"What's it been...two solid days since I've seen you?"
Remus' voice rung with anger, but if there was anything he could bear less than confrontation it was silence. A deathly silence, the kind that screamed at you until you finally cracked and broke it with words spoken in the heat of the moment that you'd only come to regret with time. Remus could feel his temper seizing hold of him, gently simmering beneath the surface but growing ever more threatening with each minute that Sirius refused to look at him. Anger. Remus had a tendency to shy away from this particular emotion. After all, no good came from it. He was forgiving by nature, too forgiving perhaps, and quick to concede. But yes, he'd been on a mission. He'd spent the past two days with "his kind"; consorting with them, listening to their ugly plans, pretending to be one of them. But he'd loathed every second of it.
Remus hated how it made him feel, almost as much as he hated how it made Sirius feel, evident in the way he treated him once he'd finally returned home. But it was worth it. It was his duty; for the Order, for his friends, even friends like Sirius who gave him hell for it the second he walked through the door. Remus struggled to hide the hurt in his expression, crossing his arms as if attempting to shield himself from the wizard who had cost him years of love and trust in that single moment. That single moment in which it meant nothing to Sirius, Remus meant nothing, any love and trust Sirius had for him overridden by the fact that he was a werewolf and the assumption that accompanied that fact; it was only natural that he would be quick to turn if given the opportunity. Such was their way.
"Two days, and I don't get so much as a smile to suggest you're happy to see me? Unless.."
Remus' breath caught in his throat. Releasing a sigh, his voice became strained.
"Unless you're just not... unless you'd rather..."
"Bloody hell, Remus," Sirius snapped. His back was turned against him, hands gripping the edge of the counter upon which he'd been leaning as if that was the only thing keeping him from storming from their flat entirely. However as these words left his lips, biting and full of contempt towards the werewolf, Sirius picked up his mug, drained the last of his tea, and then cast it to the sink before him. With a clatter, it smashed to pieces, but neither Sirius nor Remus flinched. It was nothing compared to the crushed veneer of this, the burning affection that had grown between them over the years shattered in the midst of persistent doubt. They'd spent years cultivating it, building their lives around the other as if it was lasting, as if it was meaningful. As if it was more than passing, skinny love.
It would be a lie to say that Remus had never questioned it, him and Sirius, Sirius' words that were almost too tender to bear. But not once had he doubted their permanence. Until now. With each bitter retort, each refusal to accept that Remus was true to his word, that even though he couldn't provide answers he was the same old Remus he'd always been, Sirius poured salt upon the crops they'd sown, slowly killing any lingering shred of hope that Remus possessed.
And yet Remus knew precisely why Sirius did it. Almost two years into the war, Sirius had lost family. He'd lost friends. They all had. It was only a matter of time before he lost something even dearer to his heart. It was only a matter of time before it was James or Peter whom Death seized in his cold grasp. Or Remus.
Remus Lupin, the very man whom Sirius had sworn to protect ever since their first year when the boy had struck him as unnaturally timid and painfully reserved. Only now, it was safer to simply push him away before it even came to that. Before he failed. Sirius was luring him into a fight, tempting him into ending it altogether and walking out the door to never come back, to simply cut out all the ropes and let him fall. But Remus had hope. He clung to hope just as he clung to Sirius despite his better judgement. Meanwhile Sirius had all but lost it. Sirius was giving up.
Letting his arms fall to his side, Remus hesitated before taking those few steps that were necessary to close the space between himself and the man whom had gifted him everything, all the joys of life as well as the pain. Remus appreciated each equally, for without the hurt there could not be healing. More than anything, Sirius had always been the one to remedy even the most severe of wounds, even when he was the one to be held accountable. Being what he was Remus couldn't have asked more from Sirius, from anyone, than what he was given.
