The holding cells are off the main floor of the Ministry, down a hallway Remus hasn't been down before. The lobby of them is cool and marble and grander than it needs to be, like everything in here.
A small mercy - there is a disapparation point in the lobby outside the cells, so they can leave from here instead of having to navigate the vast atrium. Remus spotted several reporters on his way here, and is keen to avoid them.
Sirius is fetched and stumbles out of the cell block with little ceremony. Someone has tried to neaten him up, tried sloppily to mask the mistreatment he's suffered at the hands of the ministry, now that they've had to recast him as a martyr. His matted hair has been choppily cut and the ragged beard is gone. He's no longer in prison robes but a simple set of black robes that are too large, which just makes him look skinnier. When he sees Remus, he stops, standing about five feet away.
Remus' heightened senses immediately inform him that whatever magic barrier was between them at the trial is gone. Sirius smells like antiseptics and harsh shampoo. His own unique scent is there, overwhelming Remus for a moment, but there's a sharp edge to it that Remus recognizes as the acrid tang of fear. He can hear Sirius' heart jumping between fluttering and pounding.
Remus wants to kiss him. Beg forgiveness. Maybe just cry. But he clenches his jaw and curls his fists to keep his hands down. He's not the one who needs comfort right now. At least he's not the one who needs it most. He can wait for later.
"Sirius," he says weakly.
Sirius blinks and looks at the floor.
"Sirius, I… I'm so sorry," Remus forces out, voice shaking. "I-"
"Get me out of here?" Sirius interrupts.
"Yes," Remus says immediately.
He steps backwards into the disapparation point, one hand stretched out for Sirius to take. Sirius takes it, sort of, his boney fingers going around Remus' wrist rather than touching his hand, and Remus twists them away into the crush of apparition.
Their destination is the sunlight backyard of Remus' parents' house, a small row home in the unassuming seaside town of Lowestoft. Remus had in mind landing in the shade of the one small tree in the yard, toward the back by the garden wall, and is extremely surprised to see that he's managed it. They land unevenly and Sirius immediately releases Remus' wrist and goes down on all fours. He's shaking badly and flinches away when Remus kneels and puts a hand on his shoulder.
Remus stills, tries to project calm as Sirius collapses further, rolling onto his back in the grass with one arm thrown over his eyes. Remus wants nothing more in the world right now than to hold on to Sirius, but he stops himself. Little though he's saying, Sirius is making it amply clear he does not want to be touched.
Remus has some water and food set out in the kitchen, but getting Sirius inside suddenly seems like a daunting task. It's nice out, anyway, the June morning sun is mild in a blue sky. Remus sits cross legged on the grass like this is what he had planned all along. He summons the food through a window instead, simple bread, butter, jam and water settling in the grass. There are several bars of chocolate, too, which suddenly strikes Remus as stupidly optimistic. A chocolate bar isn't going to be enough to clear Sirius' veins of the chill of five years with dementors.
Sirius makes no move to touch any of it, if he's even noticed it, but Remus is suddenly ravenous and butters a piece of fluffy white bread, fighting a little bit with his own shaking hands and trying not to watch Sirius too intensely.
"Where are we?"
Sirius' voice is rough, gravely.
"Oh," Remus says, feeling rude suddenly, for not having explained this. "My parents' house."
Sirius finally drags his arm away from his eyes, frowns a question in Remus' direction without meeting his eyes.
"They moved here a few years ago," Remus says. "They, um - They gave me the old one, the one I grew up in, I live there with Harry now. They're there, today, watching him for me. I just - I thought you might want quiet?"
Sirius shakes his head, squinting in the sunlight, but manages to convey 'I have no idea.'
The bread is sticking in Remus' throat - did he do something wrong? Would it have been better to bring Sirius to his home, to have Harry there, maybe some other old Order members and other friends to show support? Remus had considered that, but thought it would be overwhelming, would draw too much attention to who wasn't there. But now he-
"Is Harry alright?" Sirius asks in a rush.
Remus' heart turns over and his eyes fill.
"Yes," he says simply. "He's wonderful."
He wants to say more about Harry - he could talk about Harry all day - but Sirius' breathing is going uneven again. He's grimacing a little and taping one foot against the ground. Remus has had enough of his own lost moments to recognize a building panic attack.
"You're okay," Remus says quietly. "You're safe, Pads, you're alright."
There's that pained sound again, almost a whimper. When he sees Remus pressing away his own tears, he blanches and looks away.
"Don't," Sirius gasps, staring at the sky. "Don't."
