Chapter Text
“It was a difficult day in court for the one and only Sirius Black, today, as the verdict in his case was delivered. Mr. Black was spared prison time and a hefty fine for charges of assault and public disturbance, however, he will have to spend time in court-mandated psychological therapy. Mr. Black refused to comment, as we just saw, and he has left the court house a few moments ago, heading to an un-disclosed location, likely one of his residences—”
Remus sighed, slumping on to the lounge as he switched the t.v off.
It was half an hour before he moved again. The door lock clicked, gently pushing open and shut as a body shuffled in. Remus pulled his head from his hands and stood from the lounge, walking down the hallway until he found the man he’d seen on the television putting his coat on the hook.
“Sirius.”
Sirius looked up, turning around as he pushed his sunglasses into his knotted hairline to reveal red-rimmed eyes. “Remus.”
“How are you?” Voice tight, Remus cleared his throat.
“Okay as I can be,” Sirius said impassively, pressing his lips together.
“You’ve been crying,” Remus astutely pointed out feeling awkward.
Running his tongue over his teeth, Sirius laughed incredulously, a bubble forming in his throat. “Fuckin' therapy is for pansies, Remus. Crying is for pansies. Using all sorts of flowery language is for—”
“Writers? Poets? Lyricists? Other brilliant people?” Remus interrupted him confidently, daring the shorter man to continue.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, backing down.
But Remus didn’t take it easily. “What are you so afraid of?” He pressed.
Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”
Remus stepped forward, poking Sirius in the chest. “You’re afraid to be seen, that’s why this is such a horrible fate for you. What are you hiding, Sirius?” He asked desperately. Open yourself to me, I beg.
Sirius brushed passed Remus on his way to stand in the living room. TO have the upper-hand, standing in the bigger room while Remus was now the one in. the small, cluttered corner by the door. “Nothing, forget about it,” Sirius said offhandedly, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table.
Crossing the room, Remus plucked the carton from the man’s fingers. Anything to get him to listen. “Sirius, I can’t just—”
“I said, forget about it!” Sirius bellowed, whirring on Remus as his chest heaved up and down. Silence. It made Remus feel small, like he did around his father when they used to go up against each other—before Remus left home at sixteen.
Remus reared back into the hallway. He slammed the carton on the shoe rack, fumbling for his coat and slipping on a pair of loafers. “Fine,” he said sharply. “I’ll forget about it. Perhaps we can chat after I have dinner with Lily.”
Silence. “What?” Sirius was standing still, his face the perfect picture of a child being told no for the very first time. A small part of Remus bitterly mused about how different they were—how it could never work between them, no matter how he tried.
“Lily and I have dinner plans,” Remus said to the door. Over his shoulder, he glanced momentarily at Sirius again, unable to ignore the hurt in his eyes. “Unless…I can cancel them,” Remus said. He took a deep breath, hanging his head resignedly.
Just as he was about to shrug his coat from his shoulders and latch onto his beau, Sirius sighed. “No, Remus, go. I think I need some time alone, anyway,” he said quietly. Quieter than Remus ever thought the boisterous man was capable of.
Hesitantly—slowly, Remus pulled the door open, grabbing his keys from the shelf above the shoe rack. He was halfway out when he turned around to find Sirius standing there still—perhaps a few steps closer, watching. “Perhaps you could give James a call,” Remus mentioned.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Remus returned late into the evening—a little buzzed from the few glasses of wine Lily had so kindly poured. The flat was dark, pitch black save for a couple of night lights casting a gentle glow in the hallway, the kitchen and the living room. The carton of cigarettes was sitting where he'd left it, unopened.
It was not until Remus had taken off his coat, put his keys down and slipped out of his shoes that Sirius appeared at the end of the hallway. His eyes were puffy, his hair as knotty as when he returned home. He was wearing a pair of black satin pyjamas beneath Remus’s favourite cardigan. It reminded Remus that Sirius was just his in these moments, a mile away from his rock star persona whom Sirius so dearly adored.
But Remus liked this version of Sirius better.
“Remus,” he said, walking down the hallway. He stopped, leaving a ruler’s length between them. “I am but a tortured poet. And I worry, more than anybody would know, that perhaps healing—if I talk, what will I have to sing about?” Sirius asked the question genuinely. He didn’t know who he was outside of rock and roll. It was the price one would pay for being so successful, Remus assumed.
“Sirius,” Remus sighed, closing the distance.
Sirius looked to his feet, a frown marring his features. “All my life, this is what I have,” he whined. “This is my everything, this is why I am something. And they’re asking me to kill that part of me.”
Remus latched on to Sirius’s hands, running his fingers over the man’s calloused palms. He shook his head. “The darkness,” Remus answered. “They’re asking you to kill the darkness, Sirius. Nobody’s asking you to forget what has made you, to forgive your parents. They—I want you to be happier.”
Sirius’s breath hitched. “What if I can’t do that? Have you ever thought perhaps happiness was not meant for me, that perhaps I like being miserable?” His voice thick with shame and fear, Sirius closed his eyes as a lone tear rolled off his cheek to the floor.
“Who told you that?”
“Enough people to make it true.”
Remus imagined a young Sirius being told he liked to be miserable in the midst of a depressive spell. A young Sirius who didn’t quite understand why he was so sad, being told he was doing it on purpose. His heart broke for the man who still couldn't seem to move on, to brush things off, or wave issues away so easily as another.
“Sirius. You can’t help the sadness. You can’t help it, because there is so much of it—it’s like it clings to you, the anger, the numb emptiness. It encompasses you, at times. And what I want is not for you to lose what makes you.”
“Then what? How do I become happy when all I have ever been is sad without losing myself?”
Running his hands down Sirius’s shoulders, Remus pressed his face closer. “By allowing me to look after you,” he whispered in Sirius’s ear. Sirius looked up into Remus’s gaze, eyes widening at their sudden proximity. “Let’s have a bath,” Remus suggested.
Sirius nodded imperceptibly, allowing Remus to take the lead, pulling him down the hallway. It wasn’t perfect, nothing was magically fixed, but Remus thought it was a start.
A mutual understanding of the idea that people can change without losing the child within who went through it all.