Remus sighed and turned over in his sleep, mussing the bedsheets. He muttered something that Kingsley strained to hear. But Remus' voice, never loud, was now so soft that it might have been a caress and not a noise. Kingsley didn't worry overmuch about catching it, though, because the caress wasn't for him. It never was.

With a sigh, Kingsley shrugged himself up against the pillows. He groped for his wand on the bedside table, and turned on the lamp so that it spread a little yellow light over him, and spilled a bit onto the edges of Remus' face. Kingsley took a book from the table, but his eyes somehow kept slipping off the side of the page onto Remus' face. It was just possible with the dim light of the lamp to see that a few lines were creased across his forehead, aside from the white scars that covered most of his face anyway. But Kingsley could tell what was just physical scarring and what was a different kind of hurt. Maybe other people couldn't see the difference, but Kingsley couldn't stop seeing it. Not even if he tried. He knew, because he had tried.

Fingers suddenly brushed Kingsley's arm, and he looked down to see that Remus was reaching out. Kingsley scooted away just a tiny bit, and the lines on Remus' face creased a little more, and his hand reached a little farther.

A noise caught in Kingsley's throat, and he swung himself out of bed as gently as possible, but he still managed to catch his ankle on the edge of the table. He cursed mentally, stretching to find a word bad enough to suit him, while the thought ran in the back of his head how strange it was for him to do anything as inelegant as tripping. He was always the strong, silent shadow in the background, the one that could be behind you before you even knew anyone was there.

There was a cool breeze coming from the window of the little room, so Kingsley stepped closer to it without bothering to put anything on. He knew he'd return to bed before long, anyway. He glanced behind him, wondering whether he ought to do so already.

Remus' hand had caught a fold in the bedsheet that had gotten there from all of his tossing and turning. He cuddled nearer to his hand and the scrap of fabric it held. "Sirius," he whispered, and this time Kingsley caught it.

Wordlessly, Kingsley shook his head in answer to his own question. No, he wouldn't return to bed right then. Maybe later, but not then.

He had never been much for threesomes.