I came along,

I wrote a song for you,

And all the things you do...

"James. I." Sirius swallowed back at the pressure in his chest as it rose and fell, like it was trying to inflate itself but there was a hole, a leak, and every time it would fill, almost to the brim, some of it would slowly begin to escape - and then it would start all over again, never completely full but always building, pressing. It was maddening. He swiped back soaked midnight locks from his face, and when he blinked, heavy black eyelashes tried to stick together, the fat water droplets still clinging to them pooling as they met, weighing them down.

"Sirius, it's the middle of the night, what happened? Are you okay?"

Sirius pressed damp lips together and tried to nod but his neck had other ideas, and he was shaking his head, the movement too subtle for the tempest of emotions forcing it on its too honest direction, but maybe that was because he was fighting it, because he didn't want to feel any more vulnerable at that moment. Not with his jawbone still aching and his side continuing to burn fiercely along the entire right side despite the numerous healing potions he'd swiped in his hurry when he'd left Twelve Grimmauld. Because it would seem his mother and his father's opinion on how to 'raise' him had changed at some point, at least according to his mother anyway. "I ran away," he said and then let out the breath he had forgotten to expel with the words.

He looked up and met James's shocked expression with a weak excuse for a smile, lips barely tugging up one corner, his grip still tight around the piece of mirror he'd almost cried in relief upon finding in his jacket pocket on the Knight Bus, and then he actually had, silently, with his hand hiding his face as he'd remembered Regulus throwing the piece of clothing down to him from the window, his younger brother in almost a panic that he take it. "I've nowhere to go," he said and wished it sounded just the slightest bit funny. And he didn't even know what he was doing there, standing on rain-licked gravel at fuck-knows-when-o'clock, but he always told James everything, and this felt like everything.

James pushed the door open wide as he stood in Quidditch-themed pajamas that Sirius always made fun of, but now he just wanted to hug, and the soft warm glow from lit candles in the two-story entryway flickered in greeting to the cold and wet wizard. "Of course you do, come on Pads."

Sirius looked down at the neatly manicured flower bed of yellow and white that framed the serenely picturesque estate that was Potter Manor. And he let out a rough laugh. "I'm a mess," he said, meaning so much more than his soaked to the bone jeans, and ruined leather jacket, or even his sopping wet trainers he was sure would leave a muddy trail on pristine wooden floors. Because he was a rainbow dipped in Remus's favorite Honeyduke's chocolate on the outside compared to what was lurking on the inside.

"Well, we'll just have to clean you up then," James said matter-of-factly, his words so confident and simple that Sirius found he almost believed them, that maybe he wasn't a lost cause. Because James Potter was a stubborn arse, but he knew when to jump ship, and he was a fast bugger. He had ran like a Leviathan trying to escape Purgatory in third year after they had charmed all of the Ravenclaws' books in their common room to turn to dust upon opening but not before crowing (hah), 'Marauders rule!' Ravenclaws - Sirius had learned the hard way - were very protective of their texts. "Come on, get your wet arse in here."

Sirius took one last look down at himself, swiped fruitlessly at his mud-streaked black shirt that stuck to him stubbornly like a second skin, sucked in a deep breath that tickled more than ached and found himself moving towards the open door of Potter Manor, the crimson-colored stain in his mind that was Twelve Grimmauld growing exponentially smaller with each step forward and up.

And James slung an arm around his shoulders when he reached the stoop, looking more subdued than Sirius could ever remember seeing him, excepting once; when he had found out what Sirius had planned to do to Snape, and to Remus, and Sirius felt a sudden swoop in his stomach and a fluttering in his chest, and he wanted to back peddle, because maybe he shouldn't have left home, maybe he didn't deserve any better. Maybe he had been right where he belonged. But James's hand palmed the back of his head, shoving him forward lazily, and his best friend smiled crookedly.

"You smell like a bloody wet dog," he complained half-heartedly, as the door shut behind them in a charmed silence, once more keeping out the dark. Sirius worrying in the back of his mind, where things tended to get muddled at even the best of times, that some of it had managed to sneak in on him.

Grey eyes pointed down.

"You're gonna have to talk to him."

Sirius nodded. Quietly. Because movements could be quiet just like they could be loud. And Sirius's body needed to be quiet, because his mind was screaming, and he could only handle so much noise.

"Sirius. He's going to be here tomorrow, and I don't want to have to spend the next three weeks in awkward-as-bloody-fuck-land." And then again, "You're gonna have to talk to him."

