The windowsill in the living room of their flat was wide enough that Remus could sit there quite comfortably, legs outstretched across its length. It was his favourite place to read, settling with a cup of tea in hand and a book upon his lap as light flooded onto the printed page. However it was more than that; when Remus was feeling down, or when his condition was getting to him more than usual, this was where he passed the hours as if it was a routine towards recovery.
A year had passed since Remus last laid eyes on Hogwarts castle, and he'd had no hope of finding a job since. It shouldn't have bothered him. After all, it wasn't as if he had all that much time on his hands between missions. Meanwhile, the kindness of James Potter was unceasing, so that Remus never failed to keep up appearances. Besides, he wouldn't be the only Marauder to be unemployed. Neither James nor Sirius worked given how they were financially dependent regardless. But that was a choice. Remus didn't choose this; instead it was merely thrust upon him. Not only that, but in the absence of a job, it was his role in the war that defined him. As proud as he was to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix and fight against the growing threat of You Know Who and his supporters, Remus was loathed to realise where he was most useful. His missions defined him, and in turn being a werewolf defined him. Sirius reminded him of this each time he returned from a mission. Days might have passed since he'd seen the man, but it wasn't words of fondness with which he was met. Instead, it was suspicion, painful distrust, and the cold realisation that even Sirius' impression of him was tainted by his condition.
Compared to facing up to what he was, the war was far easier to deal with; for a start, he could fight it. A sense of hopelessness had not yet engulfed him where the war was concerned. It would come to an end. They could only hope that it came to an end that bettered the Wizarding World, one which he and his comrades, friends and family survived to witness. By contrast, his condition was utterly irreconcilable. Only that morning he'd undergone a job interview. The wizard who was head of the small publishing company had taken a liking to him immediately and seemed more than happy to give him the job. Then he'd said the very words that Remus dreaded, that he'd run a quick background check then send an owl with the official offer. Such measures were only implemented increasingly now that the war had adopted a new severity. The owl had come that afternoon, but once more Remus was reminded of the cost of lycanthropy. It wasn't the scars or the pain of transformations upon each full moon. It was the stigma attached to it and what that meant for his future. Ambition, hope, all was quenched by the simple fact that he was a werewolf. Remus didn't have a future. Not past the Order, at least.
In the hours after the owl had arrived, a mere few words stating that someone of his disposition wasn't suitable for their office, Remus wanted nothing more than to slip under the duvet of their bed and simply shut his eyes and ears to the world. But to accept defeat so easily would only further his sense of weakness, debilitated by his own dangerous affliction. Remus could feel the cruel sting of tears in his eyes, but he denied himself that comfort. To save face was his only hope of retaining just a shred of strength and dignity that had been pried from his grasp. There was no cure, no hope of winning the battle against his condition, so why fight? Denial had gotten him nowhere. Succumbing to that ever present sense of self-pity was little more than a waste of time. Nothing was going to change thus he may as well accept it. The war got to him, but it got to everyone, thus there was no shame in admitting it. In that they were united. Where the war was concerned, there was strength in numbers. But in this, the struggle against his condition, Remus was eternally alone.
Almost.
A clatter of keys at the door woke Remus from his reverie, his grip on the book he clasped in his hands tightening instinctively. He'd shoved the piece of parchment in between the pages at the back so as to keep it from Sirius' notice. Not that Sirius would have forgotten; he'd cooked him a breakfast of eggs and bacon as if to remedy some of his nerves. He'd managed to burn it in the meantime, but it was the thought that counted. Sirius knew him better than Remus liked. He recognised what was at stake without Remus even having to breathe a word of it. Only on this occasion, Remus wished he hadn't. Not only did it mean the answer would be written all over his face the second Sirius clapped eyes on him, but it was unsettling. One minute Sirius knew precisely what was on his mind. But the next? The next he was accusing him of betraying the Order and consorting with those of his kind.
When Sirius entered, the expression that flashed across Remus' features was unmistakeable. He had deliberated as to whether he should purchase a bottle of that gillywater Remus had grown rather fond of, but had settled for firewhiskey instead. It was a safer choice by far; had Remus' interview gone wrong, they'd be in need of it. Now that he was finally faced with the werewolf that was only confirmed. Remus bore that expression that was almost too familiar to Sirius, a slight crease in his brow and a downward tug of his lips, a mere hint of the self-loathing and sheer discontentment that he was putting himself through beneath the surface. Let alone the fact that he was perched on the windowsill, more of a safe haven than if he were curled up in bed, for it gave the impression that he was perfectly alright. But Sirius knew. He knew Remus far too well to accept this pretence. Even when his suspicion of the werewolf won out, he always knew that Remus stood little chance of hiding anything from him even if he wanted to. On this occasion, so rare with everything provoked by the war, Sirius didn't need the intricate details. The fact of the matter was Remus didn't get the job and he was bloody disappointed. Sirius recognised this moment for what it was. There was no one who hated werewolves more than Remus Lupin. Merlin, did Sirius wish that particular werewolf sat before him could only see what he saw.
A rush of affection washed over him, but it was tempered with regret. If there was anyone to blame for Remus feeling this way, it wasn't only the idiot who'd refused to hire him. It was Sirius himself, Sirius who doubted him and continued to doubt him each time the war took a new turn for the worse. Sirius' eyes were on Remus as he crossed the room to the kitchen and set down the bottle of firewhiskey, dropping the keys onto the surface of the table. For a moment, he merely took in the appearance of the other man. Remus' eyes were set firmly on his book, yet they barely moved signifying that despite what appearance might suggest Remus most certainly wasn't reading. It just so happened he did this alot, something which only Sirius had noticed because only Sirius devoted his attention to the wizard so intently. Remus didn't so much as look up at him by way of greeting as he made his way to the windowsill upon which he was perched. Instead, he released a heavy sigh, shaky as if he was fighting back the wave of emotion that was threatening to wash over him.
