Remus felt drained. He took a look in the mirror and saw a pallid face and dull green eyes reflected back at him. Years of illness and the lack of sunlight following a full moon had started to blanch his skin. He wondered briefly how anyone could look at him and see him the way Sirius did. With affections and love for the lycanthrope with no future and the squib with no means to support himself in the Wizarding World.
He left his family because he did not want to burden them with his disease, especially not while they were grieving over the death of his mother who had finally fallen cold one evening after years of battling illness. And he did not want to dampen Romulus's quintessential wizarding life with the gloom of his affliction.
He would not shift the burden of his disease from his family to Sirius. No, he loved him too much to let Sirius suffer with him every month when he is turned into a beast driven mad by infection. He could not let Sirius watch as he recovered from physical wounds after every full moon nor allow the raven haired man to accompany the occasional hospital visits every other month for the rest of his life.
He could not ask that of Sirius, who he knew would gladly suffer alongside him and would patiently remain with Remus even as the disease consumed what remaining strength age had not made elusive.
Yet part of him wanted to stay with Sirius.
Part of him did not want to be alone. He wanted, most of all, to be with Sirius through it all.
And he hated how selfish he was.
