ohmygod slash.
R/S, which is like SO OLD, which i know is what people say when they want to excuse how shitty their writing is, as in 'This is very old, you will of course be able to see the incredible difference between it and my CURRENT writing', which ahaha is just what i'm doing. except my current writing is not really at all improved. I sort of don't like it but sort of do. And I'M POSTING IT TO A COMMUNITY OFJDADKLFSA WHAT IF THEY DESTROY ME.
*scrabbles for inhaler*
just kidding. sort of. actually I just drank milk and it made me feel better yay.
also, there's no sex whatsoever, a rare thing for me. sorry!
Sirius is crying.
Remus desperately doesn’t want him to be. Sirius crying is scary, frightening and unnatural, like thunder before the lightening or a morning where the sun doesn’t rise. Sirius doesn’t cry. Sirius gets emotional, yes, Sirius wipes away tears sometimes and snaps about allergic reactions and sensitive eyes, but never like this. Never with his shoulders shaking and the back of his hand pressed hard-rigid against his eyes, hair falling forward like a curtain to mask the scene as choked sobs rise from him, terrifyingly muted by nothing. Never like this.
Blacks don’t cry, Sirius had said once when Remus had asked, Blacks don’t have feelings, you know. Why? Remus had wanted to know. They just don’t, Sirius replied simply, shrugging. It’s a Pureblood-Family-of-Respected-Doom sort of thing, y'know? Tears show weakness, WE ARE NOT WEAK, you know the drill. He’d laughed, then, like the whole thing was this big joke, and after a beat Remus had joined him.
But he’d wondered then, after, if Sirius included himself in that blanket statement. If Sirius thought he was different or if underneath he was cold and unfeeling too, like he believed the rest of his family to be. It had bothered Remus, disconcerted him, made him wonder about things he had never questioned before. Later, much later, far longer than he would’ve thought Sirius would remember their conversation, they’d been alone and Remus asked him if he had discovered human emotion yet, unsure of the reaction he was expecting and equally as uncertain what he wanted to hear. Sirius had stared at him for a long, tense moment, messy black bangs and impossibly blue eyes, something stretching out like a spiderweb between them and then he’d laughed suddenly, the sound jolting Remus like smashing icicles falling to the ground, broke the spell with fits of mirth. Yeah, Remus, he’d said, unexplained laughter in his voice. Yeah, I reckon I’ve probably got a couple human-ish feelings knocking about up in here.
Still, Remus never saw him cry, not once. Not over pain or failure, frustration or anxiety, even when Remus could see the strain in the shadows under his eyes and the way his fingers would wind themselves tight and hard around each other, or how his thumbnails always seemed to end up chewed and ragged under his teeth. Not when he was nearly trampled to death by stampeding hippogriffs, not when Regulus pretended not to know his name, not even at the letters his parents occasionally sent, although these incited fits of rage Remus always thought were far more frightening than he imagined tears could ever be.
In retrospect, he was wrong about that.
Because Sirius is crying now, seemingly over nothing, without a wax-crested letter clutched in his hand or blood gushing from his pores, presumably with all his limbs and parts firmly in place, crying like the world is broken and it’s all his fault. He’s crying now, and it’s terrifying. Remus doesn’t know what to do, because while in Sirius’s world the proper impossibility is his kin crying, for Remus it’s always very unconsciously been Sirius crying, Sirius breaking down, Sirius being anything but overtly and singularly Angry or Cheerful or Dangerously Insane and Intent on Disaster. It’s like stumbling into a room in the dark thinking it’s your bedroom when really it isn’t, it’s the bloody dining room or something, but you can’t see and don’t understand why everything is all switched around, why you keep bumping into things you could swear weren’t there last time you checked. It’s awful, terrible, confusing, and he doesn’t know what to do.
Remus Lupin, for the third and probably most awful time in his life, is at a strange and disconcerting loss for words.
Sirius doesn’t look as though he minds, though, doesn’t look like he would even notice if Remus attempted to communicate with him, all angles and shadows and horribly hunched shoulders, stifled, scary sobs that manage to be about as muffled as an air-raid, anyway. Remus reaches out a hand and places it hesitantly on his arm, trying to be friendly, comforting, there, but Sirius doesn’t look up and Remus can see the tears leaking out from behind his hand, sliding down his cheeks in a shiny slipstream of liquid-that-shouldn’t-be-there.