Sirius began to chew on his thumbnail as he tried to reconcile what his best friend wanted, and what Remus wanted. Or didn't want. Because Remus had said absolutely nothing to him the morning after the full. After he had sent Snape to him, knowing he'd have no control, knowing he might remember, knowing what he'd do. He had simply sat quietly on the edge of the hospital bed in the back corner of the infirmary, arms wrapped around himself not too tight but not too loose, and ragged sandy locks had hid hazel eyes as Sirius had tried his hardest to apologize enough. And when he had finally stopped, heart feeling like it had sprinted all the way to the moon and back, his entire body waiting in an oddly agonizing state of hopeful dread - he had said nothing.

He hadn't even looked up.

"What if he doesn't want to though? What if he doesn't want to talk to me?"

He felt the bed dip in front of him, and grey eyes turned up to meet a thoughtful James. "Then you try again later." There was a pause. "He will come around, Pads."

Sirius nodded and looked back down at his hands. "Right." He felt his thoughts try to take flight when anxiety began to swell inside him - like a beast, searching for something weak to feast on - and they were all too aware of their shortcomings.

Because James wasn't always right, sometimes he made mistakes too, even if they weren't nearly as monumental as his.

Do you know...

"You okay Remus?"

Remus shrugged, slacks-covered legs swinging a little as they dangled over the edge of the Astronomy Tower as he sat in the unexplainable space where there was no stone banister and which Sirius had coined upon first seeing in first (quite distastefully, in Remus's opinion) as Suicide Spot for, You-Know the Lazy Ones, Remus, because he'd reasoned there were all sorts who wanted to end their lives and not everyone could be bothered to climb over the banister. "Not planning on jumping, are you?" he tried teasing, 'tried' being the operative word unfortunately.

The distance to the ground far below obviously looked even more impressive under the dark night sky, because Remus didn't look up as he mumbled, "I'm still deciding."

Sirius sighed and lowered himself down by the wizard. "He didn't mean it."

"I'm pretty sure he did." Remus's legs stopped. "...Maybe he's right."

And Sirius felt his chest clench, and he shook his head. "No. No, he's definitely wrong."

He didn't say anything else as he strained tired eyes to make out the Quidditch pitch in the distance, where he figured James and Peter to be, and he took in a lungful of the damp spring air, and then he felt a hand slip tentatively into his, and he gave the fingers a squeeze as he remembered his best friend's complete flip-out. It's just not right had been the crux of his incredibly offensive and completely unasked for opinion on his two best friends being that intimate with each other after he had stumbled upon them in Sirius's bed after classes being that intimate with each other. And Sirius, when the wild-haired wizard had finally stopped to catch his breath had responded with an encouraging, 'But don't hold back, tell us how you really feel, Prongs,' that had just started him up all over again, but with a renewed fervor.

He grimaced as he remembered Remus paling at some of his best friend's more colorful wording to describe his and Remus's 'feelings' towards each other, because James had used air quotes. He really was a gigantic asshole 'sometimes.'

"James'll come around, he's just in shock." The tall wizard leaned over, cocking his head so he could press his lips gently to Remus's cheek, and then he trailed them further back, grazing along chilled skin so he could murmur a little devilishly, "We were being a bit.. adventurous."

And Remus laughed, the sound tired but warm, like the heat coming off an oven that had been on all day for Holiday cooking, making Sirius's insides feel all toasty. "Adventurous. Is that what you'd call that?"

He shifted closer, and rested his head on Remus's shoulder, his breath leaving him heavily when it didn't relax under his touch, because sometimes Remus wasn't the confident one, and he couldn't blame James for that even if he wanted to. "He'll come around," he said and then more impishly, "Just give him some time to forget where I had my tongue." His resting place shook at that, and he smiled. "It was rather nice, didn't you think?"

"Rather," Remus hummed, and then he said something else, as they sat at the very edge of the highest point at Hogwarts that night, just the two of them under a blanket of well known constellations and a waxing gibbous, both invading in their moment quite poetically considering. It had been hesitant, and soft. Vulnerable.

"I - I love you, Sirius. You know that, right?"

Sirius could still remember not responding—the silence—his breath having felt like it was trapped, a hostage inside his own chest to the sudden tempest of confusing emotions whirling inside it.

He hadn't responded.

You know I love you so,

You know I love you so.