"It's not about pride." Sirius stated with no expression.
Remus knew that it wasn't pride as much as it was disgust and he hadn't suggested pride. Sirius had put that word there himself. Remus was displaying a different form of pride. He wanted Sirius to embrace what was practical. Remus tried not to touch Waburga's chair as he placed himself down upon it. "I can sit in this. I'm not proud of it, but I am doing it. A chair is inanimate regardless of who used to sit in it."
Sirius was looking at him as if he had seen a monster. He rather was for suggesting this. What was he doing? What would this achieve? Sirius had been more forced to do many things against his will in Azkaban that he refused to bring into their fragile reparation of their home life. Sirius wore Remus's clothes. It was the only material he trusted. He had stripped off the rags he had spent over a decade in and it had taken Remus days to remove Sirius from his naked state. He had been naked with him. Naked in the heart, and naked in his display of it. When Remus had cried and rambled like a mad man it was Sirius who wrapped clothes around him. He remembered the fierceness in Sirius's eyes and choking about how if this was how Remus was without him he couldn't bear to think of how Remus was on a full moon. Remus was not proud of what he had become but he was proud of quickly it didn't matter. Remus watched Sirius sternly. Sirius had attacked his own wardrobe searching for something that fit. Of course he had. His sense of time and lack thereof made it seem as though he hadn't been gone and he could bloody well squeeze into them if he wanted to. Remus had to put a stop to it. It had become violent how Sirius had forced his head through the holes of shirts and small fits. Sirius had fallen, he had kicked them and he had cursed how he never used to want to be seen in anything baggy.
Sirius was a pale description of what he wanted, Remus didn't need Sirius to confide in him to observe and understand. Remus did a vast majority of watching. Watching and handling. Being apart for a decade brought that level of watchfulness out of him that he couldn't put down. He was addicted to it. Remus wasn't proud. He had reason. Pride didn't come into it. Pride could take a hike for all he cared. Sirius was his and he was Sirius and Sirius had to overcome fear of his predecessors. They had never held any power of worth over Sirius and Remus was attempting to resurrect that. Sirius had requested it to be disinfected and to do 'those fancy wand things that you do' to remove links of memory that could make it an easier chore but chores were not notorious for being easy. Nonetheless Remus had done it, and he was not proud.
Sirius stepped into the room once or twice. He felt like a homeless man building up the courage to fetch a bone from a rubbish bin. Sirius had regular tremors. He wasn't proud of it which was not useful considering that it was not something that came by choice. If it was Sirius would hand tremors to Kreacher. He'd probably enjoy it especially if it was genetic as well as circumstance. Kreacher wouldn't have to harm himself now it would be a constant. Sirius didn't speak as much as his thoughts did. They thought clear and loud and in swear words he, the master of swearwords, hadn't heard of. As for the moving…well, he didn't do much of that. either. When he did, it was either to reach out to Moony, or to touch him. It was all that was worth extending a muscle that didn't hurt or raise vomit. It raised something else. That had no problem moving by itself. It's strange the things we hold the most dear stay with us, functioning until the end. So, as it was, Remus didn't have much to go on. Remus did his best. Sirius was just old. Old in his years, and old in the sense that his old tribulations and his old pride not to stop anywhere which rotted pureblood. Remus believed it was his own age that made him unequipped to do more. Remus couldn't do any better than what he was and the fact he observed Remus's tendencies and thoughts like a hawk he was not proud that he let him think it.
