Sirius had seen it before, a burning anger in the depths of Remus' amber orbs that signified he was more than just a boy, more than just a wizard. He'd seen it when almost any and every shred of who Remus was left him, when the full moon clung to the night sky and clung to Remus just as tightly, seizing hold of him until he couldn't fight anymore and the wolf won, for without fail the werewolf always won. He'd seen it as the wolf tore at the walls of the Shrieking Shack, tore at itself if that wasn't enough to quell the pure animal instinct, a hunger, a thirst, mixed with something infinitely more dangerous, a complete and utter loathing of the weakness that overcame him, a loathing directed solely towards the boy beneath the thick coat of fur as he failed to put up more of a fight, as if such was even possible. Sirius had seen it countless times, when Remus was reduced to little more than a monster. At least that's what Remus called it. A beast, a dark creature that was regulated by the Ministry of Magic to ensure that he didn't attack anyone, that he didn't infect anyone. He had seen it countless times, but not once had he seen it directed towards himself.
It hit him with more force than if Remus had either took a swing at him or hit him square in the chest with a Stunner, each of which Remus could do to great effect given that he was incredibly strong whilst also incredibly practised in the latter. Remus continued to fix him with that stare until Sirius' own words had finally sunk in. It wasn't the words themselves, although they were bad enough. Remus had asked him point blank, Sirius, do you trust me? And being the fool that Sirius was, he had let it out. Not so much as let it out as forced it out, striking him with his answer as if he'd wanted it to hurt. No, Remus, I don't fucking trust a-
A werewolf. Remus had finished the sentence for him, Sirius' own words drowning into a nothingness that crept over them, enveloping them until Sirius got a cold taste of what it would feel like to lose Remus, to lose that one person who actually gave a damn about what happened to him at the end of the day, that couldn't care less what happened to the rest of the Order so long as this one individual remained a constant part of his life. And then Remus had fixed him with that stare and Sirius felt like he was sixteen again, sixteen only he was exactly what he had never wanted to be.
"Ah, fuck.."
"Sirius.."
Remus voice was strangled, pained but urging Sirius to stray anywhere but there, to think of anything but that because whatever Sirius had said to him it wasn't like he hadn't heard it all before. But Sirius shook his head, edging backwards so as to put distance between himself and the last person he wanted to hurt. Sirius stole one last glance at the man before turning on his feet and throwing himself out the door, but it was a mistake. Whatever Sirius had glimpsed in him had vanished leaving Remus looking as broken as he felt, but it wasn't enough to keep him there, because all the shame and all the guilt and all the disappointment that he felt about being who he was, it wasn't easily counteracted, not by Remus, not by anybody. Sirius doubted there was anything Remus could have said to have kept him from charging down the stairs of their block of flats and out the front door, feeling the sting of cold air in his lungs and relishing it.
Sirius was nothing like his parents. Never had he claimed that blood status didn't matter, adamant that it wasn't what defined you, and yet when it really boiled down to it it turned out he was more like them than he thought. He might not have gone crawling to Voldemort when forced to choose sides, and he might not measure a man by his blood when it came to befriending them or even sleeping with them, but that didn't change the fact the words had left his lips at all. He had said it. He'd fucking said it and there was no taking that back.
Sirius ran both hands through his hair, seizing the tangled locks in his fingers and forcing back a scream because he was terrified. The war was destroying him and he never talked about it, not even to Remus, because he was turning into his parents, the very people he swore he'd never become. His mother's voice still resounded in his mind, the memory catching him off guard when he was feeling most doubtful about what he was doing, telling him he was one big fuck-up and that he'd only end up a disgrace to the family. Why did it matter? Surely it was a good thing to be a disgrace to a family like that, messed up as it was. And yet it mattered. What if she was right, and what if he was just in denial? He loathed his bitch of a mother for ever planting the thought in his mind, for causing him to question him when he was right, when blood status didn't matter and it certainly didn't matter that Remus was a werewolf. He hated his father even more for letting her spout such rubbish at him until he was driven from the house, but then he owed her one. She'd done him a favour.
Swinging one leg over his bike, Sirius was in the air within seconds. They'd cast a charm around the house long ago, under Remus' insistence, so that no muggles would catch sight of him, but Sirius didn't even spare a second's thought for this. He wanted to feel nothing but the icy wind whipping his hair, the sting in his eyes as he soared over London, from the cold, from the force of flying but most ashamedly from the tears that were already threatening to burn his cheeks. Sirius wanted to be numb because in light of everything that weighed heavy in his chest it was preferable. He'd even sacrifice what he felt for Remus for it all to cease. Remus was better off without him, only he didn't know it. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself to realise that he was worth so much more than Sirius, telling himself that he was little more than an aberration as if that would dull the blow which he held up as an inevitability.
He'd hurt Remus. Just as his parents had hurt him, he'd hurt Remus. He was supposed to love him unconditionally because that's what love was, and he would. But that's not what it looked like. That's not what it sounded like. It was a low blow. It was too easy. Claiming he was a werewolf was far easier than answering with silence. He trusted Remus. He trusted Remus with his life but if there was anyone he'd rather the Voldemort seize under suspicion of being James and Lily's Secret Keeper, he'd rather it be Wormtail. And what did that make him? This was a war and he was weak. He'd gone soft. All because of Remus.