“Hey,” he says, and doesn’t know where he’s going with it but lets his voice be soft and gentle, for once, without worrying about the consequences and keeps his fingers on Sirius’s arm, “hey.”
It isn’t just the great, racking sobs that are making him shake, though, Remus realizes suddenly. He just is, his entire body, trembling with the force of his tears and with something else that Remus doesn’t know, can’t see that keeps him shaking violently even between sobs.
“Hey,” he says again and feels vaguely stupid, here’s his best friend sitting here and crying his goddamn eyes out for maybe the first time in his life, possibly having some sort of nervous breakdown and all Remus can say is hey? Sirius still doesn’t respond and Remus wonders if he understands what’s going on right now, if he even knows that Remus is the one stood above him with his hand on his arm, repeating stupid, non-helpful one-syllable words and being generally useless.
“Sirius,” he says, whispers, really, like that’s going to help, and wonders if he’s about to apologize. He shouldn’t because that’s a bad habit of his, apologizing for things that aren’t really his fault and have nothing to do with him, and Sirius says he hates it when he does that. He shouldn’t but he wants to, it would make him feel better about this even if it’d probably be quite irrelevant to the actual situation, it would make him feel like he’s doing something, like he’s helping.
He doesn’t, though. Doesn’t do anything, actually, but accidentally allow his fingers to start moving, tentatively stroking worn shirt-material and trying not to let the way his heart is twisting painfully translate into any movement he makes. He doesn’t know what to say. Sirius, don’t cry is pointless and vaguely idiotic, for all he knows Sirius has a perfectly good reason to be sat here alone in the dark bawling his eyes out, Remus wouldn’t know and he doesn’t want to make insinuations about what would be best for Sirius to do or not do. It’s alright is out of the question too, for mainly the same reasons, because he doesn’t know if it’s actually alright or not, and, judging from the way Sirius is still trembling like that, crying like he’s just realized what the word tragedy really means, Remus thinks that actually it’s probably pretty not-alright.
He just ends up saying his name again, which is pointless since not only is Sirius probably not even hearing him, but he does know his own name and everything. It’s good, though, something to do with his lips and mouth, a three-syllable vessel for that comforting, soothing tone he inexplicably needs to hear himself using, even if it isn’t actually helping Sirius. Sirius shows no sign of being pacified, if anything the lines of his body seem to get stiffer, more severe, and it’s the surprise of a lifetime when he suddenly reaches out blindly and pulls Remus closer, buries his face in the front of Remus’s robes. He’s still sat down while Remus is standing and is probably going to get the stomach-area of his robes very wet indeed but Remus doesn’t really care, right now.
He doesn’t dare touch the silky-looking black shining just below his chest, disappearing against his robes but lets his hands fall onto Sirius’s shoulders, rubbing slightly in what he hopes is a comforting way. Sirius’s hands feel foreign-but-familiar against his back and he’s very aware of their presence even though Sirius probably isn’t, imagines them tattooed back there, burned into skin they aren’t technically touching.
“Oh, Sirius,” he says again, quietly and without meaning to, and Sirius makes a muffled, pained choking noise against his stomach, fingers twisting in robe-material. He’s trying to stop, Remus thinks, and it tugs at his heart, the lump in his throat. He’s horrible. He doesn’t know how to be comforting, he doesn’t even know how one would go about planning to begin being comforting. He’s terrible at it, he’ll admit, let it be known to the world and throughout the lands that Remus J. Lupin is a completely rubbish comforter who should probably be hung. He’s just making it worse, he’s obviously the most awful friend in the entire world.
“Please, Sirius,” he says, trying to keep his voice from wobbling like it wants to, “no, please don’t, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
Sirius looks up at him suddenly and very unexpectedly, looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and tears sticky on his cheeks, nose a blotchy pink.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers hoarsely, “don’t, I hate it when you do that, Remus.”
Remus is so taken aback by the sudden words that he can’t reply for a moment, just stares back down at Sirius gazing up at him through glassy tears, strands of black strewn messily across his flushed forehead. His hands are still pressed against Remus’s back, fingers clutching slightly at the material there, and Remus doesn’t expect himself to sit down suddenly next to Sirius, put his arms around him properly and let their bodies slide together like that. He doesn’t expect it at all, isn’t what he was planning on doing, but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind very much, buries his face in Remus’s shoulder and takes a great, shuddering breath, tears still leaking down his face and dropping from his chin.
