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The pie has been in the oven for about twenty minutes now but Remus still can’t tell if it’s cooking. The oven door feels warm when he presses his hand against it but the crust isn’t even approaching browned; it’s still a soft and pale doughy mess. He squints at it through the tinted window on the oven door, tapping his fingers against the handle to quell the temptation to open it. Maybe it is cooking and the moment he opens the door, all the heat will flood out and then there will be no way it’ll be finished in time for dinner. For half a second, Remus considers just casting a quick Incendio into the oven but he’s sure the only good that will do is give him a tin full of ash.
He’s been wanting to do something for Sirius for a while now but only just worked up the physical and mental energy. Which feels silly just to say aloud because Sirius is the one who can’t leave the house, who sits in rooms alone all day just like he has for most of the previous fifteen years. At least Remus is allowed to leave, to go outside, even if he’s leaving to risk his neck most of the time for people he can’t confidently say would do the same for him. Which is fine, it’s part of the job, part of all the other shit that’s going on. But Sirius would kill to be able to do even that and he can’t. Remus wants to give him everything; a fucking home out by the sea with space to run and a room for Harry, to bury Grimmauld and his family and even all of London behind him in the dirt if he wants. But Remus can’t do that, not now, at least. So he’ll give him a meal.
That is, if the stupid steak pie ends up cooking in the end. It should only need about twenty more minutes in the oven so Remus prays the oven will be able to work a miracle in that time. Molly never seemed to have any trouble with the kitchen, maybe the house just hates him. Really, it wouldn’t surprise him. But then again, Remus has never been a chef; he’s survived this long primarily off of tins of soup. Maybe he should have baked something for Sirius instead, although his skills there are only minutely better. Still, he could make some biscuits for them later, especially if this pie turns out how he fears it will.
Remus just sighs and slides down to the floor, staring at the pie and begging it to brown. He remembers his mother saying something about how a watched kettle never boils but this isn’t a kettle, he figures, so he focuses his attention on the oven anyway. So twenty more minutes and then he’ll pull the pie out, let it rest because Remus doesn’t know much about cooking but he’s heard about things needing to rest before. He picked up a bottle of wine on the way home and it’s cheap and probably disgustingly sweet but Sirius has always liked wine so Remus hopes it’ll do. He’s always wondered if maybe Sirius likes wine more than anything else because he’s a contrarian and wants to piss people off and prove them wrong. Remus wonders if that’s still true or if that’s something else that’s changed over the years. Or maybe -
“What are you doing?” Remus tilts his head back to see Sirius standing in the doorway. He’s blinking a little blearily in the light of the kitchen. He reminds Remus of a child just woken from a nap. He sleeps a lot lately, locking himself away in the dim light of their bedroom or the second floor library where Remus does most of his work.
“Trying to will this pie to cook a bit quicker.” He lifts himself from the floor and leans forward, elbows resting on the granite countertop. “It’s supposed to be done soon if you want to sit down and eat with me, maybe at the table. I can get you something to drink, if you’d like.” He tries not to make it sound like a question or some sort of desperate plea. I don’t have much to offer you but please let me do something nice for you while you’re stuck here and miserable.
But if it does sound desperate, Sirius doesn’t say anything, just lessens the slight creases of his forehead. He looks down at himself, bare-feet and unbuttoned shirt, and hums. “Do I have time to wake up a bit more, shower or something?”
“Of course,” Remus says, and he’s smiling as Sirius shuffles into the kitchen towards him and reaches out, wrapping his arms around Remus’s neck and making a content little noise when he smushes his nose against Remus’s cheek. Sirius has always been a dog but he’s almost more cat-like lately; spending hours laying in the sun when they were at Remus’s house, lurking quietly nearby, rubbing their foreheads together and digging his claws deep into Remus’s skin. Remus slips his hands into Sirius’s open shirt and places them firmly against his lower back, just above the waistband of his jeans; fingers stroking against his sleep-warm skin and the soft, fuzzy hairs there.
Sirius pulls back a little to press a kiss in the hollow of Remus’s throat, giving him an almost-smile or as close as he can manage lately. “Back in a bit,” he murmurs, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and padding out the door and Remus watches the muscles in his back shift as he rolls his shoulders forward. The tattoos down his spine are faded with wear and time and they weren’t that well done to begin with, but Remus thinks they look nice now that they’re dulled, so washed-out that it seems like he was never without them. Sirius turns his head just a touch as he leaves, like he knows Remus is watching him, and all Remus can do is smile and turn back to his watch on the pie.
There’s a part of Remus that wonders if he’s ever been as kind and caring to Sirius as he is now, if he’s ever cooked him meals or kissed his head or bought him whatever cheap trinkets he can afford that make him think of Sirius just because he can. They were mean to each other before. Mean is probably too much of a throwaway word for what they were then. It wasn’t uncaring or apathetic, it was vicious and hostile; clashing teeth and shoving each other into walls, calling each other the nastiest things they could think of for no other reason than they could.
I love you so much, you complete asshole, you pathetic piece of shit, I need you more than I need to breathe.
They were terrible and young and angry, carving out slices of each others’ flesh with their words and actions and harsh looks like the sharpest of knives. Even their wedding night, Remus remembers vividly, was filled as much with hurt as it was with love, fucking each other in a rage on their kitchen table and kissing their scratches in bed hours later.
