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The house was Remus', all his parents had left him though Sirius had never asked the whole story and Remus had never offered it. It was small and old and rather grey and all in all it gave the impression that it was about to slip from the cliff into the steely sea below.
It was not a very good house. The backdoor let in a permanent draught and neither the front window nor the front door entirely closed without locking spells. But, as Remus pointed out, it was his house.
"You're going to live here?" Sirius said.
"No," said Remus. He heard Sirius, next to him, exhale and pretended not to notice. Sirius, he thought, had not meant to do that anymore than Remus had meant to bring Sirius closer upon hearing the sigh. "It's not practical," he added.
Sirius made a questioning sound against Remus' shoulder.
"There are no jobs here," Remus explained. "And the nearest village is - "
"Not very near," mumbled Sirius.
Remus shifted. "No, not very."
*
Sirius woke up first. He always did. Neither of them were early risers, by any traditional definition, but Sirius still woke first. Which was good, because he was the better cook, though more prone to cheating with his magic. Although in this house, Remus was inclined to forgive that. The kitchen was in only marginally better shape than the rest of the rooms and in the winter it was even more prone to slow starts.
The bedroom was above the kitchen. It warmed as the kitchen did, and Remus woke with the warmth and the rising smell of food. He stretched drowsily in the bed. Sirius would be bringing up the plates soon. The sausage grease would drip from their plates onto the sheets and one of them would have to charm it off. They were both pretty good at it now.
"Take a walk with me," Sirius said when they finished their breakfast.
"Mmm," said Remus. He leaned over to kiss the grease off Sirius' lips. "Wash your face first."
*
There was no one to walk on their part of the beach for miles. Even if there had been neighbors, only the two of them were stupid enough to walk on the beach during the winter. Remus drew his threadbare collar up against his chin. His gloves and scarf, at least, were new. Presents from Sirius and James last Christmas. Remus had expressly forbidden them to purchase him a new coat this year. He could feel the frustration boiling beneath Sirius' skin every time the topic of the coat seemed ready to be raised.
"Do you really live here?" asked Sirius suddenly, irritably.
A smile tugged at the side of Remus' mouth – the side Sirius wouldn't be able to see. "No," he said, "I don't. Did you see that bird?"
"I have no patience for wildlife," said Sirius.
The other side of Remus' mouth turned up. "You have no patience for anything."
"I - " Sirius began. He sighed noisily. "You."
"What?"
"You," said Sirius. "I have patience for you."
"Sometimes," Remus pointed out, "you do and sometimes you don't."
Sirius said nothing. His gaze slanted over to Remus and he caught the smile. Remus hadn't let it slip away yet. Sirius made an odd sound in his throat and Remus' smile widened.
It was hard to tell if Sirius bent down or Remus stretched up, but either way they were kissing on the beach with the winter wind around them.
"Sometimes," said Sirius when they'd drawn back from each other, "sometimes I do have patience for you."