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littleoldrachel · 5 years

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Tenth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut.

Dedicating this chapter to @totally-aced-it for being the sweetest cheerleader <3 100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous | chapter 10/100 - “I’m sorry for your loss.” | Next Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x Tw for graphic description of a panic attack, discussion and memories of child abuse, references to disordered eating and self harm, grief

It's not often that Sirius is bored at work – there's usually so much to do and learn that he's focused and occupied from the moment he clocks in until he's forced out of his desk in the evening by his supervisor. But today is not one of those days; instead, he's half-filling in a crossword from yesterday's copy of the Guardian, and half-texting Remus, his computer screen idle before him.

Consequently, he jumps out of his skin as Akilah appears at his shoulder, silent in spite of their heeled, steel-capped boots. They drop a thick folder on to his desk, and it's the slapping sound that makes him sheepishly fold up the newspaper. Akilah rolls their eyes, tapping a ringed finger on top of the file.

"Good job on that submission, Sirius," they say, "you've got yourself a client."

Sirius jerks up, seizing the folder and flipping through it excitedly, "seriously?!"

"Siriusly," Akilah says with a cheeky grin, cackling as Sirius sticks his tongue out at them. "Are you gonna manage this on top of your big magazine deadline?"

"Watch me," Sirius says, with more confidence than he's used to expressing – but he means it. He finally feels like he's found his footing at Queerllustration; he's stopped feeling star-struck around his idols, having realised that they are just as nerdy and quirky as he is, he's been out on a pub crawl with all of his team and had a blast, and he's had nothing but positive feedback on everything he's submitted thus far. Even the prospect of running two big projects at the same time feels like a fun challenge rather than overwhelming – he is neither bored as he was at school, nor overwhelmed like at university, and the change couldn't be more welcome.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where I am," Akilah says, and Sirius grins, glancing over at Akilah's warzone of a desk (sketches, fabrics, magazines littered everywhere, half-full mugs of coffee surrounding their computer monitor like guards), "but I trust your judgement." Sirius' heart swells at their confidence in him, because is there any feeling in the world as good as being respected by someone you hold in the highest regard?

Speaking of – he glances back at his phone screen, which has three new notifications. One is a bunch of likes on his Instagram post of his latest coffee art (he might not be a barista anymore, but making patterns in steamed milk is fun, alright?), and the second is Remus' guesses at the crossword clue he'd sent him. He studies the crossword for a moment, realising with unsurprised amusement that Remus is correct, as per usual, and sends him an affectionate 'nerd' in return.

The third –

Oh.

It's a Facebook message, which is unusual in itself, because nobody in their right mind prefers Facebook Messenger to WhatsApp. But it's the sender of the message that makes him pause.

Regulus Black (1 New Message)

Sirius stares at the notification for a few seconds, which blinks back at him, flashing with new messages at alarming rate. Then he shoves the phone away from him, and it lands face-down at the edge of his desk.

He breathes.

For a few minutes, he manages to ignore the niggling sense of anxiety; he flips through the new folder without taking any of it in, he tries to edit a fight scene but frustrates himself with his inability to draw fucking hands, he continues sending memes to Remus, allowing him to take control of the conversation.

(Remus is… struggling, there's no two ways around it. Sirius hates the fresh scratches he sees on Remus' wrists, hates the tired and empty look in his eyes, hates the way Remus talks about himself as though he's shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. He hates that Remus still has to fight to leave his bed each morning, that he can't face work without having violent panic attacks, that he lurches between forgetting (read: not caring enough) to feed himself and eating everything in sight).

(And yet. Things are improving: once upon a time, the scratches would have been gashes, the bleakness of his expression would not have lifted, the self-deprecation would have been all that left his mouth. And Remus is trying – Sirius can see how hard he's trying, and it fills him with the fragile kind of hope that he wants to lock away in a tower to keep it safe. When Sirius asks about how he's really coping, he can see the struggle in Remus' mind, but Remus is fighting, and he is more open than he has ever been before about the reality of the situation).

(Sirius is sort of embarrassingly proud and concerned and grateful all at once).

His phone vibrates again, and Sirius clicks on the notification without thinking – expecting it to be Remus again. Only it's not, and the screen switches to Messenger before he can rectify this horrendous mistake.

Regulus Black: Sirius. I know you do not want to talk to me. I understand that sentiment. But this is of the utmost importance, and I do not have another way of ensuring that this news reaches you. I implore you to believe me that this is not the way I would prefer to tell you this, but again, this is urgent.

