It's difficult, getting used to living with another person again. Getting used to the way they leave things lying around, to the sound of someone else's breathing when you settle down to read the paper or an interesting book, having to make small talk when you eat together. Remus finds it hard to believe how anti-social he's grown but in truth he's used to being alone.
He rather enjoys it in fact.
He likes not finding stray black hairs in the bath; he likes not having hot nasal breath puffing in his ear when Sirius leans over him for something and he likes being able to settle down in a comfy chair with the crossword and finding it blank, empty and devoid of Sirius untidy scrawling of all the wrong words in all the wrong places.
Because having Sirius back is like having invited an untidy, unsociable whirlwind to live with him. Its unfortunate and difficult and awkward, they tiptoe around, afraid of upsetting each other and so they have become shadows in the house, drifting from room to room in quiet politeness.
It's a shock to Remus how silent Sirius has suddenly become – all his memories are of a rambunctious, loud and unruly man who swept in and out of his life with a smile and sometimes a box of chocolates if something was truly awful between them that day, not this sad, distant person who hunches his shoulders and coughs out of necessity rather than to draw attention to himself.
"I know thee not, old man." Remus thinks to himself sadly as he watches Sirius watch the world, so bitter and disappointed with it.
They fought, once, and only once. Sirius stormed and shouted and Remus slammed doors and it felt more alive then anything. One moment in many that was bright and real, unforced and brilliant and that had ending in Remus leaving, going for a walk and losing the fire that that argument had sparked, and when he came home Sirius was fumbling and apologetic, attempt a peacemaking mission that wasn't needed.
It was wrong, all wrong.
When they where younger they had fought and scowled, made up with kisses and friendly name-calling and loved each other.
Now they where shells of those former selves. Those laughing, dancing, enchanted fools who'd thought that they would live forever and who'd forgotten to think until it was too late.
Remus wanted to be that person again, wanted Sirius to be that way again.
It is the crossword that starts the new fight. Remus finds it, crumpled on the kitchen table where Sirius has scrawled Onomatopoeia all across it and he shoves it at him, crowing in delight when Sirius explodes back at him – screams angrily about everything and then they are kissing, moving together in a well-learned practise that was their youth together.
Remus wants to explain the kitchen table is not that strong but Sirius is persuasive and desperate.
It is fire, it is life and it is wonderful.
Remus is drugged upon it and he wants more, he craves it and as they crash into the table, Sirius growling into his neck, for a few brief and glorious moments they are young again, just out of school and desperate in their fumblings together.
It will not last, it cannot last like this but it a start and they will work on it, until it works for them.
