A/N: Great many thanks to magda2em for her wonderful beta-reading, and to PaulaMcG for pointing out the nonsense of the other men.
Sirius is leaving.
No, nothing's happened. They are simply living their life: working for the Order, earning just enough to get by, visiting Lily, James and Harry over the weekends, keeping constant vigilance and trying to be happy. They don't fight much, and they haven't had a row for a few weeks now. Really, nothing's happened.
It's just that, somehow, Remus knows.
He could sense it last night. Sirius made love to him, tenderly and slowly. His fingers burnt Remus's skin in an unceasing caress, until he thought his body would go aflame. Afterwards, Sirius held him close and stroked his hair. When his hand stilled, Remus listened to the even breathing and tried to understand. He didn't fall asleep until dawn.
When he wakes up some time later in an empty bed, he panics. He knows, yes, but he doesn't accept it. He jumps out of the bed and dashes to the kitchen. He stops at the door.
There he is. Sirius. Leaning on the counter and waiting for the coffee to get ready. He looks up at Remus and flashes him his brilliant smile.
"Good morning. Coffee?"
Remus exhales slowly. No, he doesn't want coffee. Instead he watches closely as Sirius pours himself a cup and starts to sip it in silence. Sirius looks back from above the rim of the cup and smiles again. Remus feels his heart pounding in his ears. Why? Why is this happening? What has he done?
They just look, and although they don't avoid each other's eyes, somehow they never really meet. There's no spark, no connection. Remus knows.
Sirius drinks up his coffee and exceptionally washes the cup. He grabs his jacket and motorcycle keys, then comes up to Remus and kisses him tenderly on the lips. He turns around and walks to the door, looks back one more time and smiles lightly.
"See you later."
The door closes with a thud that, to Remus, sounds definitive like anything.
Slowly he goes back to the bedroom and looks around. Sirius didn't take his things. His clothes, his books, even his toothbrush. A ray of hope. Then darkness. He doesn't really need them, does he. No, he doesn't.
Remus stands in the middle of the room and takes in the red shirt, discarded on the floor, the opened book on the nightstand, their mingled scents. He glances at the window. He should clean it.
He wants to scream, but no voice comes out.
Sirius's left.
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