Remus had gone to fetch tea as was normal. Sirius could hear the slow steps that creaked each stair. Sirius didn't know what it was but the master bedroom looked different when Remus was gone. When Remus wasn't there it was like Sirius had no anchor to his current self. The dysfunctional state of his mind meant that Sirius could slip and finding himself at any point of his life, and believe that was what he was. He fancied it his lucky little star. He was probably doing unforgivable things to himself but he had done far worse with gillyweed in the past and he had practice. Sirius found it quite easy to step into the room. His pride was gone. Then again, it wasn't, not really. He was proud he got in. Proud. His younger self got off on such things. He was there for one purpose and only purpose only. Steal, harass and whatever else that took him by storm. He blessed his six year old heart. His heart had been a good one yet Moony was in it now. That was a dangerous concoction. The room was black and most things had been all since been removed. Warburga's dressing table was still there. He had seen it as a thick, chopping board before now. His head had been pressed to it so often he was surprised his circulation never had been cut off. Sirius was filled with a restless breeze that everything was covered in dust. It was quite the enjoyment he had been lacking to now somebody had restricted it from being cleaned by Kreacher. - Remus wasn't proud of it. -
Sirius reached the wardrobe and he opened it. Well, he certainly wouldn't be on the cover of any hearty magazines but something Remus had hacked in to him daily didn't just go into one ear and out through the other but he looked inside himself for it, Remus had put it like this "Combining pieces that Orion wouldn't have put together would create the appearance that they were never his at all." Sirius liked that. He'd like to disgrace some clothing. Not only would him dirty them wearing them but he would own them, so to speak. Sirius' bones were often brittle and it took time to search through hangers. He kept spitting every time he touched something he remembered. Sirius tossed a few items on the bed. Sirius felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time and that was that he didn't know what to wear and the odd sensation of wanting a style. He didn't have one and his sources suggested that by his standards he wasn't proud of it. He found a purple shirt that looked unworn. He didn't question it because for that it was love at first sight for that attribute. It felt well. He stroked his sides and admired the fit. He was sorry to say goodbye to Remus's cast-offs. They were like being inside Moony and he was far too attached to give them back so they would be worn more than the clothes he was lowering himself to now.
Sirius used his finger to inspect a darker shade of purple which made up a waistcoat with small flowers plotted on it which gave the sour distaste of his family tree yet gave him the elaborate change that he needed and he quite liked the flowers and he was proud of it. He was going soft. The buttons that accompanied the waistcoat were suns which sold the piece to him. Why not be the sun to a Moony? why the hell not? Sirius chose it for the pure action of Remus looking, noticing and laughing. He'd wear wear a mask of Orion's face to hear that laugh. Sirius laughed sharply that he was thinking such thoughts in his parent's bedroom and they couldn't stop him. Sirius could hear Remus plodding around downstairs. Sirius was looking forward to his entrance. It was the first time he would be able to do without inner turmoil and thoughts of an unpleasant and insecure nature. Sirius would still feel that way but the entrance was keeping him going just as the pranks had so many years ago. The props were not important. He was in it for the result. And he was proud. Sirius needed a finishing touch - something that would make Remus's jaw drop. He'd found just the thing. He removed a mossy green jacket with vertical, what did muggles call it again? parallel lines? It fit like a butterbeer in his hand.
Wanting to leave the room fast but still wanting to tread carefully not to arouse suspicion Sirius walked with precision. Moony won't know what hit him. Sirius stopped and panic locked onto him. Was it a big deal? was he being silly for hoping for a reaction? would he get one? would it just be a grateful look that Sirius had put something on? Remus had been asking for it, after all. It would be anti-climatic. He was beginning to be sure of it. The colour drained from his face. He trembled but shook his hair and felt for the banister. It was warm to the touch. The wallpaper was vile and he began to feel small in his clothes? His clothes? his? yes my clothes. I'm making them mine. Sirius felt himself submitting to vertigo but he held himself together. He would only be proud to show Moony when he felt comfortable in his own skin. He owed him that much. He owed Remus a god-damned smile. Sirius straightened. Moony had never felt proud in his own skin, and he has lasted far longer than Sirius himself had. It came with time. It wasn't always there. He had to be a child first but Sirius was not a child. He didn't deserve to spend time as if he was. He had the functions.
