hp fic // for the agony, i'd rather know [remus/sirius; r.]
for the agony, i'd rather know
HP, Remus/Sirius; R, ~2600 words.
sometimes you don't see something coming because you don't want to.
a/n: for mindabbles, on the occasion that apparently it's the apocalypse because i am finally posting this fic i've owed her since 1976. you have been so lovely and patient and you probably forgot about this. I AM SHAMED. but i hope you enjoy it, and much ♥ for you being so awesome. written for help_haiti I KNOW, OKAY? i know. D: title borrowed from 'Blindsided' by Bon Iver.
for the agony, i'd rather know
29 July 1981 Remus quietly slides his key across the table, the soft scraping sound causing Sirius to look up from his beans and toast. His questioning gaze goes unmet, and he doesn’t need a word of explanation from Remus.
Later - hours later, as Sirius begins the impossible task of untangling their shared life, plucking Remus’ belongings out of drawers and off shelves - he wonders why he was shocked. He balls up one of Remus’ jumpers that he’d commandeered for smoking fags on the fire escape on cold nights, and he realises the shock was nothing more than a gut reaction. The signs have been there for a while now, if only Sirius had bothered to look.
“How could I have not known?” he wonders aloud, shaking his head to himself, shoving the jumper into a box.
###
24 March 1981 “I just wanted a cup of tea, fuck,” Remus breathes, staring at Sirius as if he’s lost his mind. Maybe he’s right. All he did was Apparate directly into the kitchen from his shitty job at that shitty record store (What respectable record store doesn’t stock Buzzcocks albums?), and Sirius pointed his wand directly at his throat.
Sirius rolls his shoulders, trying in vain to get the tension out of his neck. It doesn’t work. “I said I was sorry, Remus, goddamn.” He scowls, irrationally, as he’s not the one who just had a wand pulled on him. “You caught me off guard. I thought you were someone else.”
Remus’ eyes narrow. “You expecting someone else?”
“Yes, Remus, as a matter of fact, I am. I was expecting my French lover, Claude. We were going to fuck like rabbits, and then he was going to make me crepes. Of fucking course I wasn’t expecting anyone else!”
“Hmph.” Remus edges past Sirius. He takes his favourite mug out of the cupboard and sets it down a bit harder than he’d intended to. The bottom chips slightly, and he swears under his breath.
Sirius watches Remus for a moment, studies the tense lines of his body where he once was relaxed and comfortable in this place, in the corner of the world they’d carved out for themselves. He sighs and turns his attention back to the single plate he’d been washing in the sink.
“There’s takeaway in the refrigerator,” he says without looking at Remus. “Chinese.”
“Not hungry,” Remus replies. Sirius looks at him questioningly. He adds, “Picked up a pasty on the way home.”
“Oh.”
It seems as if there is nothing left to say, so Sirius rinses his plate under hot water as Remus sits at the table to spoon sugar into his tea. Sirius dries his hand on the dishtowel and looks at Remus for a moment. His eyes are focused on the day’s Prophet that’s laying on the table, a hand curled around his mug of tea. Sirius doesn’t ask where his tea is; Remus stopped automatically making two cups of tea a couple weeks back.
If Remus looks up from the paper as he walks out, Sirius doesn’t notice. He doesn’t look back or say a word. He grabs his jacket, shrugs his way into it, and walks out the front door. He smokes three fags before he goes back inside.
The half-finished mug of tea is still sitting on the table, getting colder by the second. A note is scribbled in the margin of the newspaper: Forgot I’m watering Mum’s plants while they’re in Aberdeen. Be back later.
Sirius pretends he’s asleep when Remus finally crawls into bed, two hours before sunrise.
###
09 May 1981 There’s nothing but the intermittent scraping of forks and knives against plates, and Sirius contemplates stabbing his fork into the back of his hand just to liven things up. But Lily, bless her ginger soul, breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“This is really good, Remus,” she says, flashing a smile at him.
“Yeah,” James pipes in, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I thought you couldn’t cook for shit. But I’m not writhing on the floor in pain, so I’ll deem this meal a success!”
Sirius is glad for the opportunity to be a smart arse himself, so he joins in on the teasing. “Night’s young yet, Potter. Be careful what you wish for.” Remus shoots him a look that could wither steel, and Sirius’ smile quickly fades into a frown. James shifts uncomfortably, and Lily busies herself with another mouthful of meat and potato pie, just so she has something else to focus on.