Then, suddenly, with another great heaving breath, “You shouldn’t be here, Remus,”
The sentence seems to remind him that he was, in fact, crying like he was trying to drown the world, and the tears start again in earnest, making it difficult to understand his next sentence. Remus doesn’t really listen all that well anyway, which isn’t typical for him, but stroking Sirius’s back really does seem more important.
“Why?”
Sirius’s voice is muffled by Remus’s robes and broken by suddenly violent tears, and Remus still isn’t used to the idea of Sirius crying in general. It’s like dipping your hand in water and finding that it suddenly isn’t wet anymore, it’s… different, not-wet, something else. This is Sirius, unrelentingly boyish Sirius who likes Quidditch and fast things and explosions and strange Muggle bands and doesn’t change, doesn’t show emotion and doesn’t bloody cry, doesn’t talk like this. It’s bewildering, and very frightening.
“You shouldn’t be the one, you shouldn’t have to be the one who sees, this’ll just make it worse, oh God, Remus, I’m so lost but I can’t let you be with me, I can’t, you of all people can’t help-”
Remus can barely understand what he’s saying but is shaken to the bones by the ferocity of the words, the desperate flame behind them, the loneliness.
“Not trying to help,” he says and isn’t quite sure what he means, but focuses his attention on calming Sirius’s quavering form, where he suddenly seems very torn between accepting the embrace and pulling away from it.
“No, no, you are trying, you always try and fuck, Remus, I-but you don’t-you don’t know, and I can’t-you can’t help me, you wouldn’t even want to, I’m so…I can’t do this…” His voice trails off and he dissolves into tears again, surprising Remus even though he supposes he should be used to it, now. What can’t he help with? Is Sirius in some sort of trouble, here? Bad trouble, it would have to be, judging from those tears and since Sirius Doesn’t Cry, how could it possibly be so that Remus couldn’t help?
“Why can’t I help?” he asks, and feels Sirius tense against him, going from soft-fluid bodylines to rigid again, and tries to rub the slight calm back into him through his shoulders. Sirius’s voice is very soft and very ragged, overwrought, choked up and nearly inaudible.
“You just can’t. Because it’s you.”
“It’s… what’s me?”
It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius is completely tensed, now, seemingly ready to flee at any second. Remus can’t keep his hands off him, which is wrong, but they don’t want to move from Sirius’s shaking, lightly-muscled shoulders, back, upper arms, trying maybe to stroke him back into pliancy like a scared puppy. He whispers this time, nearly matching Sirius for softness, and can’t keep himself from asking the question again.
“What’s me?”
And Sirius looks right at him then, just for a moment; all big grey-blue eyes that pierce him deep, right to the heart and then break it into a million little pieces with that trembling lower lip, like a child hopelessly lost and sure he’ll never find home again, dreading the grave punishment he knows is inevitable. His voice is somehow even softer than before and wobbling horribly with tears, something that sends daggers straight through Remus’s already aching chest.
“It’s all you, Remus. It’s always been you.”
And it happens very quickly, then. One second he’s staring at bloodshot darkblue eyes and trying to decipher the possibly heartstopping meaning of that sentence and the next Sirius is kissing him, hands flat on his chest and mouth very hot and very real against his. It’s gone before he can do a damn thing about it and Sirius is suddenly shaking very hard, about to fly up and run, Remus can feel it coming off of him in waves. He’s too shocked to do anything, though, just blinks stupidly a few times and opens his mouth, presumably to say something even stupider. Sirius stops him with a crazed, panicky look, looking simultaneously intensely relieved and as though he’d like very much to kill himself. Tears are still streaming, seemingly forgotten, down his cheeks and dropping onto the collars of his shirt.
“No-no-no-no Remus don’t, don’t, please, I know, I understand, I just can’t help it, we’re so fucking different and maybe that’s it I don’t know but oh god please don’t say anything, don’t say it, I can’t take hearing you say it-”
And this time Remus sort of does know what he’s doing, although it doesn’t quite seem like he’s the one controlling it, more like this is some sort of dream he’s having where Sirius has gone insane and Remus has suddenly become a hell of a lot more confident, able to do things without analyzing and cross-analyzing them first.
