of about a thousand suns behind it when Remus walked back into the bathroom. Sirius, who held his face and kissed him so sweetly, so gently, so passionately that Remus almost forgot his own name. Sirius, who hooked his ankle around the back of Remus' knee and leaned forward until their chests were pressed together, drinking up the physical contact.
Sirius wasn't capable of those things. No way in hell. Remus hated that he had ever believed that.
"Okay," Remus said, nodding surely.
"Okay?" Sirius echoed, looking at him with an expression on his face that could make anyone believe Remus had hung the very stars he was named after.
"You need to shave," Remus informed him, leaning to the side to grab his shaving cream and razor, "And I am going to do it," he added. Sirius' hands were far, far too shaky for such a task; the werewolf didn't want him to hurt himself with the blade as a result of the perpetual motion of his entire body. At least, that's what he was telling himself.
"Well, believe me, I have no problems with you touching my face and making your cute little 'focused' face," Sirius quipped, allowing his head to be tilted backwards so Remus could smother him in shaving cream, "Your hands feel really good," he mumbled. Remus doubted that. His hands didn't have the roughness that made Sirius' feel capable and solid, nor were they baby-soft and nice to touch. They were just hands, but Sirius seemed to be enjoying himself, so Remus didn't feel the need to question it.
Sirius squirmed as the razor dragged over his skin, tensing up as it got closer to his throat. After a few seconds of tense wriggling, Remus finally pulled the blade away to look at him properly, "What is it? You're squirmy," he asked. Sirius' shaky hands would most certainly cause an injury, but so would his inability to sit still.
"Mm," Sirius leaned away from the offending object, glaring at it, "Not a big fan of sharp things near my throat. Bad memories and all," he shrugged, and Remus couldn't help wondering exactly when Sirius had sharp things pressed against his throat. He could hazard some guesses— mainly guesses related to Sirius' disgustingly abusive parents, growing up in close contact with Bellatrix Lestrange, his numerous run-ins with Death Eaters, and his time in Azkaban.
"You know I'd die before I hurt you, yeah?" Remus checked. That fact had been well established for a long time before the arrest, but Remus didn't want anything to get lost in translation, what with the time they'd spent apart.
"Yeah, just..." Sirius paused, "I've been thinking about things a lot, lately. In... in Azkaban, with the dementors... well, you know how they work, yeah? Make you think about all your worst memories, take you back there, all that jazz. Things have been prominent in my mind, even since getting out of there," he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, "Sorry," he added.
Remus found that... horrifying. He knew that dementors were hell, the embodiment of torture, but he had never allowed himself to stop and think about just how dreadful being surrounded by them all day, every day would be. Being repeatedly forced to relive all of the worst moments of your life, confronted with your greatest fears over and over again, and pushed back into the worst headspace you could possibly be in sounded like genuine torture, because it was. Torture. Neither of them had ever been supportive of the treatment documented in Azkaban, but hearing about someone Remus loved being put in that position was worse than hearing about some random, bloodthirsty Death Eater.
Remus was hit with the image of Sirius sitting in a cell, dementors circling right outside of the bars, feeding on any happiness or joy he experienced. Sirius, sobbing, clamping his hands over his ears or covering his face, as he usually did when he had panic attacks or flashbacks. Sirius, numb, completely dissociated or falling deep into depressive episodes, lying on whatever cot or mattress he was given, no one there to help work him back to life.
Sirius had already dealt with more than his fair share of mental issues; there's no fucking way the man had spent twelve years in what was, for all intents and purposes, hell on Earth without suffering extraordinarily. With all of his previous traumas being pulled to the surface, Remus really shouldn't have been surprised he wasn't the most comfortable with a razor blade being pressed against his throat.
"Hang on," Remus got an idea, nudging Sirius until his back was to the mirror. He'd need to clean the smudges from it later, but, for now, he would prioritize his lover. Once there was enough space, Remus pulled himself onto the counter and dropped himself in Sirius' lap, framing the other man's thighs with his own folded legs. Sirius' face suddenly went red and his breath audibly hitched, but he still, almost instinctually, grabbed Remus' hips and pulled him close. Remus tilted the animagus' chin up, "Try to hold still, Cariad," he said, pulling the razor back out.