Regulus Black: Uncle Alphard has died.

Regulus Black: I am so sorry, brother. I know how much he meant to you.

Regulus Black: It was very sudden. The doctors say it was a stroke. Mother and Father – well, you can imagine what they are saying.

Regulus Black: I am sorry. I know that probably means very little coming from me. But, he was my uncle too. And I am sorry.

Regulus Black: In his will, Uncle Alphard has left everything to you, Sirius. Mother and Father are livid and are doing everything they can to get their hands on the fortune. But it belongs to you. One of your friends – MacKinnon - is a lawyer, I believe? Perhaps you can arrange something with them against Mother and Father. It is not important now, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later.

Regulus Black: There's something else. Mother and Father have sunk even lower than I thought possible and have barred you from attending the funeral. I do not know what they will do to you should you show up anyway. I will of course give you the details if you wish to come.

Regulus Black: You do not need to respond. But Sirius, please do not be alone. Please take care of yourself or let someone take care of you. I know this news must be very hard for you. But you were important to Alphard, and he would want you to take care too.

Sirius – he – he doesn't –

Sirius has a plethora of talents, but languages have never been among them – and for a while, he feels like he's had a passage of Mandarin placed in front of him, because the words? don't? make? sense? But then he realises it's more like he's reading an obnoxiously academic text, because he understands the individual words, but together it's like a riddle.

When he finally comprehends, it's like all the force of a brick wall crashes down on him – only it must be a set of walls stacked like dominoes, because it keeps happening. Every blow is crushing, every breath is harder and harder to reach because he's buried under mounds and mounds of rubble.

"Sirius," he hears, but it's muffled, and he is fading fast. There's even more pressure on his shoulders and he moans, shaking it loose – it's too much, too much, too much –

There are voices – beneath a rushing in his ears and the sounds of his choked gasps for air, people are calling his name and there's movement everywhere, but Sirius is drowning, drowning, drowningdrowningdrowning –

Something touches his neck this time, and he howls, jerking away violently, causing something to give way beneath him and he thumps down, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs.

"Right, everybody out!" Someone shouts and claps their hands, and Sirius presses his hands over his ears as he continues to fight for breath, because it's all so loud, why are they being so loud? There's some kind of animal too – something is making an awful groan, as though it's been mortally wounded, and Sirius wants to sob at the sound of its distress, because it's appalling.

(When he's six, his father takes him hunting for the first time. Sirius loves what felt like dressing up in the fancy riding gear and is so excited to be on a horse again. But then the hunt begins, and Sirius watches a dog ravage a pheasant, his father's hand clamped on his jaw to keep his head from cringing away from the violence. Tears course down his cheeks as he pleads with his father to make it stop, "please daddy, I'll do anything," cries that are harshly silenced when his father backhands him hard, and spat, "I don't know why I'm so disappointed that you're as useless at this as everything else." When Uncle Alphard drops by later that evening, he is livid at the blotchy bruise across Sirius' cheekbones. Sirius can feel the phantom sensation of Alphard's gentle hands holding him in a rare, safe hug, can hear his voice explaining that under no circumstances are Orion's actions acceptable).

"Sirius."

Words are far too hard right now, and the only sounds he seems capable of making are pathetic whimpers, but he recognises that someone is trying to reach him from where he's trapped – someone knows he is here and suffocating.

"Sirius, you're perfectly safe. You're at work, you're having a panic attack. Can you open your eyes? I want you to see that you're safe."

Sirius is shaking his head violently before the person has even finished speaking, because he don't think he can cope with seeing the world in ruins as it now must be (or worse, the world as it was before, because if it's not in tatters, if it's just his world, how is he supposed to deal with that?).

"Okay. Okay, eyes closed then. I'm not going to touch you," they say, and Sirius feels tears smarting at his eyes. (He can't tell what he wants, because on the one hand, the thought of people – strangers, unknown people – laying hands on him makes him want to hurl, but also, he's an incredibly tactile person and the thought of a warm hug right now makes him physically ache with need).

"We're just going to breathe together, okay? That's all you need to do, and I know it's hard, but you just need to listen to me, and follow me, okay?"

The voice begins to count, and with it, Sirius loses all concept of time. After a while, and what feels like a thousand ragged, counted breaths, he becomes aware that the keening injured animal is in fact him, and the sound cuts off mid-wail. He feels overwhelmed – the combination of embarrassment, anxiety and grief have overtaken his utter panic, but it's still too much.