He reaches for Sirius, pulls him in very, very close and kisses him.
~~
*scrabbles for inhaler*
just kidding. sort of. actually I just drank milk and it made me feel better yay.
also, there's no sex whatsoever, a rare thing for me. sorry!
Sirius is crying.
Remus desperately doesn’t want him to be. Sirius crying is scary, frightening and unnatural, like thunder before the lightening or a morning where the sun doesn’t rise. Sirius doesn’t cry. Sirius gets emotional, yes, Sirius wipes away tears sometimes and snaps about allergic reactions and sensitive eyes, but never like this. Never with his shoulders shaking and the back of his hand pressed hard-rigid against his eyes, hair falling forward like a curtain to mask the scene as choked sobs rise from him, terrifyingly muted by nothing. Never like this.
Blacks don’t cry, Sirius had said once when Remus had asked, Blacks don’t have feelings, you know. Why? Remus had wanted to know. They just don’t, Sirius replied simply, shrugging. It’s a Pureblood-Family-of-Respected-Doom sort of thing, y'know? Tears show weakness, WE ARE NOT WEAK, you know the drill. He’d laughed, then, like the whole thing was this big joke, and after a beat Remus had joined him.
But he’d wondered then, after, if Sirius included himself in that blanket statement. If Sirius thought he was different or if underneath he was cold and unfeeling too, like he believed the rest of his family to be. It had bothered Remus, disconcerted him, made him wonder about things he had never questioned before. Later, much later, far longer than he would’ve thought Sirius would remember their conversation, they’d been alone and Remus asked him if he had discovered human emotion yet, unsure of the reaction he was expecting and equally as uncertain what he wanted to hear. Sirius had stared at him for a long, tense moment, messy black bangs and impossibly blue eyes, something stretching out like a spiderweb between them and then he’d laughed suddenly, the sound jolting Remus like smashing icicles falling to the ground, broke the spell with fits of mirth. Yeah, Remus, he’d said, unexplained laughter in his voice. Yeah, I reckon I’ve probably got a couple human-ish feelings knocking about up in here.
Still, Remus never saw him cry, not once. Not over pain or failure, frustration or anxiety, even when Remus could see the strain in the shadows under his eyes and the way his fingers would wind themselves tight and hard around each other, or how his thumbnails always seemed to end up chewed and ragged under his teeth. Not when he was nearly trampled to death by stampeding hippogriffs, not when Regulus pretended not to know his name, not even at the letters his parents occasionally sent, although these incited fits of rage Remus always thought were far more frightening than he imagined tears could ever be.
In retrospect, he was wrong about that.
Because Sirius is crying now, seemingly over nothing, without a wax-crested letter clutched in his hand or blood gushing from his pores, presumably with all his limbs and parts firmly in place, crying like the world is broken and it’s all his fault. He’s crying now, and it’s terrifying. Remus doesn’t know what to do, because while in Sirius’s world the proper impossibility is his kin crying, for Remus it’s always very unconsciously been Sirius crying, Sirius breaking down, Sirius being anything but overtly and singularly Angry or Cheerful or Dangerously Insane and Intent on Disaster. It’s like stumbling into a room in the dark thinking it’s your bedroom when really it isn’t, it’s the bloody dining room or something, but you can’t see and don’t understand why everything is all switched around, why you keep bumping into things you could swear weren’t there last time you checked. It’s awful, terrible, confusing, and he doesn’t know what to do.
Remus Lupin, for the third and probably most awful time in his life, is at a strange and disconcerting loss for words.
Sirius doesn’t look as though he minds, though, doesn’t look like he would even notice if Remus attempted to communicate with him, all angles and shadows and horribly hunched shoulders, stifled, scary sobs that manage to be about as muffled as an air-raid, anyway. Remus reaches out a hand and places it hesitantly on his arm, trying to be friendly, comforting, there, but Sirius doesn’t look up and Remus can see the tears leaking out from behind his hand, sliding down his cheeks in a shiny slipstream of liquid-that-shouldn’t-be-there.
“Hey,” he says, and doesn’t know where he’s going with it but lets his voice be soft and gentle, for once, without worrying about the consequences and keeps his fingers on Sirius’s arm, “hey.”
