"It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
.
for BSLS.
dusk, a promise, "I don't understand"
Sammie and I both wrote about parallel promises in inverse — mine is Sirius promising Remus.
.
It's dusk, and Remus is tired. It's a deep, all-suffusing weariness that has sunk deep into the marrow of his bones. It's October, and Remus hasn't really slept since March.
He is tired.
He fumbles with the key to his apartment, the shape of it feeling cold and unnatural in his hand in a way the key to his own home shouldn't.
He is tired of war.
He opens the door to find a wand pointed at his face.
"In the second year, what did I say to you the day I told you I knew your secret?"
Remus blinks wearily, hating the hardness painted across Sirius' pointed features.
"You told me that the best part was how much your parents would hate you being friends with me if they ever knew - but that they would never find out from you."
"And?"
Remus wonders if something has happened in particular to make Sirius so distrustful.
"It's the first time anyone referred to me as a friend."
The tension slides out of Sirius' shoulders. Remus is past caring about asking a return question, but he knows Sirius will be mad if he doesn't.
"The last words you and your brother ever spoke to each other?"
"I told him to live what he believed in. He said he didn't plan on killing his only brother." Sirius' chin tips up as he says the words, but Remus knows the bravado for what it is.
They stare at each other for a moment, and then Sirius drops his wand and spreads his arms wide. Remus collapses into them gratefully, dropping his bag on the doorstep.
Remus feels the muscles of Sirius' back loosen themselves in his grip. He clings tighter.
"I missed you," Remus says eventually.
Sirius' arms reflexively tighten. "You know I love you, right Rem?"
Remus closes his eyes, sinks deeper into the strong warmth of Sirius' hug. "I know," he says, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. Genuine, the first of too long. "I love you."
It takes a long time for either of them to let go, and when they do, it is only for long enough for Remus to step inside, to shed his cloak and filthy clothes. They slip under the sheets of their bed and cling to one another.
"I hate this," Remus confesses. "I know no one else can do it, but I hate this. I know the world has shunned us, but they are shunning it in return and no one cares. They don't care about humanity. They're proving everyone who calls them monsters right and nothing I say is changing anything and I hate this."
Sirius is silent for a long moment. "I wish you didn't have to." His voice is soft, quiet in a way he so rarely is.
Remus is so tired that his eyes are slipping closed. His only response is to shift closer.
Sirius cups his cheek gently. "I promise, one day, when this is all over, when it's just you and me, we will do something that doesn't matter, just for us. We'll, I don't know, go to the beach."
Remus grimaces. "I hate the beach," he mumbles sleepily. "Can we go on a picnic instead?"
Sirius smiles. His voice, when he speaks, is softer than Remus has ever heard it before.
"Sure, baby. We'll go on a picnic."
.
Azkaban changed him in so many ways that it takes Sirius years to discover all that he's lost. Every time he talks to Remus he finds another memory that he doesn't have. Most of his time at Hogwarts is gone, just blank.
Remus, beautiful, priceless Remus fills an entire pitcher with memories and gives it to him as a gift. Sirius doesn't know how to explain what this means; he just clings to Remus, tears in his eyes for the first time in — well, he literally can't know how long.
Sirius can't say the words I love you anymore. It's one more thing Azkaban has taken away from him. The words stick in his throat, trapped there by fear and a chill looked into the fibers of every muscle he possesses.
He spends too long waiting for Remus to walk away from him, waiting for Remus to realize that he is broken beyond repair, that he is not the man from Remus' happy memories.
Remus, when he figures out what Sirius is doing, just smiles a broken, bitter smile that makes Sirius want to push his fingers at the corner of Remus' eyes and make them crinkle the way they are supposed to, the way they do during a happy smile.
"Sirius," he says. "If you never left me for being broken, how can you ever expect me to leave you?"
Sirius wants to tell Remus that he loves him, wants to tell him that he isn't broken, just a bit banged up and that's only because the world doesn't see how precious he is, but Azkaban has taken away his words.
.
Some of his memories seep back.
Not the happy ones. Those are too marred by what they've done to him to even be recognizable. But some of the in-between memories — the all right memories, the ones he clung to when they took the happy ones away until they took these too — they start to come back.
And he remembers promising a picnic — an offhand promise to a boyfriend so world-weary that he could barely make it to bed. A promise of after, after the war, a promise that there would be an after at all.
He may not be able to say the words, but he thinks Remus might understand.
.
"Sirius, what are we doing in the middle of the forest? I can smell the pine needles, you know."
Sirius just smirks, keeping his hands firmly over Remus' eyes and guiding him. Minutes later, Remus frowns, sniffing.
"Sirius, I don't understand. What—?"
Sirius nuzzles into the back of Remus' neck. "Can you just let me surprise you?"
Sirius can feel Remus roll his eyes, but he quiets anyway.
They step into the clearing, and Sirius finally removes his hands.
Remus blinks a few times. A feast is laid out before them, sandwiches and macaroni salad and pies and all sorts of desserts. All of it is spread out on a red and white checked blanket.
Remus feels his throat thicken. He swallows tightly. "Sirius…"
Sirius' smirk falls into something small and sincere. He shrugs lightly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Remus smiles, turning toward him properly. He rests his hand on Sirius' cheek. "Thank you."
And Sirius can tell that Remus remembers.