Thankfully, when the blade went back to his skin, Sirius didn't continue wriggling. He didn't look exceptionally comfortable when it ran down to his neck, but he also didn't flinch away or anything, so Remus counted that as a win. Though, while Sirius, himself, didn't shift too much, his hands didn't still for a moment, sliding up and down Remus' sides, rubbing his lower back, petting his thighs, simply holding and touching him.
Remus attempted to subtly run his thumb over the old scars on Sirius' jaw and cheekbones, though, he was sure his lover knew damn well what he was doing. Despite the hundreds of other (far more gruesome and violently acquired) scars all over his body, the faded, nearly invisible clusters on the bonier parts of his cheeks made Remus angry.
They were from his biological mother (as opposed to his real mother, Euphemia Potter), Walburga Black, because of-fucking-course they were. The former Black matriarch had had, while she was alive, an affinity for wearing many heavy, large rings, and an even bigger affinity for hurting her oldest son. The result of those two traits meant Sirius walking around with cuts on his cheekbones and jaw, where her rings had caught on bone and ripped skin. There wasn't many of them that had been deep enough to scar, and the ones that were weren't all that visible, but they hurt Remus to see.
Remus thought it might be because they showed just how casually Sirius was hurt by the people who were supposed to protect him. Obviously the deep lines carved into Sirius' lower back from whatever enchanted whips or spells the bastards had found ticked Remus off. Of course the pale blast-shaped marks from the Cruciatus Curse all over his body made Remus want to fight someone. But something about the simple wounds on Sirius' face that he hardly even acknowledged were the worst. Perhaps it was how casually he wore them, like they weren't a problem because there was so many worse ones, even though they were still awful.
Remus finally finished shaving Sirius' face and sat up, "Hi," he said, seizing the moment to just look at the man in front of him.
"Hi, you," Sirius said, "Hop up so I can wash my face, Lune," he patted Remus' thigh. Remus slid off his lap, ignoring the way his hip popped after the somewhat awkward position. It wasn't even that strange a way to sit, but his legs were tense as he sat up to see Sirius' face under the lights for all of five minutes, which meant his joints needed to make sure he knew they did not approve. His genetics had blessed him with chronic back and joint pain, and a skeleton that often times felt as though it was held together with chewing gum and paper clips. His lycanthropy and its plentiful-and-mostly-painful-or-at-least-annoying effects on his body didn't help, either.
As Sirius washed the shaving cream off of his face, Remus rinsed his hands off and pulled on his shirt. As he did, he watched Sirius clean his face, and found his mind wandering. They'd been close to marriage when Sirius was arrested. They'd gotten together in their fifth year, on October 17th of 1975, then, on August 28th of 1981, Sirius had proposed. Their wedding was to be around April or May of 1982, but Sirius had been arrested on Halloween the very same year they became engaged.
Point being, Remus was unsure as to what they were, anymore. They were still in love, Remus knew that, it was obvious, but... what were they, at that point? Were they simply dating, again? Were they still engaged? Would Sirius want to take time to get closer once again before he considered their previous arrangement? Would Sirius want to be with him, still? Would Sirius stay with him, even now, once he was found not-guilty and could see anyone he wanted?
He caught Sirius' pretty eyes in the mirror, and Remus' insecurities melted away as he smiled.
"What's on your mind, Amour?" Sirius asked, pushing off of the counter while dabbing his face with the towel he pulled from his shoulders. He tossed the fabrics down and grabbed a pair of underwear to put on.
"Just... what are we?" Remus asked back, passing him a shirt. Sirius' eyes slid up and down Remus' still bare legs, and he rolled his eyes, "My face is up here, Seren," he quipped, chuckling. Sirius immediately looked back up, face colouring a little at being called out, though he continued grinning to himself.
"I dunno," Sirius shrugged as he got dressed, "I'm... what do you want us to be?" he questioned, stepping over to hold Remus' hand, "I'll be whatever you want us to be. Whatever we are," he said, voice going soft and surprisingly vulnerable. Remus understood that painful openness, the idea of their relationship being put on hold or backtracked too far was painful, and he was quite glad Sirius was letting him decide what they were.
"I... I kinda just assumed we were going back to what we were before," Remus rocked on his heels for a moment, face heating up. He'd been operating under the assumption that they were jumping right back to their status as 'fiancés', though that was tricky, as he didn't want to push Sirius into anything he wasn't fully okay with.