It isn’t just the great, racking sobs that are making him shake, though, Remus realizes suddenly. He just is, his entire body, trembling with the force of his tears and with something else that Remus doesn’t know, can’t see that keeps him shaking violently even between sobs.
“Hey,” he says again and feels vaguely stupid, here’s his best friend sitting here and crying his goddamn eyes out for maybe the first time in his life, possibly having some sort of nervous breakdown and all Remus can say is hey? Sirius still doesn’t respond and Remus wonders if he understands what’s going on right now, if he even knows that Remus is the one stood above him with his hand on his arm, repeating stupid, non-helpful one-syllable words and being generally useless.
“Sirius,” he says, whispers, really, like that’s going to help, and wonders if he’s about to apologize. He shouldn’t because that’s a bad habit of his, apologizing for things that aren’t really his fault and have nothing to do with him, and Sirius says he hates it when he does that. He shouldn’t but he wants to, it would make him feel better about this even if it’d probably be quite irrelevant to the actual situation, it would make him feel like he’s doing something, like he’s helping.
He doesn’t, though. Doesn’t do anything, actually, but accidentally allow his fingers to start moving, tentatively stroking worn shirt-material and trying not to let the way his heart is twisting painfully translate into any movement he makes. He doesn’t know what to say. Sirius, don’t cry is pointless and vaguely idiotic, for all he knows Sirius has a perfectly good reason to be sat here alone in the dark bawling his eyes out, Remus wouldn’t know and he doesn’t want to make insinuations about what would be best for Sirius to do or not do. It’s alright is out of the question too, for mainly the same reasons, because he doesn’t know if it’s actually alright or not, and, judging from the way Sirius is still trembling like that, crying like he’s just realized what the word tragedy really means, Remus thinks that actually it’s probably pretty not-alright.
He just ends up saying his name again, which is pointless since not only is Sirius probably not even hearing him, but he does know his own name and everything. It’s good, though, something to do with his lips and mouth, a three-syllable vessel for that comforting, soothing tone he inexplicably needs to hear himself using, even if it isn’t actually helping Sirius. Sirius shows no sign of being pacified, if anything the lines of his body seem to get stiffer, more severe, and it’s the surprise of a lifetime when he suddenly reaches out blindly and pulls Remus closer, buries his face in the front of Remus’s robes. He’s still sat down while Remus is standing and is probably going to get the stomach-area of his robes very wet indeed but Remus doesn’t really care, right now.
He doesn’t dare touch the silky-looking black shining just below his chest, disappearing against his robes but lets his hands fall onto Sirius’s shoulders, rubbing slightly in what he hopes is a comforting way. Sirius’s hands feel foreign-but-familiar against his back and he’s very aware of their presence even though Sirius probably isn’t, imagines them tattooed back there, burned into skin they aren’t technically touching.
“Oh, Sirius,” he says again, quietly and without meaning to, and Sirius makes a muffled, pained choking noise against his stomach, fingers twisting in robe-material. He’s trying to stop, Remus thinks, and it tugs at his heart, the lump in his throat. He’s horrible. He doesn’t know how to be comforting, he doesn’t even know how one would go about planning to begin being comforting. He’s terrible at it, he’ll admit, let it be known to the world and throughout the lands that Remus J. Lupin is a completely rubbish comforter who should probably be hung. He’s just making it worse, he’s obviously the most awful friend in the entire world.
“Please, Sirius,” he says, trying to keep his voice from wobbling like it wants to, “no, please don’t, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
Sirius looks up at him suddenly and very unexpectedly, looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and tears sticky on his cheeks, nose a blotchy pink.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers hoarsely, “don’t, I hate it when you do that, Remus.”
Remus is so taken aback by the sudden words that he can’t reply for a moment, just stares back down at Sirius gazing up at him through glassy tears, strands of black strewn messily across his flushed forehead. His hands are still pressed against Remus’s back, fingers clutching slightly at the material there, and Remus doesn’t expect himself to sit down suddenly next to Sirius, put his arms around him properly and let their bodies slide together like that. He doesn’t expect it at all, isn’t what he was planning on doing, but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind very much, buries his face in Remus’s shoulder and takes a great, shuddering breath, tears still leaking down his face and dropping from his chin.