“Jesus Christ, Moony, it was a fucking joke,” Sirius mumbles, pushing his plate away. He huffs as he gets up and grabs another bottle of wine.
Remus turns red, but he doesn’t raise his eyes from where they’ve settled on the dinner in front of him. “I didn’t say anything, but thank you for causing a scene.”
“That look said it all,” James says, his words followed by a soft ‘oof’ as Lily extracts her elbow from his ribcage.
“You are not helping,” she says, in as low a voice as possible.
“No, it’s fine,” Sirius says, refilling everyone’s glass to the very rim. “Remus was bitching at me before you got here anyway.”
“I was not bitching at you!” Remus says, looking up and forcefully putting his fork down on the table. “I asked a simple question. You’re the one who got all bloody defensive over it! It’s not too much to expect an explanation for why you didn’t show up for lunch like we’d planned…”
Lily tries to sink lower in her chair, shooting James looks that say how incredibly awkward the situation is, and that they should just leave. He’s too busy looking back and forth between his friends, though, to catch any of them.
“I told you something came up! That’s all I can tell you,” Sirius huffs, slamming himself down into his chair. He grabs the wine glass so hard that its contents slosh over the rim and down his fingers, dripping onto the tablecloth.
“Right, we’re leaving,” Lily announces, standing up and hauling James to his feet as well.
“We’ve got to, you know, be anywhere but here right now. In fact, we’re five minutes late,” he adds, giving Sirius a sheepish shrug.
“No, you don’t have to go,” Sirius says at exactly the same time Remus says, “Yeah, maybe we’d better try this again another night.”
The two of them look at each other, scowls on their faces, and then Sirius rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet. “See you two later,” he says, grabbing the wine bottle as he sulks out of the room.
He doesn’t hear their goodbyes, or Remus’ apology for their behaviour, because he locks himself in the bathroom. He’s got an old record player sitting on the toilet’s cistern, and he immediately goes for the one and only record he wants to hear.
He settles into a hot bath moments later, head tipped back and bottle of cheap merlot to his lips, as Joey Ramone sings Sirius’ exact sentiments.
I wanna be sedated…
###
19 June 1981 Remus is in the shower when Sirius returns from the supermarket. He puts the milk in the fridge and the bread in the pantry, and the tea and tin of biscuits stay in the middle of the small kitchen table.
He starts to walk to the bedroom to kick off his shoes when he pauses, right in front of the bathroom door. It’s slightly ajar, and in the fogged-over mirror, Sirius can only just make out Remus’ silhouette through the clear vinyl shower curtain.
It’s been 6 days since he’s seen Remus naked - yes, he is counting - and it used to be that they could scarcely manage to go six hours without someone’s clothes being torn off. The thought makes Sirius unreasonably angry: with the war; with the secrets, and sometimes lies, they’re forced to tell each other; with Remus; with himself.
He pushes open the door, ready for a fight because that seems to be the only way he remembers to be now days, but his anger all washes away like the water swirling down the drain.
Remus has his back turned to him, arms up and fingers working his shampooed hair into a rich lather. He steps under the spray, and the white foam breaks up and washes its way down Remus’ back, over the curve of his arse, down the backs of his thighs. Sirius is halfway undressed when Remus finally turns around, startling a touch.
“Pervert,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face, replacing the shock that had been there moments before.
Sirius just shrugs, because he can’t possibly deny it after so long, and flashes Remus a grin. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Remus is watching him as he hastily strips off the rest of his clothes. They feel like them again, he thinks, just for a brief second, before pushing the thought away. It’s just the stress of the war. It’s nothing. They never stopped being them, he insists.
(He’ll remember, next time he’s angry for no real reason, to be angry at the lies he’s started to tell himself as well.)
When Sirius steps into the shower, Remus looks as if he’s going to turn his back to him suddenly, his cheeks slightly pink and his eyes averted. But then he reaches for Sirius, slides wet fingers over his hips, pulls him flush against his body. Sirius is dizzy by the time Remus’ lips touch his.
He fucks Remus, back pressed to the tiled wall of the shower, until the water runs cold. They stumble out, laughing, shivering, and trail puddles of water to the bed, not bothering to towel off. The sheets stick to their wet bodies when they fall to the mattress, but they’re too distracted by each other’s mouths to care. Sirius feels dizzy as Remus’ hands roam all over his wet skin, as his tongue presses against his own, and when Remus moans his name against his ear, Sirius thinks he’s going to come again.
