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Remus, to put it frankly, wasn’t looking so hot.
It was a common occurrence — in fact, he always fell ill this way the day after he shifted. Every time, without fail. There was some sort of complex explanation about how the wolf and human characteristics were imbalanced directly after. Sirius didn’t know the specifics. Never bothered with the exacts. Even just trying to think of all those complexities made his head hurt. It was one of the more Muggle-sounding subjects of magic, and he was never good in those.
However, he knew it caused his friend to be essentially bedridden for a day, or even two, sometimes. And he knew that seeing Remus like that made him worried. Even if Remus insisted that he was fine, that he’d dealt with it plenty before, Sirius felt the need to assist. To hold out his hand to help. It was natural, a normal instinct for one to get when it came to a friend, to sit by their bedside and worry over them. (To make sure they were alright as they slept as well as their waking throughout their sickness.) Wasn’t it?
Which was why he was wiping some sort of suspicious substance that had bubbled out from between Remus’s lips. He swore that if it were anyone else, he would have dropped the washcloth he was using and left. No way around it, he found it gross.
Remus, though, was worth the discomfort. (Though, the day after, Sirius would complain as though his life depended on it. After all, what sort of friend would he be if he didn’t rib on him at least a little bit?)
“I’m okay, really,” Remus began, shifting to try to turn his face away. Sirius removed his hand from the dirty washcloth, using it to prevent the werewolf from getting away. His hand fit against Remus’s cheek perfectly, cradling his face like it was made to be held.
“Why are you squirming so much? What are you, a worm?”
Remus huffed a bit, his face red with a mix of fever and light embarrassment. Coughed a bit, a dry wheeze straight from the chest, before uttering a single word of protest. “Hey!”
Sirius chuckled a bit at the reaction, but held firm, beginning to use his other hand and a second cloth to wipe sweat from Remus’s brow. He’d grabbed a stack of them in advance, ready to use. It was easier that way, considering how much of a mess Remus was. His other hand remained on the werewolf’s cheek. “You look like utter shit, you know.”
“Could you not be a little nicer to the sick man?” Remus complained.
“What happened to insisting you were all alright?” Sirius deadpanned. Found his fingers curling Remus’s hair, examining the ends, twisting the strands gently to feel the slightly rough texture.
“If you’re going to treat me like I’m on my deathbed, I’ll at least take the privileges that come with that, thank you very much.” He coughed again, though his gaze remained trained upon Sirius’s own.
“Maybe you should just be grateful that I’m bothering to treat you at all,” Sirius sassed with a frown.
Remus raised a brow.
“Fine, fine, shut up,” Sirius revised, glancing away and putting the cloth aside.
“I didn’t say anything,” the sick boy rasped. His voice made it seem that it was painful to speak. Made Sirius cringe, but he persisted with his argument. Remus didn’t want to be treated as something fragile, after all.
“You did… with— with your eyes.” Was the best way he could describe it. It was something about that look that made it known that he was being judged.
“My eyes do not have vocal cords, Sirius,” Remus pointed out, sounding a bit amused.
Sirius rolled his eyes and held out a cup of medicine before another remark could be made. Maybe he was catching whatever Remus had, because his brain was stalling too much to come up with a good retort. “Just drink this and be quiet.”
Remus smiled and took the medication (a green potion brewed up by the nurse earlier), sipping upon it gently. The thick liquid smelled bitter, sickening, but Remus drank it easily, as though it was a gift of fresh water. It wasn’t until the cup was completely empty that he would speak again, his hair askew. “Sirius?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.” His voice was raspy, hardly audible behind the cup. Wasn’t the first time Remus had thanked him in their lives, but it felt different for whatever reason. Softer. Maybe it was the tone of voice, maybe it was the strange way he was avoiding a direct gaze. Sirius wasn’t sure. He just knew how it made him feel. How it made his stomach flip over and fill with butterflies. How it made him feel the need to glance away. Wasn’t sure where it came from. He didn’t recognize the feeling. Didn’t care to try to name it.
Sirius tried to ignore the warmth on his face. “…sure. It’s nothing.”