When Sirius gets home, plastic shopping bag in hand, keys jingling as he shuts the door behind him, the room is empty. He cranes his neck around as he takes his boots off to check the corner of the room by the window, one of Remus' favorite seemingly uncomfortable places to curl up with a book, but he's not there. The empty room is a complete mess, with pillows on the floor and dirty plates from last night's dinner on the table. Remus' book is lying face down on the couch, which sparks a bit of worry in Sirius, even more so than the mess; while Remus usually tidies the flat up while Sirius is at work, he has never before left a book open and lying around.
"Moony?" he calls softly, poking his head down the narrow hall leading to the bedroom as he moves to put the takeaway down on the kitchen table. There is a quiet, pained grunt from the bedroom, and, his eyebrows furrowing, he goes to investigate.
"Babe?" he asks, nudging the door open slightly.
"Urg," comes Remus' reply, and Sirius heart skips a beat when he realizes he's not in danger, just asleep.
"I brought home some takeaway," he says softly, kneeling next to the bed so that he is face-to-face with a half-asleep Remus.
However, he promptly wakes up at this news. "Chinese?"
"Mmm. I've lived with you for eight years," he says, absently pushing Remus' hair out of his eyes, getting a squinty, tired look in return. "Would I really get you anything else two days before the moon?"
Remus smiles softly, and he leans up and Sirius leans down reflexively, and they share the kind of quick peck that you associate with a man coming home from work and greeting his wife who has been cleaning the house all day, except they're both men and Sirius has no suit or briefcase and Remus is a werewolf and also too weak with pre-moon muscle aches and mood swings to clean. "You are just the best," he says sleepily.
"I know it," he says with a grin. "How are you feeling?"
"Like death. I think I'm getting a cold, too."
"Awh. Don't worry, I'll still kiss you."
Remus huffs out a soft laugh.
"You have to get up and come eat," Sirius says, standing once more. "I'd say we could eat in here, but you don't look like you've been out of bed once today and I'm not sure that's healthy."
"I got up to use the loo earlier," he protests, sitting up and stretching.
"And I'm a proud parent, Moony, but come eat."
Sighing, Remus stands up. "Can we eat on the couch at least?"
"Is it that bad today?" Sirius asks, eyebrows furrowed with concerned, as they head for the kitchen.
"Yeah, but," he says, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink, "my arse still hurts from... You know."
"Oh, yes. Well, there are certain things to expect from a relationship with Sirius Black."
"A relationship. How domestic."
"I think we're past the point of caring about that," Sirius tells him, the corner of his lips pulling up as he takes two containers out of the bag, handing one to Remus as he grabs the two plastic forks from the bottom of the bag.
"Yes, well, we are planning on eating chinese out of the containers on the couch, so don't speak too soon."
Even this, though, seems quite domestic to Remus. He feels a lot like he and Sirius are an old married couple sometimes. He fears that he would be the wife. The fact that he thinks of this as romantic is also disconcerting, from Sirius' smile to the way their knees bump as they angle themselves towards each other, sitting cross-legged on the worn sofa.
"Sirius," he says, opening the container. "Is this pork lo mein? Have I ever told you I love you?"
He laughs softly, a piece of chicken on his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. "I knew. Hopefully not just because of the pork lo mein."
"Eh. Not entirely."
Sirius shakes his head with a grin, pushing rice around in his takeaway container. "So I'll be here tomorrow for the full," he says, not masking his desperate attempt to sound casual.
"Oh, Sirius... I um... I won't be."
"What do you mean? Where else would you be?"
"I mean I have... a thing."
"You're gonna be a werewolf," he says stupidly. "What thing could you possibly have to do?"
"I have to... I can't talk about it."
"Remus, what's going on?"
Instead of answering he looks down and pushes his noodles around.
"Is this... for the order? You can't let Dumbledore make you-"
"He's not 'making me' do anything," he says finally. "There are some things in the world that are worth
more than-"
"More than what?" Sirius challenges.
"More than me," he says. "I thought you'd understand that. You're training to become an auror."
"I understand that there are things worth more than me," he says. "Not you."
This idea is more than enough to make Remus blush, and he sets his half-eaten dinner on the table.
"You're more important than me. You're on the front lines, you're becoming an auror, and I'm..."
"Running around with dark creatures? That's pretty fucking dangerous too."
"Just... don't. I'd rather not think about it."
"Okay," Sirius says, taking Remus, whose neck snaps up at the agreement, by surprise. Sirius' eyebrows are pushed together in concern, but the rest of his expression is indiscernible. "I'll just put this away," he says. "You look like you could use to go to bed early."
