It was late night; to Remus, it meant that he could finally stop working after a long day. Before him were piles of maps, parchments and news clips, which were the combined results of his Order work and the Muggle job he had found just last month as a teaching assistant. He breathed contentedly and leaned back against his chair.

'Why aren't you in bed, Harry?' Remus asked without turning. Even in human form, his senses were sharper than average wizards.

'I'm not tired,' Harry explained as he approached Remus's desk. 'And Sirius hasn't even come back.'

'Sirius is on a mission, he's bound to be late,' said Remus evenly. 'Go to bed, and you'll see him tomorrow.'

Harry tilted his head, his index finger toying with Remus's ring of keys on the desk. 'You're going to wait for him, aren't you?'

Remus stretched as he yawned. 'Well – yeah, he hasn't had dinner yet. That daft dog,' he clicked his tongue, looking more like a professor complaining about his naughty students than ever.

'I was thinking,' Harry scratched his head wonderingly, 'it's almost Sirius's birthday, and I'd like to get him something, of course.'

'That's very considerate of you, Harry. I'm sure Sirius will appreciate the gesture.'

Harry grinned proudly. 'I was looking around and saw that you both had the key ring, so maybe I can get you both new key rings this year? His is rather rusty.'

To others, getting one's godfather a tiny key ring for his birthday might sound absurd. But in the Lupin-Black-Potter household at Grimmauld Place, where cutleries were made of silver and tiles were covered with a thin film of gold, it could be rather difficult to find anything more luxurious. So since Harry moved in with Remus and Sirius, he had been using his pocket money to buy presents on various occasions, sometimes it was a bunch of flowers, sometimes jackets, and this year he settled for key rings, which seemed to him one of the most precious possessions of his godparents as both of them had been carrying it with them all the time for as long as he could remember.

Remus chuckled. 'Just some cheap key rings I got from a roadside shop when we were at Hogwarts. Not even pure metal. I'm surprised they haven't broken yet.'

'That's right! Time to get a pair of new ones. I'll remember to engrave moon and star on them,' Harry's grin grew even wider.

Remus smiled. 'Prongslet, it's really very sweet of you,' he put a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed, 'but I'm not sure if Sirius wants his replaced. At least, I'm content with the old one.'

Harry's face fell. 'But I could get you newer rings– '

'Of course you could,' Remus gave his godson a tight embrace. 'But sometimes new things aren't everything we need. Sometimes, they can just never replace the old ones.'

'Oh I know,' Harry broke loose from Remus's embrace, a knowing smile started to climb over his features. 'It's those soppy love stories again, isn't it? One day I'm going to tell my sons and daughters don't they dare touch a thing in this house because god knows what lies behind a comb, a pin, or a layer of dirt.'

'There is a story, but not a love one,' said Remus mildly. 'The key rings were the only things we had on both of us after we parted ways.'

'Oh –' Harry stood up abruptly, in his mind a wisp of steam started forming, a warring Wizarding World some twenty years ago slowly came to mind. 'How – I mean, you're all good now?'

'That was a long time ago,' continued Remus as he looked dreamily at Harry – through Harry, at something he could not see or comprehend. 'We were both idiots. I was responsible for most part though, now that I look back…'

'B-but then, people break up because they stop loving each other,' Harry stammered. It was the most a 15-year-old could understand, Remus reckoned. 'Did you?'

Remus closed his eyes. In a haze, Harry and Grimmauld Place melted away.

Remus was so, so drunk. Loud music and vulgar language assaulted his werewolf hearing, lights of red, green, blue and yellow flashed before him, blinding his vision. He danced – by flailing his arms and twisting his body; whether he was following the beat he no longer knew, nor did he care.

The background track had changed to a melancholy blue when his attention had slipped away to he didn't know where. He slowed down consequentially, feeling warm skin brushing past him in the midst of a dancing throng. Something tingled inside him; for once he longed for the attention he had been avoiding his whole life. Perhaps he was too hungry for intimacy, too thirsty for touches and teasing, for love and being loved, he writhed slowly, sexily, flirtatiously, twisting his hips in a way that was so un-Remus like that he would never do it when he was sober. Feeling a few pairs of lustful eyes on him, he grinded, rubbing the nearest patch of skin with great ferocity like a hungry wolf.