"Sirius-"
"Just talk!" Sirius says sharply, nearly shouting. He finally looks Remus in the eye. His expression is pleading. He hides his face in his hands again. "Please just- I can't," he says, his voice muffled now. "Please just talk. About anything."
"I don't-"
"Remus. Please."
Even said in distress, his name in that voice feels like a gift. Remus takes a breath and files away all the things he knows he needs to say about guilt and fault and the words that want to burst out of him - words like I'm sorry and I will never forgive myself for leaving you in that place. Sirius is clearly begging him not to go there. Now's not the time.
"The Chudley Cannons swear this is their year," Remus says evenly.
Sirius lets out a shaky breath that is almost laughter and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. Remus keeps talking. This is one of their oldest rituals. At school they used to talk late at night, after James and Peter fell asleep, Sirius rambling on to distract Remus from moon-related pain, Remus intentionally boring Sirius with inane talk to drown out the buzz of his anxiety after a bad letter from home.
So Remus talks. He recaps the entire year of premier league quidditch. Sirius barely reacts. Remus talks about Britain's chances for the next world cup and lays back in the grass himself. It's pleasant, looking up at the sky through the leaves of the tree above them. He discusses his latest research for a witch who's studying a newly discovered ancient rune system. He describes the merits of different cauldrons.
He talks about nothing, basically. And as he does Sirius slowly, so slowly, relaxes. He stops tapping his foot. He uncovers his face, lets his hands fall at his side. He even drinks water and takes several bites of bread before laying down again. Some of the lines on his face smooth out.
Finally, Sirius' eyes slide closed. His breath goes deep and even. When there isn't any variation, when it is clear Sirius is truly and deeply asleep, Remus lets himself fall silent. His throat aches. He closes his own eyes, telling himself he's just resting them for a moment, and immediately succumbs to sleep himself, exhausted and strangely content.
Remus wakes what must be hours later; the sun is high in the sky. He looks to Sirius and finds him awake, sitting up against the wall. His expression is soft and distant and Remus thinks he recognizes that odd detachment he experiences himself after a nap gone too long. He gently shepherds Sirius to the house, to a shower, shows him the guest room with Remus' spare clothes set out. Sirius moves like a sleepwalker, and Remus is unsurprised when he passes by the open door of the guest room some time later to find Sirius dead asleep on top of the comforter. Remus waves the curtains shut and closes the door and Sirius sleeps, barely stirring, for nearly two days.
Back then, in school when they were 17, Remus kissed Sirius first. He'd wanted to for so long, had developed a crush on his handsome friend years earlier, but when it came to actually kissing him, he hadn't really meant to. They'd been running from a prank gone wrong, pursued by Filch, and hidden in the owlery. Sirius had been laughing, not trying very hard to be silent, and he'd been half leaning over Remus in the dark corner and Remus' 17-year-old hormones just could not handle it anymore, the way Sirius' hair kept falling in his face, the way he looked in the flickering lamp light, the way this brash, ridiculous pure blood boy looked at a quiet werewolf like he was brilliant and important. It was too much, Remus' chin seemed to move on its own accord. He tilted his head up, just enough to catch Sirius' lips with his.
Sirius had gone very very still, for just long enough for Remus to think of several creative ways to throw himself out of the nearest window.
Sirius pulled back. Remus ducked his head, but Sirius stopped him, hand under his chin, made him meet his eye again.
"You… meant to do that, right?" Sirius asked quietly, his grey eyes intent, piercing.
Remus couldn't breath. He should joke, brush it off, but he was suddenly very tired of pretending. He was afraid there were tears in his eyes. His friends meant everything to him, and if he'd messed that up…
Sirius smiled. It was a little uncertain around the edges.
"Are you really this dense?" Sirius asked, slightly breathless. "I want you to say yes."
"What?"
"I have been waiting for you to do - just - something for months," Sirius said. His mouth was pursed slightly to the side, still trying to look superior but also clearly nervous. Remus could see the worry in the line between his eyebrows. "I thought you - I saw how… Uh, I didn't want to rush you?"
"You wanted…"
Sirius laughed a little, the tone a bit hysterical. "Do you think I need to flip my hair 100 times a day?" he asked. "I do it because you get that stupid look on your face and-"
Remus grabbed Sirius by his shirt and kissed him hard on the mouth with more passion than finesse. Sirius kissed him back as though he was the one who couldn't believe where he was, or what he was doing, or with whom. As though he'd wanted this for a long time and wasn't sure it was real.
So teenage Remus kissed teenage Sirius and wound his finger into his hair, and held on until they both believed it.