Well. You look like you are, at least. [Remus tacked on an explanation softly, no longer confused by Sirius’s questions like those but now used to having to go a step further to explain himself sometimes, like he was guiding Sirius to the light instead of letting him linger in the dark. And he was so dark now; the both of them were, really, both having to remember how to Be in a world that had hated and shunned the two of them for separate reasons in different ways. Remus hadn’t thought he’d have the luck to navigate the minefield of living around people he loved ever again, especially not with Sirius nearby - and Sirius was skittish, no doubt about it, saying he was ‘nearby’ was pushing it but Remus was clinging to the fact that they shared the same house and some of the same memories.
He looked Sirius over warily, the light from the fire casting shadows over the other man that only seemed to make the sunken look in his face more prominent. But he was still handsome - Remus could see it underneath the toll Azkaban had taken on him, or maybe it was just the flashes of the old Sirius that he couldn’t help but see - and he was looking better these days. He imagined they were both looking better with a solid roof over their heads and a constant source of nourishment that didn’t consist of any rats.
When he spoke again his voice was still soft and slow (he always spoke a little slower these days, running words through his 12-year tested filter) like he was still afraid anything more might spook Sirius out of the room, tilting his head gently to gesture Sirius should come a little closer inside] I’m alright, you know. Just needed a moment to breathe, I don’t want you missing out on the fun on my account.
Good. Good. I hope so. I meant to. [despite the statement of intent, there was very little indication of purpose behind his tone as he stood there in the doorway, feeling like some vampire who needed permission before being able to enter a room; he rubbed his hands together slowly and stepped over the threshold, but he hovered there without taking any extra space—a far cry from the bombastic man that had once taken pride in his ability to make a gigantic room feel small and filled with energy. His charisma had once been enough to make even him forget that he wasn’t the tallest, largest, loudest person in any given room; now it was all he could do to stand slightly shrunken against the wallpaper beside the door, leaning against the molding and making himself slightly smaller—or perhaps that was just the way his shoulders would hunch from now on]
I’m not missing anything on your account. [he said it quietly as well, but not for the same reasons Remus’s voice had changed. Sirius had had time to practice what he would say to all the lost people in his life, of course, sitting in the same small room for twelve years. But it wasn’t often that he dreamed he’d actually get out to say them—and once he had, to Remus especially, that was all there was. He thought that at the most, he’d get to say his piece; some apology, a slice of explanation. He could still remember when he was fifteen and felt like he knew everything there was to know about being an adult, about the world, about the amount of sadness one person could hold in their chest without imploding. Now here he was in his thirties, living well past the expiration date he’d imagined, feeling like he was in a world that had no place for him anymore despite the way he used to carry himself like seas would move or split or dry up if he fancied a walk through them. It was true, technically, that he wasn’t missing anything on Remus’s account—not consciously, anyway. But after all this time, after all the space between them, there was no way he could fail to notice when Remus left the room. Sirius still felt like they were tethered together somehow; two floating, aimless constellations in the black hole that was Grimmauld place. It was easier to play off when the house wasn’t full, when there weren’t guests to entertain and it was understandable that neither of them would want to be alone.
But the fact stood that Remus had always needed time away from the crowds; time to be on his own to recharge and regenerate and feel up to socializing again. Sirius used to be the opposite—he’s gotten his energy and found himself feeling grounded in the loud throng of people in the city, or the warm embrace of a too-crowded party in the common room. These were the places where he could shout, laugh, lose himself in the moment. Perhaps it was the isolation in prison that had changed that for Sirius, but he knew there had to be more to it, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind it was understood that just as much as Remus needed time alone, Sirius just physically needed time with Remus.]
I can go, if you want. [Gone were the guilt trips and empty offers of the past. As Sirius nodded toward the doorway, it was quite clear that he really was asking if Remus needed more space, more time, more distance. Sirius was stuck so often lately feeling like he was desperate for company and feeling like he was a burden on all those around him; he knew he should be off enjoying Harry and the others, and the brief moments of genuine holiday cheer they dragged out of him, but some types of sadness were too hard to quit, and Remus was one of those—it was like picking at a cut when it was in that place of healing where the new skin had grown over but the injury was still painfully visible underneath.]
[Plainly, he looked back at Remus just as he felt Remus looking at him, and not for the first time that night Sirius let himself be sad for just a moment about everything they’d built and clung to and lost. Just a moment, though—if Sirius had learned anything from Azkaban it was that the cold the dementors instilled never left, even when the creatures weren’t around. One moment was more than enough. One moment of being sad was too much. It could mean death, if he didn’t bounce back fast enough. Fortunately, incorrigible flirt that he was, Sirius had never been able to resist flirting with that sense of dread. He turned his attention instead to thinking about how different Remus looked, even though he knew he shouldn’t; it was still a surprise every time Sirius walked into a room and saw him, because Sirius spent so much time living in his head, even now, that his eyes never quite adjusted to seeing the man that was genuinely standing before him; they kept trying to replace Remus’s lined and worn face with the slightly cheerier one of their shared youth.]
[It wasn’t just Remus that his brain was using to play tricks. Up in Sirius’s parents’ old room (the place he felt compelling to sleep in, despite all logic and all reason, now that he was the ‘man of the house’ so to speak—wasn’t it ironic that they’d gotten what they wanted after all? Him running the home and being trapped within it forever?) all the mirrors were covered and all the windows drawn shut behind thick curtains. He didn’t want to risk catching his reflection in a pane of glass when he wasn’t ready for it. For Sirius, the most jarring thing wasn’t how time had changed him; it wasn’t the way sadness and isolation and malnutrition had worn away at his features. It was the simple fact that when he saw his new face in the mirror, he DID recognize it. It wasn’t a stranger. The features (the sunken eyes, the insane glint, the traces of a madman] were familiar and already known to him. They were the features of his father; the features painted over and over and over in the portraits that lined the wall and dotted the family tree in the House Of Black. They were the things Sirius would snicker about as a young teen, and use as the differentiation between himself and his maddeningly mad forefathers. Between losing his mind and finding his way ‘home’ again, Sirius felt more like them than ever, and it was crushing him. But slowly. Everything was slow nowadays.]
[Sirius took just one more step into the room. His mind wandered back to what Remus had said earlier, about it looking like Sirius was having a good time.]
Are you, then? Actually having a good time, I mean? [He found himself praying that he wasn’t prying, another first for him; he found himself hoping they were at a place where they could level with each other, even though they used to exist in that place and that place only] You looked it. For a bit. And then not as much. That’s all.