They spend the rest of the night in bed, rediscovering favourite places to kiss and be touched, making up for lost time and whispering so many promises into each other’s bare skin - promises that Sirius knows, in the back of his mind, that they will both break when the sun pushes itself over the horizon. Remus falls asleep first, lying flat on his back with Sirius half on top of him. Sirius lifts up and studies him as he sleeps, reaching out a finger to trace his features: eyebrows, cheekbones, slightly-parted lips, stubble-covered jaw. He’s missed Remus, even though they he’s been right there with him every day. But so many doubts and secrets exist between them now that it feels as though an impassable chasm stands between the two of them, widening as each second ticks by.
Sirius doesn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but he knows the moment he wakes that Remus isn’t there. He doesn’t smell bacon frying or hear the tea kettle, and when he sits up in bed, he looks down the corridor and sees the empty hook where Remus’ coat should be hanging. He’s left for work without bothering to wake Sirius. It’s not as if he was expecting any less, but it doesn’t stop the hollow feeling in his chest from spreading as Sirius lays back down against the pillows.
###
29 July 1981 He goes through three bottles of Guinness and a half bottle of cheap Merlot before Sirius finishes filling the box with the remnants of Remus’ existence in his life. He flicks his wand at it, and the flaps close as a roll of spellotape begins to seal it shut. Sirius has no idea where Remus is going to be staying, but he figures he can always just take the box to his parents’ house and leave it on the back porch. He slips into his coat, hefts the box up and tucks it under one arm, then pulls the front door open.
Sirius collides with something hard, stumbling back into the flat as the box crashes down to the floor. He sees a shocked face staring back at him, and Sirius knows his own expression mirrors his. He crouches down to pick up the box, then he stands there and peers at Remus, unable to think of even a single word to fill the awkward silence. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.
“Sirius, I…” Remus hesitates, and for a moment, Sirius feels a fluttering his chest as he thinks Remus is going to ask for his key back. If he was, however, he changes his mind as that’s not what comes out of his mouth. “I just came back for my things.”
Even though he’d already packed Remus’ things away in the very box in his arms, Sirius feels the words hit him like ice water. He doesn’t want things to end, not like this. Remus has been in his life for so long, they’ve been through so much together, as mates and then as lovers, and it’s just the war getting to them, isn’t it? But it’s more than that. They no longer trust each other, they live secretive and separate lives, and though Sirius still loves Remus, he’d be naive to tell himself that it’s enough to make it work. They’d become miserable shells of their former selves, and Sirius knows it's only fear of losing what has been a constant fixture in his life that makes him want to cling to a hopeless cause.
“I’ve packed them for you,” he answers, hearing the words sound as though they came from someone else rather than his own mouth. Sirius thinks he sees a flicker of hurt in Remus’ eyes, but it’s gone before he can register it, and Remus is reaching out to take the box. Sirius gently pushes it into his arms, letting his fingers brush Remus’ forearms as he pulls his hands back. He feels a moment of panic at the thought of a lifetime of never touching Remus again, of never seeing that smile that seemed reserved just for him, but he shakes himself free of it. That smile hasn’t shown itself in so long Sirius barely remembers what it looks like.
Remus shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks, Sirius,” he says, biting his lower lip. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, hovering in the doorway but saying nothing. It seems as though an entire age passes, Sirius and Remus standing there with the box and the threshold separating them, the silence growing to a deafening roar.
Finally, Remus looks away and breaks whatever spell had been holding them there. “Well, I guess that’s it.”
Sirius nods, feeling his throat constrict slightly. “Yeah, s’pose it is. I… Remus, you know I still…”
“I know,” he says, closing his eyes and cutting Sirius off, looking as if it would be too painful to hear. “Me too. Just… sometimes that’s not enough.” He opens his eyes and Remus gives a last look at Sirius, and Sirius’ breath catches in his throat at the raw emotion he sees reflected in his gaze. “Bye, Padfoot.”
Sirius watches Remus walk down the long corridor, hoping for a parting glance before he rounds the corner and descends the stairs. He doesn’t get it, though, and he slowly steps back into his flat, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. The flat looks mostly the same, but the loss of Remus’ presence is palpable and makes it look empty. Sirius heaves a heavy sigh and slides down to the floor, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees. He speaks in a soft whisper, and though he knows Remus can’t hear him, he needs to say the words anyway.