Sirius affirmed his posture. He imagined Harry with Remus waiting for him at the bottom. He imagined James and he imagined Lily behind him egging him on. He felt the sensation of lighting his own eyes. Sirius knew the difference it made to his face. He had used it to his advantage in seducing Moony back at Hogwarts. Sirius arched his neck, raising his head and slipping his hands into his tiny pockets. There was a pocket watch. He felt it in his palm and he breathed angularly. His backside must look good. It must do. The trousers were tight enough. Just how he used to like it. Moony would appreciate it if Sirius felt it, and Sirius certainly felt it. His heart was thumping. He used the banister to pull himself along. With a touch he allowed the pocket watch to start ticking and he slipped it inside. He was going down.
Remus was calm and in a riot in the kitchen. Remus tended to feel like he was hanging on by a thread and the kitchen cut it. Nothing ever worked. Not in the way he'd like it to. Not in the way that his heart had. You couldn't kick-start everything and not even medieval kitchen appliances would go along with his reinvigorated purpose to life. Remus was halfway through peeling potato's. He didn't know why he was peeling so many. There were only two of them. There had to be enough. He'd left some things earlier to boil. As always he was loose with time because he scheduled everything. Why hadn't he been up there yet? He felt that Sirius wanted time and he should give it but it was not an easy concept for Remus to do what came so unnaturally. He was dressed like he was about to go teach a class. Nothing was new. He still dressed like he did way back when but it needed to be remembered that everything was new for Sirius and perhaps some familiarity is exactly the way that Remus should be. God knows what Sirius thought of him. Sirius wanted him to be comfortable. It wasn't as if they were casually dating. They weren't minors anymor- he turned off the oven. His stomach couldn't take any more cooking. He would buy them something edible. He wouldn't-
Sirius came to the doorway. Remus always knew. His senses were trained so adeptly to Sirius that he couldn't not even if he tried. He didn't look straight away. He felt like he had something inside his throat.
Remus continued to pack things away preferring to look busy than to meet Sirius's pity. "I'm sorry that I keep pushing you. I should take no as a no and keep well away from being an authoritative figure. That isn't me. That isn't us. I never was a perfect counsellor. I don't know what I'm doing, Sirius."
Sirius didn't answer. His eyes said a thousand words, or so he thought but Moony hadn't lifted his head yet. If he was stop fretting for one second-
Moony had seen. Remus clamoured. His hand searched frantically for something to fall back on. He couldn't breathe properly. This went on for several minutes. Sirius had been expecting a reaction but not one as physical as this. He'd never seen Remus break down before.
"Moony-Moony, get a grip. It's just me." Sirius started to advance to console him.
Remus raised a finger as if to say 'Not yet. Give me this.'
Sirius obliged but it was rationally difficult to keep away. Remus looked like he wanted to slap himself clean in the face. No matter what he did Remus could not and would not take his eyes off the structure of Sirius's body. It had changed, but it was very much as he knew it. He couldn't even blink. He'd done a good job in being himself. He was dated now, certainly, but dear god did he do it well and he was giving Remus a heart attack for not giving him any indication it was going to happen but he was sure that nothing could have prepared him.
Remus began to speak stammering with articulation. "Remember that it had not occurred to me that I would ever see you again and certainly not dressed like that. Dressed like that or otherwise."
Remus inhaled as Sirius walked towards him. "This is embarrassing, Sirius. I'm acting like clothes matter." there was no pride in that.
Sirius dipped his hip against the counter and he held the side of Sirius's face. He didn't feel inactive. "I'm a famous designer. Of course it bloody matters."
Remus cracked and he used Sirius to stabilise himself as he laughed and shook with tears, grasping onto the waistcoat. "You wear it better."
Sirius barked with approval and gloated at the ceiling where the bedroom was situated. "Less fat."
Remus raised his eyebrow and his laughter raised its head again. "Ah, that would be why. Not that I consider you attractive or anything I just appreciate the lack of fat on a man."
Sirius's laughter rumbled. "I didn't even need to work for it. It just hangs off."
Their hold was desperate, and it was equally motivated.
There are many things to be proud of.