"You're doing so well, Sirius, that's it. Let's keep breathing a bit longer."

Obediently, Sirius continues to follow the counting breaths (what else can he do?), and slowly – achingly, excruciatingly slowly, he begins to return to himself. He can feel the smooth coolness of the floor beneath him, he can see vague shadows through his scrunched-up eyelids, he can hear the relative quiet of the office, save his noisy breathing and the computer monitors humming. He loosens his grip around himself ever so slightly, and when he doesn't drift apart, he forces himself to open his eyes on the next count of eight.

(When Sirius is eleven, he hides out at Alphard's apartment, which is smaller and drabber than the extravagance of Grimmauld Place, but feels more like a home than anywhere Sirius has ever known. Alphard insists that he teach him to cook, because "one day, little man, you're going to get out of that godawful house and family, and you're going to be free to live how you want to live… but you're going to need to be able to feed yourself!" It's the first time that anyone has expressed belief that Sirius is capable of something more than being a Black, and Sirius has never felt so hopeful and valued before).

It's dazzlingly bright, which hints at how long his meltdown has lasted, and he shrinks back into the shadows under his desk (how did he end up under here?). His muscles are throbbing from being held taut for so long and don't want to support his body weight, so he falls back with a soft thump. A coffee-brown hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist with a gentle tug, preventing him from thwacking his head against the ground.

He pulls himself back up, even though everything in him wants to lie down, curl up and cry. Akilah's concerned expression comes in to view, and Sirius feels another surge of shame at his behaviour.

"Hey, no, Sirius," Akilah catches his mortification, because of course they do, and opens their arms out for a hug. Sirius crawls forward, still humiliated but physically hungry for human contact, and allows himself to be swept in to Akilah's warm embrace. He closes his eyes against their chest (and a tiny part of him points out the enormity of the situation, because Akilah is awkward about their chest and the way it protrudes even under binding), and grounds himself against Akilah's heartbeat. "What happened? Is it the project?"

Sirius shakes his head, feeling a wave of fresh panic rise so fast that it's predatory, and he has to swallow down bile before he can speak. "I don't – um- I can't –" Words are much too much right now, and Sirius fumbles around for his phone, before shoving it in Akilah's direction instead, because the thought of having to say it out loud would mean acknowledging the truth in Regulus' messages, a truth which is too terrible to bear. They hold it steady as he shakily unlocks it, and Sirius can't watch as they read, doesn't want to see the moment they get it.

(He feels it though, because Akilah lets out a barely perceptible sigh and tightens their grip around him).

"What can I do?"

The compassion in their voice overwhelms him, and he feels a hot prickling at the back of his eyes. "I don't kno-w," his voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, even as tears leak out.

"That's okay," Akilah says immediately, "do you want to go home?"

Sirius nods, even though he's not sure what he wants, but home means his friends and safety, and surely that will feel better than crouching under a desk with his employer.

"Is there someone I can call? I don't want you to be alone, and…" Akilah trails off as Sirius taps at his phone screen again, deliberately not looking at Regulus' messages, and switches it to the WhatsApp conversation he'd been having before – all of this. "Okay. Okay. I'll give them a call," they say, and Sirius feels himself relax the tiniest amount for the first time.

(Nothing is okay. Nothing. He is simultaneously empty of all emotion and overflowing with how overwhelmed he is by it all).

He's not sure how he gets from work to home, because he shuts his eyes again, forces himself to think about literally anything else. When he next opens them, Akilah is speaking and he's been burrito-wrapped in a blanket on James and Lily's couch. The lighting is soft and unobtrusive, the television is on but almost inaudible, and the cushion he's resting his head on is one of the smooth, velvety ones. He can appreciate what Akilah's trying to do, even if he can't feel any gratitude because of it. He vaguely remembers that Lily has a late shift tonight and that James has parents evening, but he doesn't mention either of those things as he's persuading Akilah that they can leave now. It sucks more of his energy than he expected to convince them, and he feels – numb.

He manages to hold it together for as long as it takes to feign half-smiles and reassurances that yes, I'll be fine, my friend will be here soon, I'll call you if there are any issues, but the second Akilah leaves, he's floating again, stitches coming apart at the seams, and he wraps his arms around himself again, pressing his face against the soft cushion until it's hard to breathe.