Then, suddenly, with another great heaving breath, “You shouldn’t be here, Remus,”
The sentence seems to remind him that he was, in fact, crying like he was trying to drown the world, and the tears start again in earnest, making it difficult to understand his next sentence. Remus doesn’t really listen all that well anyway, which isn’t typical for him, but stroking Sirius’s back really does seem more important.
“Why?”
Sirius’s voice is muffled by Remus’s robes and broken by suddenly violent tears, and Remus still isn’t used to the idea of Sirius crying in general. It’s like dipping your hand in water and finding that it suddenly isn’t wet anymore, it’s… different, not-wet, something else. This is Sirius, unrelentingly boyish Sirius who likes Quidditch and fast things and explosions and strange Muggle bands and doesn’t change, doesn’t show emotion and doesn’t bloody cry, doesn’t talk like this. It’s bewildering, and very frightening.
“You shouldn’t be the one, you shouldn’t have to be the one who sees, this’ll just make it worse, oh God, Remus, I’m so lost but I can’t let you be with me, I can’t, you of all people can’t help-”
Remus can barely understand what he’s saying but is shaken to the bones by the ferocity of the words, the desperate flame behind them, the loneliness.
“Not trying to help,” he says and isn’t quite sure what he means, but focuses his attention on calming Sirius’s quavering form, where he suddenly seems very torn between accepting the embrace and pulling away from it.
“No, no, you are trying, you always try and fuck, Remus, I-but you don’t-you don’t know, and I can’t-you can’t help me, you wouldn’t even want to, I’m so…I can’t do this…” His voice trails off and he dissolves into tears again, surprising Remus even though he supposes he should be used to it, now. What can’t he help with? Is Sirius in some sort of trouble, here? Bad trouble, it would have to be, judging from those tears and since Sirius Doesn’t Cry, how could it possibly be so that Remus couldn’t help?
“Why can’t I help?” he asks, and feels Sirius tense against him, going from soft-fluid bodylines to rigid again, and tries to rub the slight calm back into him through his shoulders. Sirius’s voice is very soft and very ragged, overwrought, choked up and nearly inaudible.
“You just can’t. Because it’s you.”
“It’s… what’s me?”
It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius is completely tensed, now, seemingly ready to flee at any second. Remus can’t keep his hands off him, which is wrong, but they don’t want to move from Sirius’s shaking, lightly-muscled shoulders, back, upper arms, trying maybe to stroke him back into pliancy like a scared puppy. He whispers this time, nearly matching Sirius for softness, and can’t keep himself from asking the question again.
“What’s me?”
And Sirius looks right at him then, just for a moment; all big grey-blue eyes that pierce him deep, right to the heart and then break it into a million little pieces with that trembling lower lip, like a child hopelessly lost and sure he’ll never find home again, dreading the grave punishment he knows is inevitable. His voice is somehow even softer than before and wobbling horribly with tears, something that sends daggers straight through Remus’s already aching chest.
“It’s all you, Remus. It’s always been you.”
And it happens very quickly, then. One second he’s staring at bloodshot darkblue eyes and trying to decipher the possibly heartstopping meaning of that sentence and the next Sirius is kissing him, hands flat on his chest and mouth very hot and very real against his. It’s gone before he can do a damn thing about it and Sirius is suddenly shaking very hard, about to fly up and run, Remus can feel it coming off of him in waves. He’s too shocked to do anything, though, just blinks stupidly a few times and opens his mouth, presumably to say something even stupider. Sirius stops him with a crazed, panicky look, looking simultaneously intensely relieved and as though he’d like very much to kill himself. Tears are still streaming, seemingly forgotten, down his cheeks and dropping onto the collars of his shirt.
“No-no-no-no Remus don’t, don’t, please, I know, I understand, I just can’t help it, we’re so fucking different and maybe that’s it I don’t know but oh god please don’t say anything, don’t say it, I can’t take hearing you say it-”
And this time Remus sort of does know what he’s doing, although it doesn’t quite seem like he’s the one controlling it, more like this is some sort of dream he’s having where Sirius has gone insane and Remus has suddenly become a hell of a lot more confident, able to do things without analyzing and cross-analyzing them first.
He reaches for Sirius, pulls him in very, very close and kisses him.
~~