desclaimer: Not mine. Sirius, Remus and the dust in the infirmary all belong to the wonderfull, brilliant JK Rowling. I just stash them in the closet and take them out to play with once in a while.
Sirius sits, hands resting on his knees, palms down. The infirmary's air is stale; to Sirius, it smells of sweat and dust and sickness.
Remus is lying in the bed before him, silent and tired-looking, his light brown hair forming a halo on his pillow. He is still asleep, or perhaps he has not yet reached that stage, unconscious still from the monthly ordeal he had endured the previous night.
Sirius looks at him, unmoving. On the clock on the wall, the minutes tick by; five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour. A fly buzzes by, its annoying hum loud in the room, until at last it stops on Sirius' right hand.
Sirius waves it away distractedly, and resumes waiting.
Three quarters of an hour...
Suddenly, Sirius feels a change in the air. He tenses, muscles stiff from sitting still so long, quivering on the edge of his uncomfortable chair.
Remus' fingers twitch. His lashes flutter. His head falls to face Sirius, and he opens his eyes.
"Hello," he says.
Sirius lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding until this moment, relaxing. He smiles at Remus, a soft, gentle smile he saves only for him.
"Hello," he answers. "How are you feeling?"
Remus sighs, giving Sirius an exhausted smile back "I've been better" he says. There are deep shadows under his eyes, blue and standing out like bruises on his pale skin. His left arm is bandaged, from shoulder to wrist, and when he looks closer, Sirius can see the edge of another bandage peeking from the starched collar of his Hospital robes.
Sirius leans in, feeling his insides twist. He hates this bloody infirmary, hates seeing Remus patched-up and gray against the crisp white sheets.
"Anything broken?" he asks, his fingers tracing the wounded boy's face. Remus sighs again, a fleeting half-smile on his face as he surrenders to the touch "My shin, but Madam Pomfrey mended it already. Just scratches left".
Sirius scowls. Those aren't scratches; those are bites from sharp teeth, gashes from razor-like claws that tore at soft flesh with a rage born of frustration. He wants to say something, anything, but-
"Don't, Sirius" Remus says quietly. His eyes are dark, shadowed, but Sirius can still see some of the gold of the wolf, deep within the warm brown.
Sirius bites his lip, then nods. There will be enough time for that tomorrow. Now isn't the time, with Remus worn and painful, and so soft under Sirius' fingers.
"Go back to sleep," he tells him, smoothing damp hair from his forehead.
Remus nods and tilts his face up for a kiss, which Sirius gives him gladly, laughing.
"Will you be here when I wake?" he asks, voice drifting and sleepy. Sirius arranges his blankets, and leans back again.
"Of course" he says, and means always.
8888888888
Remus becomes aware, gradually; first of sunlight, pressing on his closed eyelids; than of the aching in his sore limbs. After that, he hears the breathing.
He turns his head, already knowing who it is, waiting so quietly beside him.
"Hello," he says, as Sirius smiles at him from his seat next to the bed. Remus can almost feel the tension leaking out of his shoulders.
"Hello," Sirius answers, his gray eyes worried, contrasting his relaxed expression "how are you feeling?"
Remus sighs, smiling back despite the fact that he can feel his dry lips crack as they stretch. "I've been better," he admits.
Sirius leans close, his blue-black hair tumbling into his eyes, his handsome face intense, and puts his hand on Remus' cheek, his touch gentle and careful. His fingers leave burns on Remus' skin. "Anything broken?"
Remus tries to shrug, but it tugs at the half-healed gash on his upper torso, and he gives up "my shin" he answers "but Madam Pomfrey mended it already. Just scratches left".
Sirius' pale eye cloud, and his mouth thins as a scowl forms on his face. Remus knows what he's thinking; they had this conversation plenty of times before. Despite how he tries, Sirius cannot understand why the werewolf turns on himself, and precisely because he doesn't understand, Remus cannot explain. Sirius keeps thinking Remus can reason with the wolf, can somehow stop from hurting himself. Even now, Remus can see faint accusation in his eyes, mingled with confusion, although pain is the strongest emotion by far.
"Don't, Sirius" he says, as the black-haired boy opens his mouth. Remus feels too tired to have this conversation now, when all he wants to do is shut is eyes and Sirius' fingers feel so good on his face.
As if reading his thoughts, Sirius nods, hand now in Remus' hair "go back to sleep" he tells him, and Remus is only too happy to concede.
He tilts his head for a kiss, and Sirius kisses him softly, grinning. Remus closes his eyes, already drifting "will you be here when I wake up?"
He is dimly aware of Sirius rearranging his blankets.
"Of course" he says, confident and solid, and to Remus it sounds more like he meant "forever", but he is too tired to say "forever" back.