(Sirius has known for years now, and years of shouldering this kind of secret have worn a tired and heavy ache in to his chest. It's something that is so fundamental to him, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and yet, it's not all he is. But he knows his family won't see it like that. Then, one day, when he is fourteen and Alphard has just set a tagine dish before him, he cannot hold on to it any longer, and it comes spilling out of his mouth: "I'm gay." Alphard blinks at him, then smiles broadly, and says "okay. "Thank you for telling me. I love you, Sirius" before spooning a generous helping of couscous on to Sirius' plate. "More couscous?").

There's a knock at the door a little while later, but Sirius doesn't really hear it – or rather, he hears it but cannot register its significance. He huddles himself in to a tighter ball on the sofa, because if he loosens his grip for even a second, he is going to crack and fall apart and lose entire pieces of himself, and there is no coming back from that, he can't, he can't, he can't –

"Padfoot?" There's another knock at the door, and Sirius knows that voice, its familiarity would usually send butterflies fluttering in his belly and warmth around his heart. But not today, not now, not when he feels so incredibly numb and empty and hopeless, nothing can penetrate, nothing can help him.

"Padfoot, I'm coming in now." Sirius blinks and wonders fleetingly how much time has passed since that first knock. He doesn't open his eyes again, instead he squeezes them tighter shut as the door opens, as though he can force himself to wake up out of this nightmare.

Soft footsteps pad in his direction, but he is barely aware of them – he's barely aware of anything on a physical level. He's trapped inside his mind, disconnected from his body, and he knows that his fingers are tingling with a burning ferocity now because his entire arm is dead, but he cannot make himself move it – he doesn't know how anymore.

"Hey," the voice is incredibly gentle, like a wave lapping against the shore. Sirius wills himself to open his eyes. It takes the longest time for his body to get the memo, but when it finally does, the kindest of faces swims in to view. Their eyebrows are knitted in a concerned frown, their eyes are sad and crinkled, mouth turned down at the corners. He knows the name to this face, but his mind is so disconnected that everything's just foggy.

They continue talking, keeping their movements slow and obvious. Sirius lets the white noise wash over him like a tide, and keeps breathing, breathing, breathing. Eventually, it's like the world begins to come back in to sharper focus – shapes around the lovely face gain definition, the words being said make sense to him, and a name floats to the forefront of his brain: Moony. Remus.

"M'ny," he mumbles, and Remus stops talking immediately, moving close enough that Sirius can extract an arm from his blanket nest, reach out a hand and touch his chest.

"Pads," he says, equally softly, and within that single syllable is a multitude of empathy and support.

"Can you-" Sirius reaches for Remus' hands, but his dead arm sends a throb of stinging pain up to his shoulder, and his limb flops uselessly.

With one hand, Remus begins massaging his arm, beginning at his fingertips and working upwards. It sends tiny sparks of pain darting through him, but the sensation is strangely grounding, pulling him back to himself. Remus presses his other hand to Sirius' cheek, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the numbness, thawing the ice that has taken control of his mind.

It takes forever, but eventually, Sirius can wiggle his fingers without pain, and he immediately twists his wrist in Remus' grip, so that their hands slot together like jigsaw pieces. The grounding it gives him makes him sigh inwardly with relief – even more so when Remus shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. Sirius closes his eyes, breathing in Remus and all the comfort his scent brings, their lips so close they could kiss, only for once, Sirius has zero interest in kissing him.

Eventually, Remus presses a kiss against their entwined knuckles, and gently slides his fingers away. "I'm going to make us some tea, and then I'm going to cuddle the shit out of you. That okay?"

Sirius nods, even though it's not, and nothing will be okay ever again. Every breath he draws is one that Alphard cannot, and will not, ever again. It's like a knife twisting in his chest.

(He has to count deep breaths whilst Remus is out of the room, pleading with himself to not spiral once more).

Two mugs are placed on the coffee table with a light clunk. A warm weight settles next to him, and he doesn't even open his eyes, crawling blindly in to Remus' lap and pressing his face in to Remus' soft stomach. Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair soothingly, drags the blanket tighter around him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus says quietly, and Sirius screws his eyes shut so viciously, it hurts, because those words. He knows people mean well by saying them, but what good does being sorry do? It's as meaningless as sending thoughts and prayers to the victims of a natural disaster – it's a nice gesture, but useless in the long run, and it is always about them, it's not really about the victim. And so, Sirius has always had a complicated relationship with those words – one that is part resentment and part exasperation –

And yet.