Prying one hand from the handle, Sirius realised he'd gotten what he wanted. His hand was numb as he wiped his eyes with the back of it. And yet it did nothing to relieve him of the ill feeling that had plagued him ever since he first took off. He could always turn up at James'. Only Lily would be there and she'd ask questions and she was a lot less forgiving than James. She'd take it personally, knowing little of what it was actually like to come from a pureblood family, where you're brought up from birth to believe in certain so called truths, that purity was the only measure of one's worth. She didn't know what it was to turn your back on that, and that even then you couldn't shake it completely. James hadn't had quite the same upbringing as Sirius but he could understand at least.
The simple fact was, blood did matter. Sirius felt filthy, as if this prejudice existed within his veins. He wanted to bleed it out but that would achieve nothing but ending what precious time he had with Remus between missions and everything else the war burdened them with. And so his heart kept pumping and every time it did it furthered his sense of suspicion about the man with whom he shared a bed, the man he tucked into his arms before turning out the lights, the man around whom all became still and focused and Sirius could gather his thoughts long enough to hone in on what was actually important, reminding himself to cling to it with his every last strength because it was all he had.
Before he knew it, Sirius was no longer chasing the sun, having changed course without a further second's thought, heading in the very direction from which he'd come. It was dark high above the town, but it was even darker down below. Sirius felt a stab of guilt as it occurred to him that he'd left Remus to deal with it alone, without so much as an apology, but he relieved himself of it as quickly as it had come otherwise he'd never have the will to face the man again. He remembered the anger, but also how quickly it had taken the form of hurt. He'd left Remus like he'd leave a wounded animal, but he'd return. He's always return, because without Remus his life was just as meaningless as it had been during the summer after his fifth year, when he'd been kicked out with nowhere but James' doorstep to turn and nothing to his name but the clothes on his back.
Remus was waiting for him. He was seated at the dining table when Sirius finally re-entered with a lot less impact than when he had left. His hands were crossed in front of him, and he was twiddling his thumbs and worrying at his bottom lip as if it was all he could do to keep from caving in upon himself and ceasing to function altogether. Sirius slipped into the chair opposite him, placing his palms flat on the table only an inch or two from Remus', too sheepish to lay them on top of Remus' thus offering them to him instead.
"Moony," Sirius began, his voice full of more regret than words catered for.
"Don't." Remus didn't look at him, not when Sirius had entered the door and not now. His eyes were wider than usual, alert, whereas the calm expression he so commonly bore was strained, forced. It was always forced but now more than ever you could tell it just from looking at him. Remus' mouth slightly ajar, his breath caught in his throat, but he continued regardless. "We both knew you wouldn't be here if you believed it. If you didn't trust me, you'd never have come back.
"You didn't mean it."
Sirius sensed the desperation in his voice. Not only was it glaringly obvious but it wasn't a question. Sirius couldn't mean it. He couldn't mean it, for that would only lead Remus to believe that these past nine years had meant nothing. Everything Sirius had done, everything he had given Remus, the sliver of hope that he wasn't just a werewolf but something deserving of affection and love, had counted for nothing.
"I didn't mean it," Sirius repeated, reaching just a little further to seize Remus' hands in his own. At the touch, Remus finally surrendered to whatever he'd been feeling, and in doing so he was able to close the distance between them. Standing from his chair, Remus kept a firm hold of Sirius' hands, giving it a slight tug in indication that he follow suit.
"Sirius, you're frozen through," he said, the warmth returning to his voice and to Sirius' heart, but unfortunately not to Sirius' hands. "Are you sure that bike of yours is a good idea?"
Only he didn't pause for an answer. As soon as Sirius had matched him in height, Remus' lips had sought out his as if wishing to seal his return. And yet he did ten times more than that, reminding Sirius that a werewolf he may be, but he was also the only person that Sirius couldn't walk out on. If Sirius was ice than he melted against Remus, encasing that familiar warmth in his arms with so much vigour that Remus had to take a step back to steady himself.
"Sirius," Remus urged as they parted for breath, but he wouldn't deny him the closeness that he clearly craved, his forehead pressed lightly against Sirius' and breath hot against his lips.
"I'm sorry," Sirius interjected, stormy orbs appealing to the tenderness that he lay hidden in the depths of Remus' amber. He only wished it was the first time he'd said those words and that he could take away the offence that had made them necessary in the first place. Because in all honesty sorry didn't cut it. They both knew that and yet neither of them could do anything but deny it, as if that was enough to fix everything on their behalf. Sirius' eyes fell shut, his brow furrowed as he forced back the wave of regret, not only for hurting Remus but because he'd known he'd do it all along and yet he'd lured Remus into loving him regardless. "Bloody hell, Remus, I didn't mean it."
Remus' lips met Sirius' so that he couldn't utter another word and he didn't have to open his eyes nor recognise the damage that he had dealt with those few words, words he couldn't have meant less. Regret dissolved into yearning and Sirius temporarily forgot that he was anything like his parents because Remus made it better, Remus made him better, filling him up until he was whole and he could think of nothing but Remus' chest against his back and the beat of his heart matching Sirius', and affection, swelling into love, swelling into a need that was beyond bearing and Sirius was almost certain the feeling would kill him. But it was all he'd wanted. All he'd ever wanted.