Remus would have loved to have said it was as though no time had passed at all. That the moment Sirius walked back into his life, everything had simply fallen into place, just as it had been before.
But the truth was, time had passed.
Twelve years without the love of his life beside him. Twelve years of wondering if Sirius was alive in that cell, of believing he was a murderer, of hating him, of grieving him, and finally of learning the truth when it was far too late to reclaim all the years they'd lost.
They were older now, both in their early thirties, with new lines around their eyes and stories written into every scar they carried. Azkaban had not been kind to Sirius. Prison had hollowed him out, leaving sharp bones beneath pale skin and shadows that lingered behind his grey eyes even now, months after his escape.
Still, Sirius had always been stubborn.
He had healed, slowly and painstakingly. Remus had made sure of it. He'd sat him in a chair and carefully shaved away twelve years of neglect, trimmed the dark hair that had grown wild down his back, scrubbed the prison from his skin as gently as he could. He'd cooked enough meals for three people until Sirius finally stopped insisting he wasn't hungry. Little by little, the gauntness had softened. Healthy color had returned to his cheeks, and the slight curve at his waist had reappeared—the very place Remus used to rest his hands whenever he pulled Sirius close, as though he could somehow keep him tethered there forever.
Remus hadn't realized he'd been staring until Sirius caught him.
A slow, familiar smile spread across Sirius' face.
Remus had dreamed about it for years. He'd imagined it in lonely moments, searched for it in crowds, convinced himself he'd forgotten exactly how it looked, only to realize now that he hadn't forgotten a single detail.
He would have died a thousand deaths just to see that smile one more time.
"You're thinking too much," Sirius murmured, amusement warming his voice. Even after everything, it still carried that smooth, velvet cadence Remus knew by heart.
Without ceremony, Sirius untied the belt of the robe he'd thrown on after his shower and let it slip from his shoulders, dropping carelessly to the floor.
Of course he was thinking too much.
The reckless, brilliant boy who had stolen his heart when they were barely more than children. The boy who had grown into a man beside him, who had become his home long before either of them had been old enough to understand what that meant. The man who had been ripped away from him after they'd been given so little time together, leaving behind nothing but questions, heartbreak, and twelve years of unimaginable loss.
He had mourned Sirius once already. Mourned him alongside James and Lily, alongside Peter... Believing the man he'd loved had died long before the Dementors ever got their hands on him.
Close enough that, if Remus reached out, he could prove to himself this wasn't another cruel dream.
Remus swallowed around the lump in his throat before speaking.
The words were barely above a whisper, but Sirius heard them all the same.
He crossed the room with that same effortless saunter Remus remembered so vividly. Even after everything—after Azkaban, after starvation, after years of unimaginable suffering—Sirius still carried himself with an impossible sort of grace. Every movement was fluid and confident without trying to be. It was the same walk that had turned heads in Hogwarts' corridors, the same one that had made fifteen-year-old Remus lose his train of thought more times than he cared to admit.
And then there were those eyes.
Grey, bright, and fixed entirely on him with an expression Remus had once jokingly described as fuck me eyes. Sirius had laughed until he'd nearly cried the first time Remus said it, only to deliberately use that look whenever he wanted something afterward.
Some habits, it seemed, never died.
When Sirius stopped in front of him, Remus reached out almost hesitantly. His hands settled on Sirius' hips, warm beneath his palms, and he gently drew him closer until there was hardly any space left between them.
He let out a slow, trembling breath.
Still here. Still real. Not a dream.
Not another cruel fantasy his lonely mind had conjured in the middle of the night.
When he opened his eyes again, he found those familiar grey irises waiting patiently for him. There was no teasing now, no clever remark poised on Sirius' tongue. Only warmth and understanding. The quiet sort of love that had survived twelve impossible years.
Remus smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against Sirius' side.
"Gods, Sirius..." His voice cracked. "You're still so fucking beautiful."
A faint blush crept across Sirius' cheeks, and the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"You always did need glasses, Moony."
Remus laughed softly, the sound catching somewhere between amusement and tears.
He lifted one hand from Sirius' waist to cup his jaw, his thumb tracing gently over the stubble that had grown back since he had shaved that morning. The roughness beneath his fingertips made him smile all over again. It was another reminder that Sirius was here, solid and tangible beneath his touch.
"I've never seen more clearly."
He leaned in slowly, giving Sirius every chance to pull away if he wanted.
Instead, Sirius met him halfway.
Their lips found each other in a kiss that was impossibly gentle.
Remus' other hand slid around to the small of Sirius' back, holding him close, afraid that if he let go the years between them might somehow still be there. Sirius melted against him with a quiet sigh, one hand coming to rest against Remus' chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.
Remus guided Sirius back until the backs of his knees met the mattress. Sirius sank onto the bed without breaking the kiss, his fingers curling into the front of Remus' shirt as though he couldn't bear to let him drift even an inch away.
Remus followed him down, never straying far from him. His lips wandered with quiet reverence, lingering at the corner of Sirius' mouth before brushing across his cheek, his jaw, and the line of his throat. Every kiss seemed to ask the same question, to reassure himself over and over again that Sirius was truly here—that he was warm, alive, and finally within reach.
Sirius' breathing grew uneven beneath him.
"Remus..." he breathed, the sound barely more than a whisper.
Remus pressed another lingering kiss just below his collarbone, pausing only long enough to feel the rapid rhythm of Sirius' heartbeat beneath his lips. It raced against his skin, matching the frantic beat of Remus' own heart.
For a long moment, Remus simply stayed there, his forehead resting lightly against Sirius' chest as he closed his eyes.
Twelve years, and somehow Sirius still made him feel like the awkward seventeen-year-old who had never quite known what to do with the enormity of loving him.
A shaky laugh escaped him.
"What?" Sirius asked softly, his fingers combing through Remus' curls.
Remus looked up at him with a smile that was equal parts wonder and disbelief.
"I've missed you so much."
Sirius' expression softened, his thumb brushing gently across Remus' cheek.
Only then did Remus become acutely aware of himself. His shirt suddenly felt unbearably warm, the fabric clinging to his skin as though it were suffocating him. Every inch of him seemed to radiate heat simply from being this close to Sirius again.
He let out a quiet breathless laugh.
"I have entirely too many clothes on."
That finally drew a genuine laugh from Sirius that was bright, warm, and achingly familiar.
"I was wondering when you'd notice."
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