Sirius didn't say anything. He let silence be silence. After all, more often than not his words offered less solace than intended, only worsening matters by saying one word too many or too few. Instead, he slipped the book from Remus' grasp, setting it aside before taking hold of Remus' hands in each of his own.
Remus opened his mouth as if to speak. It was a natural reflex, however he felt odd asking about where Sirius had been, what he'd done and whom he'd seen when these were questions he so often refused to answer himself. Sirius hadn't been on a mission, but it still felt unjust to expect it of him. Sirius sensed this, just as he'd sensed that Remus wasn't wholly himself. Yet he knew it was a distraction, staving off talk of Remus' interview for just a short while longer. Had Remus not looked so utterly miserable, Sirius might have had to smile at the sheer affection he felt for him in that moment. There was no one quite so brave as Remus Lupin, nor quite so adorable when feeling dejected.
"I'm sorry, mate," he said, words leaving his lips with a sympathetic sigh. "Fuck.. Remus, I'm sorry." A pained expression crossed Sirius' features, the weight of his words signifying that he was sorry for far more than the fact that Remus hadn't gotten the job. Moving his hands to the werewolf's cheeks, Sirius raised his reluctant gaze to meet his, bending slightly so he could hold his lips against Remus' but not yet capturing them in a kiss. "You don't need them, Moony. You don't need a job. Have I not told you my Uncle Alphard left me more than enough for the both of us?"
Sirius' breath was warm against Remus' lips. Remus knew he meant every word, yet Sirius could never live up to them. He'd proven that much already. He was already beginning to distrust him and by no means was the war near its end. Each day Remus came that much close to losing Sirius; losing the very man who held his world together, not quite deeming it complete but almost. Remus shook his head, his features twisting as he struggled against the show of emotions.
"It.. it doesn't matter.. let's not.. not talk about it.." Remus was ashamed. Ashamed because he'd gone from being a grade-O student to this. An unemployed werewolf depending on the kindness of friends, friends he had always depended on far more than he should, friends which he came closer to losing with every passing day. Remus was ashamed because promises like these were forever adulterated by the simple fact that Sirius was no different to the rest of them. Remus had once thought he was, but he wasn't. And yet he loved him unceasingly.
"Remus, I fucked up, but I love y-"
Unable to bear another word, Remus pressed eager lips to Sirius', equally eager and yearning for another chance to show the werewolf that he was more than that. More than missions, more than his condition; he was Remus Lupin, the wizard who had rendered him both painfully in love and torturously insane all at once. Cupping Remus' face in his palms, Sirius' touch was painfully tender. But when Sirius showed signs of parting, Remus held him in place, a hand working its way to the back of his neck so as to keep him there. As he did, Sirius realised that his hands were shaking. Remus was shaking, tears searing a path down his cheeks. Sirius didn't break from the kiss; instead he poured every ounce of love he had for the werewolf into that simple union of lips alone, tracing fingers across his cheeks to catch the tears that had graced them.
For a moment, Remus' grasp on the other man tightened. Then, as if shying away from the overwhelming tenderness of the moment, Remus broke away at the lips and released Sirius from his grasp almost completely. "Oh fuck," Remus muttered, panic sweeping over him as he realised just what he'd been reduced to. In that moment, it had become evident just how much he depended on Sirius. As a friend, as something distinctly more than a friend, as the one person who would be there when you had reached your lowest point. Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the tears, Remus felt Sirius shift from where he stood until he was sitting beside him. He felt arms enclose about his waist as he directed him onto his lap. Had Remus not been quite so self-pitying, and rightly so, he might have put up more of a fight. As it was, as soon as he'd felt Sirius arms wrap around his waist, encasing him in a warm sense of belonging, he melted against him, his back resting against Sirius' chest as every last shred of reluctance and defiance left him. Resting his hands atop Sirius', he could feel the man's breath skirting down his neck. He proceeded to press soft lips against the tender patch where ear met jaw, and Remus' eyes fluttered shut, sending another tear from each eye trailing down his cheeks.
"Sirius.." Remus breathed in feeble protest. A shudder of a sigh escaped his lips.
"Ssh," Sirius whispered in his ear, before trailing lips along the length of his neck, from collarbone to hairline before placing a hand on Remus' chin to direct his lips towards his. Remus Lupin, the man who had every reason to cry yet so rarely shed a tear. Remus John Lupin, the wizard who deserved the world, but had little more than Sirius himself and even then only ever so often. Sirius felt a stab of regret as he kissed Remus full on the mouth, the werewolf's form moulding to his all too easily.
"Remus Lupin, I love you," Sirius whispered against his lips, his eyes trailing a path over the pained expression of the werewolf which gradually softened as those particular words escaped him. There was even a hint of a smile on those sorry lips. Remus' eyes remained shut, but Sirius took in every intricate detail as if to leave an impression of this memory on his mind; the way Remus' fingers lightly traced the back of his hand as he held him, each rise and fall of Remus' chest mirroring his with such pure harmony, the way the words slipped so freely, so earnestly, from his lips.
"I love you, Sirius."
Sirius let his own eyes fall shut, resting his chin upon the werewolf's shoulder and simply losing himself in the bliss of that moment, made only sweeter by the fact that it wasn't lasting. Soon enough the war would seize hold of them, Sirius' doubt would win out and he'd deal Remus another blow out of sheer, selfish fear. But in this moment alone, none of that mattered. Sirius was reminded of that which he'd always known. Remus was a werewolf. But he was his werewolf. Sometimes Sirius was more than just a little unkind. But he was always here to undo his wrongs, to undo the wrongs done upon the man he loved. And he forever would be.