"Thanks," he answers tenderly. Sirius kisses him as he grabs his container from the table and heads into the kitchen. Remus realizes how much he really does want to sleep, and debates the sanity of this after how long he slept during the day, but decides he doesn't care as he heads for the bedroom and crawls back under the blanket. He can hear the refrigerator shut in the kitchen and then Sirius' footsteps padding down the hallway.
"Moony?" he hears as the door creaks open. "Still awake?"
"You were barely gone for a minute, you git."
He huffs out a laugh as he shuffles over and crawls under the blanket. "You looked really tired," he answers.
"I was sleeping all day."
"Yeah, but."
"Hmm?"
"I'm worried. It's always bad, when you're like this."
"I know."
"At least tell me where you'll be?" he pleads, his eyes desperate. "So I can help you in the morning. I don't want you to splinch yourself trying to come back."
"It'll be fine."
"Please."
"I can't," he says. "I'm sorry, but you know. You don't tell me."
"I don't go hang out with werewolves who want me to join Voldemort!"
"I can take care of myself."
"When they turn back, they'll be death eaters. You'll be with death eaters while you're all in pain from the transformation."
"Unarmed death eaters."
"You'll be unarmed, too," he points out. "The wolf isn't exactly likely to want to hang onto your wand for you."
"Drop it. You're not stopping me, and you're just going to freak yourself out, so stop it."
"Will he be there?"
"What?"
"You know. Greyback."
"Sirius."
"Is that a yes, then? Remus-"
It's the second time that night Sirius has called him Remus. Sirius never calls him Remus. It's always Moony, and when it's Remus, it generally means Sirius is really worried about him or really mad at him, and right now he's not interested in either, but he's almost sure it's both. "You're constantly doing dangerous stuff. You're currently training for one of the most dangerous jobs you could possibly get, and you insist on volunteering for every mission you can, and you throw yourself in front of the most skilled duelers and every single time you leave the flat without me I'm scared to death I'll never see you again because I know that if you see a death eater, you'll go after them, even if you're just picking up takeaway or buying coffee at the time, but I live with it. I never say anything to you about it, and I never try to stop you, and I never tell you you're not allowed to do anything. I know that you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't, and I respect that, and I accept and understand it and that—that idea that you're useless if you don't do this for the world, don't at least try to do what you know is right—is exactly what this is about for me, but you're trying to stop me, and I'd never do that to you."
Sirius avoids eye contact for a few thoughtful moments, his fingers crawling over to Remus' hand and intertwining with his. "I'm sorry," he says, quietly. "I didn't-" he glances up into Remus' eyes. "I'd stop if you asked me to, you know. All of it."
"I know, which is why I never would."
"I'm sorry."
"I know," he says again, leaning in and burying his face in Sirius' neck. Sirius squeezes his hand in return, and he can practically feel them coalesce into one being, into SiriusandRemus instead and he closes his eyes and everything is that Sirius smell that he wishes he could bottle up and spray on everything he owns, and it's like all of those froofy men's shampoos and body washes and conditioners and shower gels that litter the bathroom, but it's also kind of like rain and sweat and boy, and their whole bed smells like it and Remus doesn't think he could ever sleep anywhere else because of that. "You're always sorry," he says, "and I always love you anyway, don't I?"
"Do you?"
"Of course," he answers, brushing his lips against the hollow above Sirius' collarbone. "God knows why."
"Probably because I bring you pork lo mein."
"Maybe," he answers, grinning against Sirius' neck. He can feel his lover's body vibrate as he laughs, can feel his breath against his hair and his fingers against the back of his hand and, when he closes his eyes, he thinks that this is home, and he doesn't know that there is a why, and it seems ridiculous to question it. He sometimes can't even remember a time before he loved Sirius. It often feels like it's just something that always has been and always will be, like the freckles on his cheeks or that one big scar on the back of his right thigh. It is either this or that what they have transcends what language is capable of describing.
"Do you know?"
"No," he answers honestly, nipping at Sirius' neck. "I mean, I could list some soppy reasons, but they won't be the right ones."
"Yeah," he answers quietly, and Remus' eyes drift closed in the blanket of peacefulness that follows. Sirius kisses the top of his head. "Think it's mostly my arse, though."
Remus laughs because those stupid jokes are one of the mushy, wrong reasons. He's fond of them even though they piss him off, which he thinks is as close as he can get to defining love. "Go to bed, you mutt."
"Night, princess."
They sleep easily, tangled together with stupid smiles.