'Fancy some fun, love?'

In the stifling cupboard, Remus felt his shirt being torn open, buttons flying out and sprinkled down the floor. Between heavy gasps and breaths, a calloused hand kneaded Remus's muscles, caressing him all over the body from his forehead, cheeks, neck, chest, and paused at his groin. He leaned into the touch; his lips pressed hard against some sort of earlobe-like structure. He wanted to know the person's shape by feeling him with his lips. Dutifully and passionately, he sucked and licked, and openly growled at the hoarse, pleased moans given out by the body now straddling him.

So once, twice, thrice, Remus thrusted and arched and writhed and screamed, his hands chained to the wall of the cupboard by the same pair of strong hands that had been touching him, his body clinging close to the weight on his back in a unfamiliar rhythm not so well developed yet exciting for a night's fun. Fun fueled by loneliness, depression, doubt, hurt and the desperate need to be completely free of his emotional barriers. There was no Remus John Lupin, no werewolf, no Order member, no responsibilities, no guarded emotions; just an available body, a pack of cigarettes, a few pints and letting loose under the shadow of an escalating war.

Later that night, when he limped back home – if one can still call that home – with a bruised rump and a crumpled shirt, hair still smelled of some expensive cologne, he thought he felt sorry. Not guilty, but sorry. Or both and a pinch of something else. He was vaguely disturbed by the fact that he was still a bit jittery after his third cupboard encounter this month, but he rather enjoyed the process and it gave him immense satisfaction that he could actually please someone without too much effort, finally, because he was tired of constantly trying to gauge and guess and then morph himself into that particular shape for either a swirling storm or sweetness overpoured.

Or, for now, an eerily silent Sirius standing by the door.

He wandered the streets, he loitered about at the convenient store, he walked without knowing and he circled the same fountain in the middle of the park thirty-five times until exhaustion rushed over him.

He sat on the stone steps surrounding the fountain. A few bags lay before him. It was all he had – jumpers, trousers, sweaters, a small set of tea cups and two pairs of pyjamas he took in a rush that he wasn't even sure if they belonged to him. A key ring stringing seven keys together gleamed in the dark; he knew those seven keys so well, every tooth, every engraving on them, every type of metal they were made of. It didn't matter anymore, though. They meant nothing when he was not even welcome in the flat they were made for in the first place.

'Why seven keys, Padfoot? We've only got six doors,' Remus had asked the summer after they graduated. Sunshine had poured in through the curtains into their new flat in London.

'Fourteen keys, in fact. Seven for each of us,' Sirius had waved his own key ring, from where his set of keys had dangled and jingled like silver bells ringing. 'One key is one year. I've spent the most amazing seven years with my two best friends and the love of my life,' he'd pulled Remus close and rested his head on Remus's shoulder. 'The last key is my key to your heart.'

'And my key to yours,' Remus whispered. The words turned into misty white smoke in the October air, blurring the fountain in front of him; but the smoke didn't linger – it dissipated and the fountain became clear again.

The keys were here, but the lock was no longer there.

It was ridiculous that even heartbeats could hurt.

Remus reopened his eyes. Harry's confused gaze was still on him.

'I loved too much,' said Remus.

And that concluded the night.

Sirius returned to find a cold bowl of udon waiting for him. It was unevenly mixed with Teriyaki sauce with bits of burned scrambled eggs and lettuce. Chuckling, he reheated it with a spell and gulped down the noodles, which tasted like raw flour.

Remus and Harry must've gone to bed long before he came back. Sirius checked on Harry on his way to the master bedroom. Harry was soundly sleeping with his head covered in his duvet. Sirius then tiptoed back to his bedroom, and the sneakiness reminded him so much of his midnight wanderings at Hogwarts. Sprawling on the bed, Remus looked like he accidentally flopped down and fell asleep instantly, a book still clutched in one hand.