Placing a hand upon Sirius' shoulder, the werewolf eased him into his arms which he proceeded to wind around his torso until he felt the beat of his heart against his palm. Remus had tired of words. He'd tired of pleading with Sirius to be patient, for the war would soon come to an end and with it they'd return to days unburdened with fear and suspicion. He'd tired of telling Sirius everything would be fine, that he'd be fine. Uncertainty had crept into Remus' veins, overcoming him until he knew these words would be little more than a farce. But most of all, Remus had tired of Sirius. At least he'd tired of this Sirius, the Sirius in whom kindness had ceased. The balance had tipped and suspicion triumphed until every word that left Sirius' lips was tainted with it.
And so he held him. With little else to do, Remus pressed a light kiss on the back of his head before trailing his lips across his neck as soothingly as his unceasing anger would allow. Sirius' skin felt warm to the touch, ablaze from the heat of the moment. But Remus could already feel him relaxing into his arms, momentarily allowing himself to be distracted from everything but the pressure of the werewolf encasing him and the comfort that provided.
"In the morning I'll be with you," Remus breathed against his neck, before taking in that familiar scent which insulted his senses without fail; warm, a dash of sweat and something distinctly doggish, mixed at this particular moment in time with a hint of tea and firewhiskey. Loving Sirius was a tall order, but Remus did it willingly. Directing the other wizard to turn so as to face him, Remus pressed his form against his as if that closeness was all that was left to them. Resting his forehead against Sirius' only fleetingly, Remus' lips caught Sirius' of their own accord, lips that had so often wounded him, rendering it impossible for him to so much as breathe another word of offence.
All the fight that Sirius had in him, fight that had built up with each mission that Remus failed to explain away, dissolved in that simple touch alone. Yet it had seemingly left him bare, exposed, needy. His breath was hot in Remus' mouth, his tongue seeking out that of the other man in an attempt to return to that unadulterated intimacy that merely pained him in light of everything the war had surfaced. One hand clung to Remus' chest, a feeble attempt to keep the werewolf from holding him captive with such open affection, whilst the other wove fingertips in the soft tresses of his hair. But Remus clasped Sirius just as tightly, his arms wound once more about Sirius' waist so that this tenderness, as welcome as it was agonising, was nigh on inescapable. And as he did, his anger subsided, but it was replaced with something infinitely more sour to the tongue. Fear.
Deepening the kiss, Sirius' hands grasped the front of his shirt with an intensity that suggested he still cared. He still loved. But it wasn't enough. Glimpses of touch were not enough to undo what Remus could feel in his very core. Even as a moan escaped Sirius' lips, urging Remus never to let go for when he did suspicion and doubt would only return to slowly tear them apart, there was no denying it. This love, whatever it had once been, was slipping from their grasp. Remus could reach out and hold Sirius as easily as he ever could. But that innocence that they had once enjoyed, before missions and werewolves and talk of a turncoat in the Order, that was lost to them forever. It was replaced with poison, wasted love, bridges broken so that neither he nor Sirius stood even a sliver of a hope of crossing and returning to what they had once had.
Sirius' touch was just as tender as it had ever been. More so, even. But the war had wrenched them apart as easily as it tore life from the weak. Remus could still feel Sirius' mouth against his; he could still feel the pressure and warmth, taste the sweetness, which were as familiar to him as the scars that hindered his features yet precious by comparison. And yet he was plagued with questions, questions that merely caused him to bring Sirius closer, if such was even possible. Questions directed solely towards himself.
Who will love you? Who will fight? Who will fall far behind?
Remus melted against Sirius involuntarily. There was nothing he wanted more than to be loved, nothing he had ever wanted more. Parting lips from Sirius' only reluctantly, Remus raised a hand to brush a stray strand of raven hair from about the other wizard's face. But he was hesitant to meet those grey orbs, too fearful of what they may hold. Thus his eyes fluttered shut, fingers lightly tracing Sirius' jaw as if searching for the man whom had given him everything he had never thought possible. Love, the strength to fight; only Remus had lost sight of what he was fighting for.
In the morning I'll be with you, but it will be a different kind. In the morning, maybe you'll love me just a little more or I'll need you just a little less.