A/N: No, this is not the work of an anime freak. But Remus had been reading Eastern mythology randomly. And culture and other such stuff. Also, the first part is simple gratitude, not lust. Remus is also not suicidal. Written for day one of tellmeakiss. Prompt: swords

more angst, whoop-de-doo.

and I don't own anything but the plot idea.

Remus knew without a doubt that he could never be anything resembling a samurai. He was not brave, nor was he righteous. He had no glory or desire of such a prospect, but instead possessed the tendency to see too many sides of a problem. He never could have mindlessly obeyed anyone.

Not quite true. If Sirius asked him to do something, he might think, but he'd do it anyway.

If Sirius asked, Remus would be his willing slave.

If Remus had been an honest man, he would have admitted that he could think of no better way to return Sirius' kindness. Life had failed him, or perhaps he had failed at life. No matter. But it did. It was at once inconsequential and the most important thing he knew.

But Remus was not an honest man.

No, Remus was not a samurai. He knew that someone was the traitor, knew it was someone close. Or would be. He was afraid that it would be him. Or knew he could not stand against his own self-doubt. The Ministry was restricting his kind more and more each day, and the Death Eaters had to know this, had to use it. How could they not? Even Remus was not sure it he could support the Ministry and its allies any longer.

If only there was another option!

The worst part was that he could tell that Sirius no longer trusted him. He supposed this was what truly bothered him the most. But this cycle of doubt and fear and wishful imagining out in the frozen world of knights and samurai and simple choices between good and evil got him nowhere. He was tired of playing the dragon or damsel in distress.

But no. The worst part was the fear that those suspicions could be justified.

Remus needed something to hold onto. Something to anchor himself to so he could gather back his unraveled self back and live more than day to day. It was the hardest thing to know that the mistrust and fears of his best friends could not be assuaged because he shared them. If he could not trust himself, he couldn't expect anyone else to do so.

He was left with one apparent solution; he could yet be the samurai for Sirius. When he lost everything – as he had – there was but one way to go. He could follow with the sword to the heart.

So he stepped out into the freezing dark February rain and lost himself in the night. And for a while he was not. His sense of Remus melted into the dark, pooling into joyous oblivion around his feet. He floated, drifted, paid no heed to where he was. But he was in no way surprised to find himself before the building containing Sirius' flat.

It was not as if he had anyplace better to go.

It must have been closer to morning than nightfall, but Remus was blissfully unburdened with a watch. Whether it was too late (or too early) to pay social calls (if you could call it that), here he was. Sirius would probably be awake anyway, writing letters or reports, or staring into the fire. He walked into the building. Three floors up, out the window and back again. The timeless pattern for oblivion. But Remus stopped on the second, and opened the familiar door.

"Who's there?" was demanded sharply. The light was dim, and could not penetrate far into the gloom holding them in place. If Remus had been a samurai as he'd wished, he'd have cut away the bonds, but instead all he could do was choke out a strangled reply.

"It's just me."

"Remus?"

This was when Remus knew Sirius was waiting for the curse, wand ready, and he wondered if he'd said the entirely wrong thing.

"One would assume so."

"What was the first thing James ever gave you?"

This was all stalling, he knew; Sirius unsure of his safety, Remus dreading whatever would next, for after coming in he'd lost whatever purpose he had previously had.

"The flu."

"Hello, Moony."

His voice had grown weary. The stiffness was there too, the reluctance to be suspicious, the fear of being betrayed. The cherished nickname became another wall that wasn't, between two men frozen in decision – between one and his suspicions, between the other and his fears. The affection implied fell flat between them and became part off the discarded past.

Remus was no samurai. But he could still throw himself away in what he had left of honor. How, he was not quite sure of. Not until he saw the flicker of movement that must have been Sirius, not until he stepped forward, not until he could read every thought on his friend's face.

But he did have an idea when he found his mouth upon the other's.

Perhaps it was a sort of farewell, because something was ending, and with it he would fade away. The yearned-for anchor to hold him in place had never come and he had fallen. When they came for him, he would do their work for them, because he could never betray his friends.

What he realizes must have been a kiss ends abruptly, and neither are breathing hard, but there is a peculiar tingling in Remus' face and his heart is racing. He wonders if this was enough. If it was what he'd needed…

"What was…that?"

Remus simply releases another breath of air. Sighs. But sigh implies either contentedness or misery, perhaps resignation. Remus is simply finding an ending.

There would be no following beginning.

"Remus?"

"Good night, Padfoot."

He turned to leave, but the other man caught his arm, breathing a barely audible "Wait." In the moment of hesitation following, he adds, "Please."

Perhaps Remus can hold on after all.