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The fire had burned low hours ago, leaving only the soft crackle of embers and the occasional sigh of wind against the windows. Remus hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been reading, or pretending to, half-keeping an eye on Sirius curled up at the other end of the sofa; a habit of watchfulness he hadn’t yet unlearned.
When the book slipped from his hand and met the hardwood floor with a thud, Sirius flinched at the sound. Even now, months out of Azkaban, he startled like a mistreated stray dog.
“Sorry,” Remus murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Didn’t mean to—”
But Sirius was already shaking his head, eyes dark and distant. “No. I just—It’s fine. I’m fine.”
But he wasn't fine, and Remus knew that tone too well. The one that meant, please don’t ask. The one that meant, I’m holding myself together by threads.
“Come here,” Remus said quietly.
Sirius hesitated, his jaw tightening as if the simple kindness might just undo him entirely. Then, as though his bones couldn’t hold his weight any longer, he moved. He slid across the sofa, hesitant at first, then all at once, until he was pressed against Remus’s side.
Remus lifted his arm, letting Sirius fold himself into the space there. The scent of smoke and damp wool clung to his hair. He was entirely too thin, all poky bones and exhaustion, but he was so warm. SO alive.
For a long time, neither of them spoke as the fire dimmed to ash and outside, rain began to fall.
Then Sirius’s breath hitched—barely a sound, just the smallest crack in the quiet—and Remus felt the tremor of it against his chest. Then another; and another.
“Hey,” Remus murmured, his voice breaking on the word. “You’re all right. You’re safe now.”
But Sirius only shook his head, fingers curling in the fabric of Remus’s jumper as though to anchor himself to something that might still disappear. “I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “They took everything. I forgot who I was. I forgot—” His voice was barely a hus now. “And now I don’t know how to be him again.”
Remus’s throat tightened. “You don’t have to be anyone,” he said. “Just be here.”
Sirius gave a broken little laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. His eyes were glassy, tears catching the dim light; and to Remus, he was still the most beautiful person in the world.
“When I’m with you,” Sirius said suddenly, “I’m home.”
Remus’s heart ached so fiercely he thought it might split open. He pressed a trembling hand to Sirius’s hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. “Then stay,” he whispered. “For as long as you need. I’ll still be here.”
Sirius nodded against him, and the dam finally broke. The tears came, now unstoppable, and Remus held him through every one of them, until the fire died out and the first pale light of dawn began to creep through the curtains.