Gently, Sirius removed the book from Remus's grip and placed it on the nightstand, not forgetting to make the page he had stopped at dog-eared. Remus had always advertised himself as a tidy person (especially in their youths), but the truth was he was just as messy as Sirius under the glamour of the 'good boy'. At first glance he might seemed to have kept things organised in drawers and shelves, but if you open them you would find that he only tucked everything inside so it wouldn't appear messy if you kept the drawers closed.

That was what the key ring, now resting beside the lamp, was originally for. Though having another one of his own, Sirius easily recognised that this ring, which had a bit of golden tinge to it, belonged to Remus. He took out his more silver one from his pocket, feeling it warmed up gradually in his palms.

Sirius had had the key ring since fourth year. Remus had bought it; he said he'd use it for his jumble of keys because he liked to keep things in little drawers and boxes (later Sirius had discovered that the keys helped Remus categorise his mess: the iron key unlocked a whole drawer of 13 socks of which none of them formed a pair; the brass key unlocked the 'miscellaneous' drawer containing wrap papers, old Daily Prophets, quills etc). Sirius had taunted him that a simple Alohomora would have rendered all his keys useless and, as a joke, hid the ring from him; humiliated and stubborn in nature, Remus had sneaked away and bought a new key ring without asking for his old one back. Sirius had never returned the ring, and it turned out that Padfoot had gained a liking for it as a toy.

When they decided that they would move in together, the threat of the First War had resulted in the tightening of security by combining Wizarding and Muggle security measures. They'd enchanted the doors and locks so that not only did intruders have to pass the wards magically, they also had to unlock the doors by that particular set of keys because simple unlocking spells wouldn't work here. Remus had blushed all the way to his toes to tell him that perhaps they could use the key rings and each keep a set of keys.

'Okay,' Sirius had said, his grin going cheeky, 'if you like to be soppy, I'll be soppy as well so that we'll always be a pair of soppy floppy berks.'

That was almost twenty years ago, and still it was clear in Sirius's memory as if it had just been yesterday. Carefully, without rousing Remus, he climbed over and got hold of Remus's key ring on the nightstand.

'I'm still a soppy berk,' said Sirius under his breath. 'What about you, Moony?'

He entwined the key rings.

'Welcome home, Remus,' Sirius held the door open for his clearly exhausted boyfriend. It seemed that his aristocratic Black education was coming back to him all at once, for he pulled out a chair for Remus and poured two glasses of wine for each of them. Like how a gentleman would do, his mother's voice rang unpleasantly in his ear.

'So, had a sick night?' he took a sip of his wine. He was surprised that his voice was silky and smooth, sweet, even, that was so not like himself.

'What?' said Remus quickly. 'Let's go to bed, I'm knackered.'

Sirius sniffed. 'Brut, fags, Martini,' he cocked his head to the side, 'Brut isn't exactly the sort I'd wear,' he commented rationally, 'it's too heavy. Last time's better. What was that? Gendarme?'

Remus tensed visibly. Sirius wondered what reasonable explanations he was coming up with.

Instead, he shrugged. 'Let's just go to bed.'

'Let's?' Sirius tightened his grip on the goblet he was holding. 'You come back smelling of some other men's cologne and sweat and sex and all you can say is "let's go to bed"?'

'I –'

Sirius threw the goblet to the floor. It broke, red wine spilling all over the carpet. He stood up and grabbed Remus's arms, almost lifting him up bodily off the ground. 'Come,' he said hoarsely, pulling the shorter man with him across the room, ignoring the stumbling and trips Remus was making. He halted abruptly in front of a small cupboard as he flung upon the glass doors and snatched a bottle of Givenchy Gentlemen.

'Smell me,' he growled, pouring the whole of the fragrance all over him and Remus. He smashed Remus against the wall, hands on his neck so tight that Remus had to pant for air. 'Do you like Givenchy Gentlemen? Do you like Mandom?' He poured another brand of cologne on them. 'Or do you just like the scents of semen and betrayal lingering all over you?'