“Bye, Moony.”
HP, Remus/Sirius; R, ~2600 words.
sometimes you don't see something coming because you don't want to.
a/n: for mindabbles, on the occasion that apparently it's the apocalypse because i am finally posting this fic i've owed her since 1976. you have been so lovely and patient and you probably forgot about this. I AM SHAMED. but i hope you enjoy it, and much ♥ for you being so awesome. written for help_haiti I KNOW, OKAY? i know. D: title borrowed from 'Blindsided' by Bon Iver.
for the agony, i'd rather know
29 July 1981 Remus quietly slides his key across the table, the soft scraping sound causing Sirius to look up from his beans and toast. His questioning gaze goes unmet, and he doesn’t need a word of explanation from Remus.
Later - hours later, as Sirius begins the impossible task of untangling their shared life, plucking Remus’ belongings out of drawers and off shelves - he wonders why he was shocked. He balls up one of Remus’ jumpers that he’d commandeered for smoking fags on the fire escape on cold nights, and he realises the shock was nothing more than a gut reaction. The signs have been there for a while now, if only Sirius had bothered to look.
“How could I have not known?” he wonders aloud, shaking his head to himself, shoving the jumper into a box.
###
24 March 1981 “I just wanted a cup of tea, fuck,” Remus breathes, staring at Sirius as if he’s lost his mind. Maybe he’s right. All he did was Apparate directly into the kitchen from his shitty job at that shitty record store (What respectable record store doesn’t stock Buzzcocks albums?), and Sirius pointed his wand directly at his throat.
Sirius rolls his shoulders, trying in vain to get the tension out of his neck. It doesn’t work. “I said I was sorry, Remus, goddamn.” He scowls, irrationally, as he’s not the one who just had a wand pulled on him. “You caught me off guard. I thought you were someone else.”
Remus’ eyes narrow. “You expecting someone else?”
“Yes, Remus, as a matter of fact, I am. I was expecting my French lover, Claude. We were going to fuck like rabbits, and then he was going to make me crepes. Of fucking course I wasn’t expecting anyone else!”
“Hmph.” Remus edges past Sirius. He takes his favourite mug out of the cupboard and sets it down a bit harder than he’d intended to. The bottom chips slightly, and he swears under his breath.
Sirius watches Remus for a moment, studies the tense lines of his body where he once was relaxed and comfortable in this place, in the corner of the world they’d carved out for themselves. He sighs and turns his attention back to the single plate he’d been washing in the sink.
“There’s takeaway in the refrigerator,” he says without looking at Remus. “Chinese.”
“Not hungry,” Remus replies. Sirius looks at him questioningly. He adds, “Picked up a pasty on the way home.”
“Oh.”
It seems as if there is nothing left to say, so Sirius rinses his plate under hot water as Remus sits at the table to spoon sugar into his tea. Sirius dries his hand on the dishtowel and looks at Remus for a moment. His eyes are focused on the day’s Prophet that’s laying on the table, a hand curled around his mug of tea. Sirius doesn’t ask where his tea is; Remus stopped automatically making two cups of tea a couple weeks back.
If Remus looks up from the paper as he walks out, Sirius doesn’t notice. He doesn’t look back or say a word. He grabs his jacket, shrugs his way into it, and walks out the front door. He smokes three fags before he goes back inside.
The half-finished mug of tea is still sitting on the table, getting colder by the second. A note is scribbled in the margin of the newspaper: Forgot I’m watering Mum’s plants while they’re in Aberdeen. Be back later.
Sirius pretends he’s asleep when Remus finally crawls into bed, two hours before sunrise.
###
09 May 1981 There’s nothing but the intermittent scraping of forks and knives against plates, and Sirius contemplates stabbing his fork into the back of his hand just to liven things up. But Lily, bless her ginger soul, breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“This is really good, Remus,” she says, flashing a smile at him.
“Yeah,” James pipes in, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I thought you couldn’t cook for shit. But I’m not writhing on the floor in pain, so I’ll deem this meal a success!”
Sirius is glad for the opportunity to be a smart arse himself, so he joins in on the teasing. “Night’s young yet, Potter. Be careful what you wish for.” Remus shoots him a look that could wither steel, and Sirius’ smile quickly fades into a frown. James shifts uncomfortably, and Lily busies herself with another mouthful of meat and potato pie, just so she has something else to focus on.
