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Summary
“You were so angry as a teenager.” Remus counters, wondering how they can still argue so easily after thirteen months apart, when even soft touches feel like open heart surgery. “We fought all the time. You didn’t know what to do- leaving Hogwarts was hard. Our last year was terrifying.”
“I want it back.” Padfoot says, churlishly. Finally, his eyes open and meet the desolate ones in the glass. “I just want it back.”
“Everyone does,” he says, softly, “don’t they?”
Sirius says nothing. Slowly, he finishes dressing, pulling blue socks over his pale feet, and Remus doesn’t know how to apologise, how to fix it. Sirius burns with an unholdable, foldable, hideable hurt- the sort that lingers in silences and lurks in your shadow when the sun comes out.
(aka, what if Sirius was the secret keeper after all?)