'Sirius –' Remus struggled to break free from Sirius's tight grip, but having little air to the lungs made his pushes against the iron wall futile.

'Tell me, Remus,' Sirius said, bringing his lips forcefully onto Remus's, 'which part of me isn't good enough for you? Which part of me can't compare to the other men that've been fucking you? Which part of us that made you turn against us all?'

'I did not!' shouted Remus, turning his face to the side and narrowly escaped Sirius's lips crushing on him. 'I'd never turn to Voldermort! And what about yourself? You, of all people …' he paused and choked back a sob.

'Traitor!' Sirius growled. He flipped Remus over forcefully so that he faced the wall. 'If you can cheat on me, you double traitor –' he yanked down the trousers and saw blood seeped through his pants and trickled down Remus's thigh. Suddenly his windpipe constricted so hard that he felt a knife drive right through his heart, ' –how difficult it is for you to betray us all?' He willed his eyes not to swell and tear up, but he couldn't help sniveling.

'Get out, go fetch your things and never come back,' he let go of Remus, hands shaking badly. He grabbed a few bags, shoving whatever things within his arm's reach madly into them. Blankets, jumpers, slippers, lamps, broken cologne bottles. 'Fuck the universe all you want,' he shouted, batting away Remus's hands. 'Kill every one of us, sell us all out, you can do it,' he snarled, 'but the next time I see you, I'll kill you first. I promise.' To show that he would, he seized the key ring that had all the keys to every door in their flat and threw it to Remus, before pushing him out of the flat and shutting the door in his face. 'Don't bother spying like a coward. Just break through the damn door and we'll fight.'

In retrospect, Sirius wanted to curse himself to death for his stupidity. Had Remus been the real spy, Sirius would've given direct access to a Death Eater to the heart of his home; and by casting him out, he would've released the wolf back into the wild to its master. He should have killed him on the spot, or imprisoned him, at least, so he couldn't go back to Voldemort with his sources. That was what an Auror should've done.

But since when was Sirius rational with Remus, even when he was sure that he was the one who betrayed them? Even a child knows not to give away his most precious things to a stranger, let alone a well-trained Auror to a dangerous spy.

No. A sudden revelation rushed over Sirius, and he realised that it was not recklessness or stupidity that he had acted out of. He knew it all along; he had known, though subconsciously, that giving Remus his keys meant exposing the most vulnerable part of him to his enemies. But still he did. Still he'd let him go, and he'd let him go with a backdoor open to him. Deep down in his heart, he had hoped to protect Remus one last time before he could avoid it no more but confront him and truly register the fact that they were on opposite sides. He had hoped that, as long as he didn't see the sinister deeds, as long as he didn't run into him again, he could pretend he knew nothing thereby sparing him the torture of killing half of his soul. He had hoped that, with the keys, one day Remus would return, and they would kiss and make up, hand in hand under sins that wouldn't wash away; he would declare to the whole world that 'his sins are mine, if you take him, take me too' and they, Sirius and Remus, Moony and Padfoot, would face it all together and be inseparable till the end.

And they did. Only it was in a way neither Sirius nor Remus could have imagined.

'I had loved you then. I always have,' Sirius stroked the brown hair lightly, now more silver than gold. It had sneaked into his dreams since he was eleven, it had stepped right in and walked out a few times; he was not going to let it go again. He was determined to see it grey, feel it run through his fingers and keep it beside him for as long as he could.

Remus stirred. He snuggled closer to Sirius, curling up along Sirius's body.

'Goodnight, Moony,' said Sirius softly. He bent and planted a chaste kiss on Remus's cheek. Tomorrow, Remus would probably complain about the two chained key rings and what a trouble it would be stretching the brittle rings open; but now Sirius was glad that the rings still fit after two decades, despite the weathering and rusting and all that had changed. Smiling faintly, he tightened the hug and drifted off.

You're still the one that I love

The only one I dream of

You're still the one I kiss good night

- Shania Twain, 'You're Still The One