“Jesus Christ, Moony, it was a fucking joke,” Sirius mumbles, pushing his plate away. He huffs as he gets up and grabs another bottle of wine.
Remus turns red, but he doesn’t raise his eyes from where they’ve settled on the dinner in front of him. “I didn’t say anything, but thank you for causing a scene.”
“That look said it all,” James says, his words followed by a soft ‘oof’ as Lily extracts her elbow from his ribcage.
“You are not helping,” she says, in as low a voice as possible.
“No, it’s fine,” Sirius says, refilling everyone’s glass to the very rim. “Remus was bitching at me before you got here anyway.”
“I was not bitching at you!” Remus says, looking up and forcefully putting his fork down on the table. “I asked a simple question. You’re the one who got all bloody defensive over it! It’s not too much to expect an explanation for why you didn’t show up for lunch like we’d planned…”
Lily tries to sink lower in her chair, shooting James looks that say how incredibly awkward the situation is, and that they should just leave. He’s too busy looking back and forth between his friends, though, to catch any of them.
“I told you something came up! That’s all I can tell you,” Sirius huffs, slamming himself down into his chair. He grabs the wine glass so hard that its contents slosh over the rim and down his fingers, dripping onto the tablecloth.
“Right, we’re leaving,” Lily announces, standing up and hauling James to his feet as well.
“We’ve got to, you know, be anywhere but here right now. In fact, we’re five minutes late,” he adds, giving Sirius a sheepish shrug.
“No, you don’t have to go,” Sirius says at exactly the same time Remus says, “Yeah, maybe we’d better try this again another night.”
The two of them look at each other, scowls on their faces, and then Sirius rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet. “See you two later,” he says, grabbing the wine bottle as he sulks out of the room.
He doesn’t hear their goodbyes, or Remus’ apology for their behaviour, because he locks himself in the bathroom. He’s got an old record player sitting on the toilet’s cistern, and he immediately goes for the one and only record he wants to hear.
He settles into a hot bath moments later, head tipped back and bottle of cheap merlot to his lips, as Joey Ramone sings Sirius’ exact sentiments.
I wanna be sedated…
###
19 June 1981 Remus is in the shower when Sirius returns from the supermarket. He puts the milk in the fridge and the bread in the pantry, and the tea and tin of biscuits stay in the middle of the small kitchen table.
He starts to walk to the bedroom to kick off his shoes when he pauses, right in front of the bathroom door. It’s slightly ajar, and in the fogged-over mirror, Sirius can only just make out Remus’ silhouette through the clear vinyl shower curtain.
It’s been 6 days since he’s seen Remus naked - yes, he is counting - and it used to be that they could scarcely manage to go six hours without someone’s clothes being torn off. The thought makes Sirius unreasonably angry: with the war; with the secrets, and sometimes lies, they’re forced to tell each other; with Remus; with himself.
He pushes open the door, ready for a fight because that seems to be the only way he remembers to be now days, but his anger all washes away like the water swirling down the drain.
Remus has his back turned to him, arms up and fingers working his shampooed hair into a rich lather. He steps under the spray, and the white foam breaks up and washes its way down Remus’ back, over the curve of his arse, down the backs of his thighs. Sirius is halfway undressed when Remus finally turns around, startling a touch.
“Pervert,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face, replacing the shock that had been there moments before.
Sirius just shrugs, because he can’t possibly deny it after so long, and flashes Remus a grin. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Remus is watching him as he hastily strips off the rest of his clothes. They feel like them again, he thinks, just for a brief second, before pushing the thought away. It’s just the stress of the war. It’s nothing. They never stopped being them, he insists.
(He’ll remember, next time he’s angry for no real reason, to be angry at the lies he’s started to tell himself as well.)
When Sirius steps into the shower, Remus looks as if he’s going to turn his back to him suddenly, his cheeks slightly pink and his eyes averted. But then he reaches for Sirius, slides wet fingers over his hips, pulls him flush against his body. Sirius is dizzy by the time Remus’ lips touch his.
He fucks Remus, back pressed to the tiled wall of the shower, until the water runs cold. They stumble out, laughing, shivering, and trail puddles of water to the bed, not bothering to towel off. The sheets stick to their wet bodies when they fall to the mattress, but they’re too distracted by each other’s mouths to care. Sirius feels dizzy as Remus’ hands roam all over his wet skin, as his tongue presses against his own, and when Remus moans his name against his ear, Sirius thinks he’s going to come again.