When Remus says it, it's different. Because Remus understands the weight of those words, having known his own fair share of loss in his life. And the way Remus says it isn't in an oh-what-a-shame-now-let's-talk-about-me sort of way, nor in a I-feel-so-bad-for-you-right-now way; it's entirely compassionate and empathic and full of the kind of love that Alphard had shown him – one that's unconditional and boundless and pure.

Sirius swallows all of these thoughts down hard, and opens his eyes again, twisting his neck to meet Remus' concerned eyes. He nods simply, cannot smile, and Remus links their fingers together once more.

"You don't have to cope with this alone," Remus says gently but with a firmness that steadies the sick, anxious feeling in Sirius' gut. "You are never alone, but especially not in this."

The tears threaten to return, and if he begins to cry now, he fears that he will never stop. Instead he turns his face back in to Remus' lap, allowing him to continue the head massage and start up a monologue about the impending Bake-Off finale.

"Don't leave," Sirius manages, what feels like hours later, once Remus has entirely wrung out an in-depth analysis of each contestant, before deciding that Ruby's firey-ness reminds him of Alice, and so is his favourite to win.

Remus squeezes him even closer, "never." He presses a kiss in to Sirius' hair, and Sirius feels himself welling up at the tenderness of it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep fighting the tears, though he's not even sure anymore why he's fighting them, he's not ashamed of these emotions, and he knows that Remus would encourage letting it out.

(Somewhere in his scar tissue, however, lies the memory of his pet dog being killed in a car accident, and being forbidden to cry, which has ingrained in him an expectation of punishment for expressing grief through tears).

Soon, James and Lily will be home, and even though he knows Remus has informed them both of the situation, their gentleness and comfort will be overwhelming. He snuggles closer in to Remus' lap, and almost smiles when he hears Remus' stomach let out a small growl.

"Hungry?" he says, in a voice that is scratchy with pent-up emotion, poking Remus fondly, and the other man squirms a little.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Remus counters, and Sirius frowns. Remembering a detail like that seems like it would waste all of the energy he's focusing on breathing and not crying, so he shrugs, because what does it matter? "Sweetheart, you need to eat."

Sirius shrugs again, not wanting to snap at Remus, but can't he see that he doesn't give a shit?

Remus sighs and says, "what if I make a stir fry? Something quick and simple?"

Unable to muster any strong emotions around anything food -related, Sirius shrugs yet again, which Remus seems to take as assent, because he makes to get up. Sirius involuntarily curls closer around Remus, his heart clenching at the thought of being alone again.

"Hey," Remus says so gently that tears spring to his eyes again. (Or maybe all this kindness is the tipping point on how long he can refrain from weeping). "I'm not leaving. You can come with me." He waits for Sirius' reluctant nod before moving again, this time pulling them up together.

Once in the kitchen, Sirius leans his weight against Remus' back, where he's chopping carrots, courgette and pepper in to strips, and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds of slicing and sizzling, the smells of soy sauce and frying garlic, the feel of Remus' soft flannel on his cheek.

Eventually, the gas is switched off, and Remus turns with a hum, wrapping his arms around Sirius. "Ready when you are, love," he says softly, but makes no move towards dishing up, instead just holding Sirius like he's something precious and loveable.

The front door opens with them still standing before the hob, and James and Lily sweep in to the room, wearing identical expressions of protective worry. Sirius braces himself for what will surely be a barrage of affection and concern, but to his grateful surprise, they simply join the embrace in silence. Sandwiched between his three favourite people, Sirius cannot stop himself – the relief and the anguish well up inside him, spilling out of his mouth in a strangled sob, as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. As one, his friends draw closer to him, allowing him to collapse his entire body weight against them as he begins to choke on his emotions.

(His grief is sharp and thorny and comes on all sides – every breath he draws, it snatches from him and replaces with barbed wire and spikes that it plunges in to his lungs – it hurts, it hurts so much. There is no pain like this – nothing his parents said to him can compare to the blood-spattered mess his grief is reducing him to –)

(And God, it's never-ending).

Time must pass because his throat is dry and raw from the gasping, wretched sobs that have been ripped from it, and the front of Remus' shirt is entirely sodden with his tears and snot and saliva, and he aches all over from curling into himself like this. But he doesn't feel any of it. He feels nothing except the huge gashing hole where his peace and his contentment once were; now there is only anguish and pain. But eventually his body cries out in surrender, and his sobbing ceases all at once.