"Y— yeah?" Sirius' voice hitched for a moment, and Remus looked up, seeing the bright flush taking over his cheeks, "That's— that's, like, totally fine with me. We can go back to that, that would be really awesome. I'd, uh— I'd like that. Being your fiancé again. That sounds great. Yeah," he rambled on a little, a nervous habit Remus was absolutely in love with, thank you very much.
"Yeah, that'd be great," Remus said, laughing lightly at the blushing, fidgeting man in front of him. His fiancé. His fucking fiancé. Merlin, the second Sirius was publicly decreed as innocent, Remus was going to parade him around to literally everyone he knew (which, sure, wasn't that many people, but whatever) and announce their engagement. His colleagues, the only people that he actually socialized with, would probably be happy for him, if they knew the truth. Well, most of them. Severus might not be. Okay, Severus wouldn't be. But that didn't matter, because Remus had his fiancé, so nothing else warranted any of his attention.
Sirius looked at him for a moment, before he grabbed both of their trousers and shoved a pair at Remus, then began roughly forcing his legs into his own, "I need you to get dressed very quickly, because the second I get my hands on you, I'm never letting go," he said, and Remus couldn't help the little chuckle that bubbled out of his chest as he, himself, resumed getting dressed, "Oh, don't laugh, you're just tempting me," the animagus grumbled, making Remus snicker at his indignation, "I don't know if you realize how much I love your laugh, Moony. You're being mean," he pouted.
"Being mean by letting you listen to something you love?" Remus questioned, heading back to his bedroom, "I don't think you know what 'being mean' constitutes, Annwyl," he said, grinning to himself as Sirius followed him like a lost puppy, reaching out to hold onto Remus' bicep and trailing after him as he retrieved two jumpers from his closet, "And, either way, I think you'd prefer if I kept being mean if it means I'll keep laughing."
"I think you know me very, very well," Sirius informed him, pushing up to kiss Remus' cheek. He wordlessly accepted the jumper he was offered and pulled it on, Remus following suit.
"I should hope so. Being engaged and not knowing each other might get a bit difficult," Remus said offhandedly, finding himself quite glad that most families in the wizarding world had left the concept arranged marriages in the past. He couldn't imagine marrying anyone other than Sirius— which could have been a possibility, in another life, if Sirius hadn't been disowned, hadn't been so vocally rebellious, had been more like his brother; quiet and conflict-averse, doing what he was told, even if his agreement with the policies and ideals he was enforcing was debatable at times.
Sirius was no doubt thinking the same thing, because his arms were suddenly wrapped around Remus' midsection, and his face was tucked against his neck, "Thank Merlin I was disowned before marriage was properly on the table, hm?" he gave a little, humourless snort-laugh, "The Black family name is dying with me, I hope," Sirius said, "Andy is a Tonks now, Narcissa is a Malfoy, Bellatrix... let's fucking hope she doesn't reproduce. Regulus is gone. That makes me the last one, and, even if— when?— we get Pup, he's keeping his last name, or, if he doesn't want it, for some reason, he's taking yours. There'll be no more Blacks after me."
While the thought of Sirius' death was not pleasant, Remus very much agreed with his sentiment. The Nobel and Most Ancient House of Black was one of, if not the oldest, most powerful, most bigoted wizarding family out there, and, according to all sources (including Sirius' recollection of his horribly inbred family tree), the purist. It was far past time for their reign to end. At the very least, they needed a proper rebrand and some thoroughly adjusted politics, preferably ones to match Sirius' more closely, instead of their conservative-even-for-the-16th-century ideals.
"Y'know, I don't think we'll need to worry about dearest Bellatrix copulating at any point in time," Remus soothed, "That would require someone brave enough to get close to her, and I don't think anyone that idiotic exists. I'm also pretty sure she'd behead anyone who tried," he said, and, as he hoped, Sirius laughed into his shoulder. Sirius' laugh, deep and smooth, just like his voice, made Remus feel warm inside, especially after that surprisingly dark twist of conversation.
"Are you not excited to have her as your cousin-in-law, Lune?" Sirius asked, Remus twisting in his arms. Remus' heart beat harder at the concept of Bellatrix Lestrange being his in-law. Not necessarily because the idea of being related to the woman was actually terrifying, which it was, but because because Sirius was referring to their marriage as inevitable, and that was the most amazing thing Remus had ever heard, second only to, maybe, when he proposed. Or, maybe, when they got together. Or, maybe, every comment from Sirius was perfect in its own regard.
