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Things had changed in the twelve years that Sirius was away from Remus. Sirius himself was unsure how to feel about it, wondering why he thought things would be the same. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Remus had grown up and Sirius’ emotional maturity had been stunted in Azkaban. They didn’t talk like they used to, keeping conversation light and superficial. It was as if Remus was walking on pins and needles, not wanting to say anything that might set Sirius off even if that was exactly what the other man wanted to happen.
“I wish you would just scream at me, Remus.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To get all that fucking weight off your chest? To fucking feel something again? Beats dancing around each other like nothing has changed, like we haven’t changed!”
“…I don’t want to fight you, Sirius. Let’s not fight.”
It was selfish for Sirius to wish that Remus was suffering with him. But the other man had had twelve years to process all the things that happened during that first war—a luxury Sirius was never able to attain—and seemed to be a functional human being for the most part. Of course, Sirius could still see the hesitation Remus had with others, keeping them at arm’s length in order to protect himself. He wondered if it was a product of losing everyone that was close to him all at once or if Remus had always been like that and the Marauders were the only ones who persisted enough in breaking down those walls. Either way, Sirius felt rather terrible for loving it when Remus finally broke down in front of him one night in the darkness of Grimmauld Place. It was like they could share the pain for a time. How selfish was that?
“I miss them, you know. James and Lily?”
“Yes, I know.”
“I wasn’t able to mourn the loss of them in Azkaban.” Or you.
“I’m truly sorry, Sirius. That must have been terrible.”
“At least I still have you.”
“Yes. You still have me.”
He missed Remus. Missed the way his name sounded in Remus’ accent when they made love, the taste of Remus’ lips against his own, the loud laugh that was a rare occurrence, and he especially missed saying “I love you” to the man and receiving a similar response rather than the tight smile paired with sad eyes he got these days. Often times, he felt as though he had lost Remus the same day he lost James and Lily. It was unbearable.
Tonks was a ray of sunshine in the darkness of the looming war with her ever-changing hair and quick wit. She came by a lot and Remus always seemed to smile when she was around. Sirius tried not to be jealous, but that was never something he was good at. He wondered if Remus called her “love” the same way he used to call Sirius. He hoped not. She was quite wonderful, bright and energetic, even reminding Sirius a bit of his old self. Perhaps that’s why Remus had taken a liking to her, but that could just be wishful thinking on Sirius’ part.
“Tonks is great.” He said idly one night.
“She is.” Remus replied.
“You look happy with her around.”
“…I suppose.”
He wished Remus would admit it. That he loved Tonks. It was silly to keep dancing around it to spare Sirius’ feelings. That’s not what he wanted. What he wanted Remus, but if he couldn’t have him in that way anymore then Remus should at least be honest with the both of them and move on. Sirius could stay stuck in the past alone if it meant Remus would be happy.
If things had happened differently, if they had trusted one another during that first war, Sirius wondered if any of this would have happened. The drifting apart, the inability to get close again out of fear and guilt. Oh, did Sirius feel guilty for leaving Remus like he did.
“I still love you.”
“Sirius—”
“You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”
Remus stayed with him at Grimmauld Place even after everyone else had long gone home after order meetings. They would sit mostly in silence, decompressing and unsure what to say to each other. Remus would read and Sirius would drink aged wine found in his father’s cellar, watching Remus, longing for more but never asking. Perhaps he should have asked.
The taste of cherry wine tasted far too sweet on his tongue for how bitter he felt, and he cringed as it went down his throat. Remus loved the wine, though, and Sirius wondered if he would get thirsty enough to come taste it on his lips. Remus never did.
“Don’t know why you continue to drink that stuff if you’re going to make that face every time.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“You hate cherry.”
“Yes,” Sirius stared at him. “But, you love it, don’t you?” Maybe you could still love me.
“I love many wines.” Remus looked up; his eyes locked with Sirius’. “But…there’s nothing quite like cherry.”