Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling.

Warning: Homoerotic romance.

The first time ever I saw your face,

I thought the sun rose in your eyes,

And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave,

To the dark and endless skies, my love.

Time had been harsh on them, thought Remus Lupin, as he gazed at the form of Sirius Black huddled on his threadbare couch. His long black hair was streaked through with silver and hung in unkempt ropes; obscuring his angled and refined face, and his hands and knees were drawn into his belly in the foetal position. His once proud and confident friend, dissolved into a mockery of himself.

Sirius Black had been an enigma. An enticing and unparalleled bundle of raw energy and wicked wit, bound within an exquisite casing. People were drawn to him, his boundless youth, his fire, his beauty. They had sought to peel back his layers, to see the man beneath the seductive veneer. To claim him. Consume him. The man who had given himself to a werewolf.

They had all been beautiful then. James; with his impassioned sense of justice, his unwavering loyalty and fierce love. Lily; her towering strength and her graceful loveliness, her pure and open heart. Peter; his playful innocence, his naive and trusting soul. And himself; so young, so amazed at being included, accepted, loved.

The world had opened for them, and they had flung themselves passionately into its grasp, wholeheartedly giving of their youth and lives. Believing, so foolishly, that they were the makers and moulders of their destinies.

The war had changed that. It had chewed them up, spit them out. Torn them and ripped them asunder. They had bled, screamed, cried, died. And the soul of Sirius Black had been slowly devoured, blackened like his name, finally consumed by those faceless and fear filled masses who had once admired him, and who had come to despise his very being. They had thrown him into hell itself and left him to rot alive.

Yes, he thought bitterly, time had been harsh on them all.

Thirteen years. Wasted. Wasted on falsehoods and pain; such torturous and self pitying pain. All because he had been too scared to ask. Too cowardly to make that heart wrenching trip to Azkaban and face the man he loved, to hear from his own lips the truth of that agonising night. It shamed him. The knowledge that if he heard the unutterable words spoken, he would truly have never known the person closest to him. And so he had not visited. He had not dared. And his Gryffindor heart had torn itself to pieces and bled internally throughout those long suffered years.

"Why, Sirius?" He whispered, "Why did you take revenge upon yourself? You followed Peter that night, you incriminated yourself by circumstance." He shook his head, half hoping to deny the past. Sirius slept on, undisturbed by his quiet questioning. He hadn't expected an answer, besides, he wasn't sure he needed one.

"You always were rash. Impulsive and passionate, and Merlin, I loved you so much. Ironic, isn't it? If it weren't for that, I'd never have known I loved you at all," he laughed bitterly, the sharp bark catching in his throat and bringing stinging tears to his eyes. He blinked them away harshly, "Oh, how the universe must hate us Padfoot, fate has truly made us her fools."

"Fools, Moony? We were always fools. Nothing's changed there," Sirius muttered, turning his head towards Lupin's tired form. Lupin felt his burning gaze as it washed over him, that molten heat he had felt so often in his youth. Time had had its way with Sirius Black's ravaged body, but it couldn't touch those eyes.

"I thought you were asleep, I didn't mean to wake you," Remus said quietly, dropping his eyes to the floor to avoid the piercing look of his oldest and closest friend.

"It's fine Moony, I don't sleep much these days. The nightmares." He shrugged, as if he could throw the nightmares off his shoulders with the merest motion, as if they didn't cause him to scream and wake in terror every night. Lupin knew otherwise, most nights brought similar ghosts to his bed too.

"Sit with me?" Sirius gestured towards the couch, his voice small and pleading, breaking Remus' already shattered heart into even smaller shards. They pierced his lungs as he took the offered spot next to Sirius and breathed in his scent, it was somehow made harder that this innate part of Sirius remained exactly the same. Just as familiar now as it was the very first time, even as Sirius himself was so very different. And yet, and yet.

"Do you think about it much?" Sirius asked, "Us? Them?"

Remus startled, they had been skirting around the past since Sirius had turned up on his doorstep, ragged, and dirty, and in the form of Padfoot. Three days of tea, polite gestures, and awkward exchanges.

"Every day," Remus replied softly, "There's not an hour that passes that I'm not reminded of something James would say, or how Lily would laugh, or how you," he swallowed thickly, "How you..."

"I can't remember much now," Sirius whispered, "Not the little things. They were the first to go. But the big things, sometimes I get flashes still."

Remus looked up to see Sirius studying his face intently, a frown settled on his brow, and his dark hair pushed back from his face. His beauty was still there, under the lines of the marching years, and the wasting of malnourishment. Remus could see the bones of the man he had once been, the man he held all the promise of becoming again.

"The big things, Pads?"

"I remember James and Lily's wedding, it was autumn and the leaves had turned golden and red. James joked that she'd been moulting again. I remember thinking that I'd like to get married," He smiled softly, his eyes flickering to the worn and shabby carpet of Remus' dingy little lounge, "I remember Harry's birth, James apparated over to our place to tell us, do you remember he couldn't stop grinning?"

"He said it was the happiest day of his life," Remus replied, "And then he asked you to be Harry's godfather."

"Yes, and he told you that you could be his godmother," Sirius laughed, the throaty jingle sounding loud and unnatural in the quiet of the room, "I remember that," he nodded, his voice becoming misty.

"What else do you remember, Pads?" Remus asked quietly, his heart tightening and beating an echoing tattoo against his scarred and broken chest.

"I remember us," Sirius murmured, looking up and catching his eyes. Remus fancied he could see stars in those eyes, the far flung image of distant searing suns heating his retinas and scorching the moment into Remus' mind.

"I remember that last night. It was so cold and you'd thrown your leg over me to get warm. The full moon was the night before and you were still battered and exhausted. Dumbledore's patronus came with the news, but you didn't wake, so I left you there to sleep." He didn't say what they both knew, that he hadn't woken Remus because he feared that he was sleeping next to the traitor.

Remus' chest ached as his breath came shallow and rattling into his lungs, he remembered waking up alone, his lover gone and his best friends dead. He had woken up alone every morning since.

"Anything else?" He breathed, "Anything from before the war?" He felt like a weight was pressing against him, waiting for Sirius to answer. Warily watching his face for any hint of rejection. They had both been through so much. Changed so much.

"Just you, Remus. Just you." Came the whispered response.

The space between them closed, though they remained still in their seats. It was the years that merged together, becoming an almost tangible substance. Palpable and intense. And just like that he knew, time may have marred them, sucked them dry, and stolen their innocence, but their hearts had remained constant. Azkaban couldn't take all of Sirius. It couldn't take the parts he had freely given away.

Remus stood slowly, deliberately, and reached for Sirius' upturned palms. His scarred and slender hands held tight to those of his worn and time battered lover, the wasted flesh and prominent bones a stark contrast to his memory of youthful and soft skin; hot to the touch and burning Lupin's own with his tender caress. Lupin bent down, his back sending him a painful twinge in complaint, and he placed a gentle kiss to his lover's dark brow. Sirius' thumb brushed gently over the white crescent scars on his wrist, a small smile playing at his lips as they both indulged in the memory of the little moons. He brought Lupin's hand to his mouth and kissed the old marks in an echo of the gesture made so, so long ago.

Lupin sighed. Even now, a lifetime later, Sirius was irresistible. He felt his heart pull with the inevitable and magnetic desire he had long thought consigned to the past. He could never deny him. He had never even wanted to.

"Come on," He whispered tenderly, "Let's go up to bed."