Notes: Never been to London. Sorry for possible inaccurate details in that respect. Believe me, if I could fix this, I would.
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Remus knows that Sirius needs him, still. It is a longing that comes from too many years of solitude and nightmares and missing him. It is an aching that comes back to them in the dark of the room and the dark of the night, in rough bruises left accidentally on skin.
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February, 1981
Remus never liked Valentine's Day, because for several years he found himself sitting in the common room of Gryffindor Tower with a book, trying to convince himself that he wasn't jealous. Especially, he always added, especially not of the girls Sirius always took out, the ones he walked down the halls with, his arm around their waists and their bodies pulled close to his, that lecherous smile on his face and that longing look on theirs. It was disgusting, really. It was crude.
The sun was streaming through the windows of the bedroom of the flat that Remus still thought of as new. When he reached out a hand for a warm body and his fist closed on empty space and the edge of a sheet, he was forced to open his eyes, and that was when he found the piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He rubbed his eyes and pushed stray hairs out of his line of vision, sat up, and felt the cold air of a warming spell warn off hit his bare skin. The note was short.
Moony, for some reason I have gotten up early today. I don't know why this is, but it can only be a sign of Immanent Doom. I thought I should tell you that you look very funny while you're asleep, and also, that your hair is too long and you need to shave. I have gone to get breakfast so we won't starve (I thought it a good plan, considering), and will be back soon. Oh yeah, and happy Valentine's Day, you wanker. Padfoot
Remus felt just a little dumb for smiling, but he couldn't help it. He took advantage of Sirius's absence to take an uninterrupted shower, and was just walking back into the main room—a large expanse of space serving as living room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one—when Sirius burst through the door carrying a large bag of groceries.
"Moony, mate, we have half an hour's worth of hot water a day and you are constantly using up eight times your share. I think maybe now I'll hold your muffin hostage."
Remus's hair was still wet, and he was shivering at the cold of the flat, and one of his feet was still without its sock, and he wanted that muffin, but more than that he wanted Sirius, because it was Valentine's Day and they were alone together all day. No Order work. No James and Lily and Harry. No Peter. No jobs to go to or places to rush off to. Just them. He realized it for the first time right at that moment, with Sirius holding the muffin just out of reach and grinning like a fool.
"I missed you," he said. The words felt strange and foreign from his lips.
"Damn Moony. I just went to get some food."
"That's not what I meant." Remus sighed and tried to drop the subject. He found his way around the still unpacked boxes and misplaced furniture, to the half kitchen where Sirius was standing, with muffins and oranges and ruffled hair. He hadn't worn a jacket, yet the February chill didn't seem to affect him, as if he lived in a world slightly skewed from reality.
"What did you mean, then?" he asked. He was earnest and leaning, and his head was tilting, and his nose moving, too, like a dog's. "When did you miss me?"
"In general. You know what I mean."
They were passing into dangerous territory. Remus could feel it, in the same way that he felt the pull of the moon. He grabbed a muffin and started to eat, still standing up and his gaze anywhere but Sirius, who had stepped back.
"I can't read your damn mind," he said simply. He even crossed his arms against his chest. Remus cautioned a few glances at him, out of the corner of his eye, flickering glances. Sirius was thinking, so deeply that he had turned in on himself. Maybe he was waiting for an answer, still.
When Remus didn't give one, he walked quickly to their room and closed the door.
It was more of a bang, actually, Remus was pondering, as he sat down and finished eating and became content with just being still, and running his nails against the worn tabletop. He had stopped thinking about what would happen with Sirius later—when they tried to dance around making up, not admitting that they had fought in the first place—when Sirius returned. He had pulled on a jacket and a scarf, and he was carrying the same sort of things over his arms. "Here," he said, and dumped the pile in Remus's lap.
"I think this would be an appropriate time to ask what the hell you think you're doing."
"I thought you would know what I mean," Sirius answered. His words were so frigid Remus thought he was angry.
London in February had a certain sort of chill, distinct and all its own, deep enough to pinch at Remus even through his jacket but not bad enough to keep him from wanting to stay right where he was. "I know you don't like the cold," Sirius was whispering to him, right in his ear and his breath against his skin. "But I thought…you know…this is important. I want all of London to know it doesn't matter who they have, I'm living with the best person there is."
It never mattered to Sirius, the things that mattered to other people, the gender or the sexuality or any of it, technical words that glided above their surface. It was always hard to read Sirius, the way he could be thinking anything, the way he looked at things so differently than anybody else. But he knew some things that Remus knew. He knew that two jackets were better than one. He knew that it didn't matter who saw you if you were all wrapped up in somebody else. He knew that Valentine's Day was only ever any good if you were standing outside and it was snowing again and there wouldn't be any more hot water for the rest of the day and nothing else mattered—good or bad or any adjective at all—if you were so close to someone else that you could hear his heart beat. The sound, thick and consistent and reverberating, was not so much a sound at all, as a feeling, a knowledge shared by two people alone.
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end part 2/10