bittersweet as nostalgia and goodbyes
Sometimes, Remus is reminded of another lifetime. Another lifetime full of raucous laughter, and misadventures, and tearing through forests, and throwing caution to the wind all because they were young, and wild, and had all the time in the world. When Remus is around him, he can almost touch those memories, almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on the tip of his tongue. It tastes like Butterbeer, and Honeydukes chocolate, and freedom to do whatever, be with whomever. Of course, all Remus wanted to do was be with him. Now, he is not so sure.
The shadows caress and soften him, turn this man of bone, and skin, and broken heart into the boy he once was. A boy that was made up of barking laughter, and crooked smiles, and so much warmth it set Remus on fire. The lingering darkness fools Remus into believing that perhaps it is him, perhaps Remus was wrong. Perhaps it was all some huge mistake, and he will soon feel Sirius's warm feet tangled up with his cold ones and hear James's voice shouting in from the next room, "Don't think we don't know what you two are doing in there!"
But then this thing in front of him will scream, and cry, and pound the wall, and shatter the illusion with ice-cold fists and despite himself, Remus is afraid. He is afraid of that madness-tinged smile, of those soulless Black eyes that mirror those on the wall below so exactly. He is afraid to touch this ghost in front of him, scared his hand will pass right through, or worse, he will be able to touch, to feel him. To feel this empty shell of a man and be able to say, "This is Sirius Orion Black. I knew him once. I loved him once. I do not love him anymore." Maybe most of all, he is afraid that this thing, this broken-bruised-bleeding thing, is his Sirius after all, is actually bright-brilliant-beautiful, and is just waiting for Remus to fix him. And Remus is so very afraid he just doesn't know how.
One night, Sirius does not wail, or scream, or cry, or roar, or rage, he just sits. And Remus sits there too. And the air is so heavy, too heavy, with broken promises, and unspoken apologies and things better left unsaid. Really, they have nothing left to say to each other anymore. So Remus stays sitting beside him, stealing glances at the harsh lines and awkward angles that are the remnants of the boy he once loved. To Remus, he isn't something whole anymore, just shards, and fragments, and mismatched parts thrown together carelessly to make something much less than that boy that he once knew.
When the full moon comes and Padfoot and Moony meet again, it is with none of the irresponsible recklessness they once shared. Those carefree nights are long gone, the only evidence they ever happened are the scars etched so deeply into age-worn skin. No, instead, they scratch, and bite, and tear at each other, both just wanting to feel again. It is raw and painful, and nothing but awful, and hurts both the wolf and the dog more than they could ever admit. It is just not right anymore and that's all there is to it.
Remus thinks this is what drives Sirius to do what he does next. It is another one of their nothing nights, when the sheer absence of everything becomes too heavy a load to bear. Normally, Remus just leaves, but not this night. Sirius tangles his fingers in Remus's greying hair and draws him in closer, in the way that used to be the most natural thing in the world. Now it is awkward, and forced, and makes Remus want to run, run, run, off into the night and never look back. Then they kiss and it has such an overwhelming sense of finality that Remus knows he should let it last, but he cannot. That sensation of those once tender lips now rough, and desperate, and meeting his own, feels so achingly familiar, but not quite the same. The closeness is too much, and he draws away from this fragile man of glass he most definitely does not love anymore.
"This feels like goodbye," Sirius says, his voice shaking ever-so-slightly and it shocks Remus, because just there, right beneath the surface is the boy he used to know.
The boy with that intense vulnerability covered up by a thick layer of bravado and arrogance that only Remus could see through.
That boy with an enticing, captivating smile that drew Remus in and made him never want to leave.
That boy that was everything to Remus, who for one small second he thought he might see again.
But as quickly as it came, it was gone, that flicker of hope was cruelly snuffed out and this time Remus knows it is forever.
They will never again lie, bodies entangled, in the Gryffindor dorm and watch the sun rise and the sky turn a kaleidoscope of hazy colours. They will never again chase each other across the school grounds at night, giddy laughter trailing behind them on the wind. They will never again just be Remus-and-Sirius, Sirius-and-Remus, something so right, and easy, and pure. They are too trapped in a tangle of betrayal, and death, and love and lies for that.
Remus looks one final time at him, the boy whose love had destroyed him so completely and totally, but made him so utterly whole, too. And he gives a small, sad smile and feels all the things he wants to say (I love you, I missed you, I'm sorry it all ended up like this) bubble up inside of him and threaten to spill out, engulfed in a wave of resentment and loss and regret. But Sirius is not his Sirius, and he is not allowed to say these things anymore. So, he has no choice but to half-echo Sirius's words because he knows they are all too true.
"This is goodbye."