"If it means marrying you, I'm sure I'll be able to deal with her," Remus said, watching Sirius' smile grow dopey and loving as he melted into Remus' arms like a gooey puddle of wanted not-criminal, "Now, get in bed. I had a house elf bring food up, so we're gonna eat, then we'll sleep, yeah?"
"Mm, food sounds good," Sirius nodded his assent, "Sleep, too," he paused, "And cuddling you. That sounds perfect right about now," he admitted.
Remus was incredibly excited when Sirius did, in fact, allow him to brush out his hair. Sirius had melted against him, eating his mashed potatoes, chicken, and variety of vegetables at an alarming quick rate, despite the way he seemed to be trying to hold himself back at the same time. Remus sectioned off the hair and slowly brushed out each one, then slipped it onto his shoulder and moved onto the next area.
Once it was done, Remus gently pulled the locks into three parts, crossing them over each other to made a braid. The familiar feeling of long curls threading through his fingers took Remus right back to all of the nights he spent doing that. It used to be one of his favourite things to do; pulling Sirius' hair into a bun, a braid, or a ponytail before bedtime. He was going to have to begin doing that again, because, as much as Sirius was still better than him at styling his hair, Remus thoroughly enjoyed it.
Sirius didn't eat quite as much as Remus would've hoped, but his time in Azkaban had shrunk his stomach down, so he supposed it would have to do. After putting what was left of the food under a stasis charm on the dresser, Remus finally got to slide under the blankets with Sirius. Though, before he laid down, Remus' eyes caught on his bedside table. Particularly, he noticed the topmost drawer.
Sirius' arm slipped around his waist, big hand resting on his thigh. Remus had hidden a certain box in there; a box that was among the Sirius-related things he hadn't been able to get rid of. He'd glamoured it so it would stay hidden in the corner and he would forget about it (he hadn't, but he had tried to, which had to count, right?), but he'd been completely unable to actually rid himself of the box. Well, not the box— the thing inside the box.
Remus reached out to pull the drawer open and grab it. He knew he'd failed at convincing himself it didn't actually exist when he didn't have to search for it at all, rather, just reached out and grabbed it.
Sirius made a small, surprised noise upon seeing the sleek, black box, "You kept it?" he asked, almost inaudibly. Remus didn't need to answer, he simply flipped the box open, took out his ring, and put it back on. Despite the fact that he hadn't worn the thing in twelve years and, before that, had only owned it for a few months, it felt distinctly right on his finger.
It was gold, because of course it was— silver would burn Remus and, according to Sirius, he looked the best in gold— and there was ten dark red gems evenly spaced around it. It was pretty, obviously, Sirius did have an eye for things related to fashion, but plain enough to fit Remus' style nicely. Though, Remus' favourite part of it, by far, was the carving on the inside; "The Moon and Stars, Together".
It felt like a promise— a promise that they, like the bodies in the sky their nicknames or names came from, would always be together.
Remus placed the box back in his nightstand and pulled Sirius down, into the bed, "Figured I can finally wear it now, as opposed to trying to forget it exists, hm?" he said, smiling at the bewildered-yet-awed expression Sirius wore.
Finally, the animagus smiled and curled against Remus' chest, "I don't think I'll ever be used to seeing you with a ring, you know that? I mean it in the best way, but it's so overwhelming," he chuckled softly, "But, yes, if you're my fiancé, I imagine you should be wearing an engagement ring," Sirius began tracing a pattern only he could see on Remus' chest as he spoke, then reached out to grab his hand.
As their fingers slid together, Remus ran his thumb over the back of Sirius' hand, "I'm sure you'll adjust," he said, then, after a brief silence, "Or you won't, and you'll have to do a double-take every time you see me."
"Bold of you to assume I don't do a double-take every time I see you, anyways, ma Belle Lune," Sirius kissed Remus' knuckles, grinning up at him all the while, "You're quite breathtaking, you know that?" he asked rhetorically. Remus was surprised to find just how warm he felt in Sirius' company. After so long alone, that happiness, comfort, felt foreign, but now... now, he was filled with an odd mix of déjà vu and safety he'd only ever really felt in Sirius' arms.
"I love you," Remus said, rather than actually answering Sirius. Not that the man seemed to mind; he'd always liked hearing those words.
"I love you, too," Sirius said, reaching up to kiss his jawline.