They spend the rest of the night in bed, rediscovering favourite places to kiss and be touched, making up for lost time and whispering so many promises into each other’s bare skin - promises that Sirius knows, in the back of his mind, that they will both break when the sun pushes itself over the horizon. Remus falls asleep first, lying flat on his back with Sirius half on top of him. Sirius lifts up and studies him as he sleeps, reaching out a finger to trace his features: eyebrows, cheekbones, slightly-parted lips, stubble-covered jaw. He’s missed Remus, even though they he’s been right there with him every day. But so many doubts and secrets exist between them now that it feels as though an impassable chasm stands between the two of them, widening as each second ticks by.
Sirius doesn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but he knows the moment he wakes that Remus isn’t there. He doesn’t smell bacon frying or hear the tea kettle, and when he sits up in bed, he looks down the corridor and sees the empty hook where Remus’ coat should be hanging. He’s left for work without bothering to wake Sirius. It’s not as if he was expecting any less, but it doesn’t stop the hollow feeling in his chest from spreading as Sirius lays back down against the pillows.
###
29 July 1981 He goes through three bottles of Guinness and a half bottle of cheap Merlot before Sirius finishes filling the box with the remnants of Remus’ existence in his life. He flicks his wand at it, and the flaps close as a roll of spellotape begins to seal it shut. Sirius has no idea where Remus is going to be staying, but he figures he can always just take the box to his parents’ house and leave it on the back porch. He slips into his coat, hefts the box up and tucks it under one arm, then pulls the front door open.
Sirius collides with something hard, stumbling back into the flat as the box crashes down to the floor. He sees a shocked face staring back at him, and Sirius knows his own expression mirrors his. He crouches down to pick up the box, then he stands there and peers at Remus, unable to think of even a single word to fill the awkward silence. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.
“Sirius, I…” Remus hesitates, and for a moment, Sirius feels a fluttering his chest as he thinks Remus is going to ask for his key back. If he was, however, he changes his mind as that’s not what comes out of his mouth. “I just came back for my things.”
Even though he’d already packed Remus’ things away in the very box in his arms, Sirius feels the words hit him like ice water. He doesn’t want things to end, not like this. Remus has been in his life for so long, they’ve been through so much together, as mates and then as lovers, and it’s just the war getting to them, isn’t it? But it’s more than that. They no longer trust each other, they live secretive and separate lives, and though Sirius still loves Remus, he’d be naive to tell himself that it’s enough to make it work. They’d become miserable shells of their former selves, and Sirius knows it's only fear of losing what has been a constant fixture in his life that makes him want to cling to a hopeless cause.
“I’ve packed them for you,” he answers, hearing the words sound as though they came from someone else rather than his own mouth. Sirius thinks he sees a flicker of hurt in Remus’ eyes, but it’s gone before he can register it, and Remus is reaching out to take the box. Sirius gently pushes it into his arms, letting his fingers brush Remus’ forearms as he pulls his hands back. He feels a moment of panic at the thought of a lifetime of never touching Remus again, of never seeing that smile that seemed reserved just for him, but he shakes himself free of it. That smile hasn’t shown itself in so long Sirius barely remembers what it looks like.
Remus shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks, Sirius,” he says, biting his lower lip. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, hovering in the doorway but saying nothing. It seems as though an entire age passes, Sirius and Remus standing there with the box and the threshold separating them, the silence growing to a deafening roar.
Finally, Remus looks away and breaks whatever spell had been holding them there. “Well, I guess that’s it.”
Sirius nods, feeling his throat constrict slightly. “Yeah, s’pose it is. I… Remus, you know I still…”
“I know,” he says, closing his eyes and cutting Sirius off, looking as if it would be too painful to hear. “Me too. Just… sometimes that’s not enough.” He opens his eyes and Remus gives a last look at Sirius, and Sirius’ breath catches in his throat at the raw emotion he sees reflected in his gaze. “Bye, Padfoot.”
Sirius watches Remus walk down the long corridor, hoping for a parting glance before he rounds the corner and descends the stairs. He doesn’t get it, though, and he slowly steps back into his flat, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. The flat looks mostly the same, but the loss of Remus’ presence is palpable and makes it look empty. Sirius heaves a heavy sigh and slides down to the floor, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees. He speaks in a soft whisper, and though he knows Remus can’t hear him, he needs to say the words anyway.
“Bye, Moony.”