That’s gone now, all of the anger and resentment. Remus wouldn’t blame Sirius if he hated him for the rest of his life, he’d understand if Sirius woke up every day with nothing but sharp, penetrating animosity for Remus to spend the rest of his days in the same miserable cell he spent twelve years in. But he doesn’t. Instead he squeezes Remus’s body tight first thing in the morning, brushes his hair back from Remus’s face when he doesn’t notice it’s flopped into his eyes, rests his head on Remus’s shoulder when they’re sitting thigh-to-thigh on the sofa at night. It’s wonderful and brilliant and terrifying because Remus never thought he’d have this again and he’s so positive that he doesn’t deserve this, that he’ll fuck it all up but he’d rather die than lose it.
By the time Sirius comes down from the shower, Remus has poured them both a large glass wine, full enough, hopefully, to distract from what he’s pulled from the oven. The pie looks fine but there’s a smell to it that Remus can’t quite name. He’s also thrown together some biscuits and set the dough aside to chill before popping it in the oven. He’s set them a table of sorts in the study; the dining room feels sterile and haunted even at the best of times and no part of Grimmauld is inviting but the study at least doesn’t remind Remus of a mausoleum. Sirius is wearing one of Remus’s t-shirts and a cheap pair of trousers they were able to scrape up from one of the older Weasley children. His hair is still dripping wet, water trickling down the back of his shirt, onto the floor, on Remus’s shoulder when he rests his chin there. He’s quiet still as they sit down across from each other but it’s comfortable, less absent and more sleepy and content.
“Are you hungry?” Remus reaches a hand out to touch Sirius briefly, to run his thumb against the soft skin between his lips and chin. He tries to remember if Sirius has eaten today or if he’d just lazed around the house all day.
Sirius just shrugs a little but cuts into his dinner with his fork anyway. Remus wants to touch him, wants to nest the two of them atop a pile of blankets on the floor, to kiss the skin behind his ear and scratch his nails against his scalp. Instead he watches with a stupid grin on his face, still a little in awe that they have this again. Even if it’s here, even if it feels like the whole world is crumbling around them. His smile fades though when he sees Sirius’s mouth twist in a quick frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sirius says as the corner of his lips quirk up. “Nothing, genuinely nothing it’s-”
“Oh god, is the pie awful?” Remus digs his fork through the plate in front of him, and sure enough the slightly off smell hasn’t dissipated, in fact it’s stronger as he pulls out a chunk of steak and holds it to his nose.
“It’s not awful,” Sirius insists, placing a hand over Remus’s. “It’s...well it’s got an interesting seasoning to it, doesn’t it?” He’s biting his lip in an expression that’s a little hard to read. Remus bites gingerly at the forkful.
Oh god, he thinks. Sirius is right, it’s not awful but it’s...bitter? And is that a whole mustard seed? Remus can’t remember mustard seed being on the recipe, was he supposed to put whole mustard seeds in there or did he grab the wrong spice? He sighs and puts his head into his hands. Of course he fucked this up, of course he can’t even making Sirius a decent fucking meal. Completely useless.
“The pastry’s good though,” Sirius supplies helpfully, rubbing a comforting finger up and down Remus’s arm.
‘Pastry was pre-made,” Remus says a little miserably into his palms. Perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but honestly, can he do a single thing right anymore. Not even Sirius has anything to say, he’s even taken his hand away. Remus peeks up from behind his hands, fully expecting to see Sirius sticking his nose up at the atrocity in front of him.
He isn’t, though. Instead he’s laughing silently, shoulders shaking and head tilted back, one hand covering his mouth. Remus hasn’t seen him like this in...maybe six months, maybe fourteen years? Genuine, care-free laughter.
“What?” Remus’s voice comes out a little sheepishly, a little awestruck, completely in love. “What are you laughing at?” He asks again when Sirius just waves his hand in his direction.
“I love you so much but how did you mess it up so terribly,” he says a little out of breath, still vibrating a bit with laughter, eyes wet and full of adoration. “It’s genuinely remarkable how you did this, I-” He breaks off giggling again and buries his head in the crook of his arm on the table.
“I make a good meal for you and this is how you thank me?” Remus is smiling now as well, reaching his hand out to tangle his fingers with Sirius. He can’t take his eyes off him, how his hair falls into his eyes, crinkled with laughter. How fucking beautiful he still is when he smiles, despite everything.
“A good meal,” Sirius laughs. “A whole bottle of mustard seeds and some pre-made pastry isn’t even my idea of a good meal.” He lifts his head from the table and picks up his fork again, bringing another bite to his lips but Remus stops him.
“Oh god, please, don’t.” He pulls Sirius up from the table, into a spine-crushing embrace. “Don’t eat anymore of that mess. I’ve got some biscuit dough ready to throw in the oven. We’ll skip dinner tonight, have some cheap wine and chocolate biscuits instead, yeah?”
“Let’s just eat the dough,” Sirius whispers conspiratorially into his ear. He’s still smiling, cheeks dimpled and red.
“Absolutely not,” Remus chides. “I’m not going to hold your hair when you get sick from salmonella.” He brushes a loose strand of hair behind Sirius’s ear, showing more of his face.
“You have to.” Sirius sticks his lip out. “Isn’t that part of the wedding vows? Sickness and health, etcetera etceteria? Gorging myself on dough counts, you still have to love me.”
“You asshole,” Remus says with love, pressing a kiss to the crown of Sirius’s head, “I’ll always love you.”