"Padfoot?" James says, very softly, gently touching the nape of Sirius' neck. When Sirius doesn't flinch away, he moves his hand up in to Sirius' dark curls, running his fingers through the tangles soothingly. Lily stands with a stiff difficulty, but Sirius doesn't raise his head to track her movements. Instead, he presses further in to Remus' chest, even though the dampness is awful, and Remus is probably sick of him –

"Sirius," Lily has returned, and Sirius lifts his face slightly to see her holding a washcloth. He closes his eyes, allowing her to wipe his eyes – his make-up is long-since ruined, but the warmth of the flannel soothes his sore cheeks and gets rid of the gross stickiness. When she's done, she sits back, looking more helpless than he's ever seen her – Lily is fiercely capable and dependable, and the sight of her looking so unsure is – frankly – terrifying.

Sirius takes a breath, and looks at James, who seems equally lost. With the two people he's come to count on most so powerless, he feels the ground begin to crumble beneath him, but he's saved from slipping through the cracks by Remus (because of course he is).

"Food. Bath. Bed. Cuddles. In that order. Non-negotiable."

It's rare for Remus to give orders – he is much more a follower than a leader, and Sirius means that in the best way, because there is nobody he'd rather have as a deputy. But the unusualness of the situation means that when he does take command, everybody snaps to attention immediately.

James hops up and begins reheating the stir-fry, whilst Lily makes them tea – peppermint by the scent of it. Remus helps Sirius to his feet, keeps an arm around his waist as he guides him to the sofa, and allows him to crawl back in to his lap. Minutes later, James and Lily come in with four steaming bowls and mugs. The heat of the bowl on his lap is uncomfortable, and the smell makes his stomach roll, but he knows that none of his friends will let him get away without eating, so he lifts a noodle wrapped around a carrot to his lips, and chews without tasting.

He manages half a bowl before he feels uncomfortably full and pushes the bowl away with a scowl. He knows he's being a bit of a brat, but he feels like he's earned it right now. Remus looks a little sad at the amount left in the bowl, but he doesn't push for more – it's just as well.

True to his word, Remus takes him in to the bathroom, and runs a bath in James and Lily's ridiculously big tub. He holds an Intergalactic bath bomb beneath the stream of hot water, because he knows that it's Sirius' favourite, and Sirius stares as the water swirls in to sparkling navy blue, glittering colours whirling across the surface. Remus leaves as Sirius undresses, but returns once he's in the water, and keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter. Sirius half-listens as Remus babbles on about the upcoming US elections, the dogs he saw today on his walk to work, his new medication and its side effects… the other half he is careful to keep on the water and not the intrusive memories that are attempting to barge through his mind.

But the warmth of the water is doing the trick. Sirius can feel the heat seeping in to his aching muscles, loosening the knots that have formed, and he relaxes just a fraction. And then a little more.

And then suddenly, Remus is stroking his hair back from his face, and the water is only lukewarm and he's so incredibly tired. Remus holds up a fluffy towel for him to step in to, and then hugs it around Sirius. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, and it's nice and intimate and tender, and Sirius has to go and ruin it all by shivering, doesn't he?

Remus immediately whisks him to his bedroom, where a pair of fluffy pyjamas are waiting atop his pillow, and Sirius slips beneath the covers gratefully, his head heavy and groggy and sad. Remus presses a kiss to his damp hair, and then makes to leave, but Sirius growls, snagging his wrist, and yanking, so that Remus stumbles on top of the sheets.

"You want me to stay?" Remus says, as though the way Sirius is tugging the duvet around him isn't evidence enough, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes, if only because it would use his final scraps of energy.

"Obviously," he murmurs, and Remus smiles. He joins Sirius under the covers, and their limbs immediately tangle as Sirius curls around him. Remus wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius pillows on to his chest, and it's so very nice and warm and safe.

"Good night, Padfoot," Remus whispers, as Sirius' eyelids close for the final time that night.

"G'night, M'ny," he slurs back, and swears he feels a kiss press against his cheek before he's off to the stars, floating in a galaxy of dreams and memories.

As peacefully as he slept, and as lovely as it is to wake up being spooned by Remus, his breath tickling the nape of Sirius' neck, the warm glowing contentment he feels pops like a balloon the second he remembers.

Remus is awake the moment he sucks in a choked sob, rolling him in to his arms and allowing him to weep in to his chest.

"It's not fair," Sirius manages, after what could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Then he feels like an idiot for saying so, because Remus knows that better than anyone. "It's not fair that he's gone and they're still here when he was a better man than – than –"

"I know, love," Remus says softly, but he lets Sirius throw his temper tantrum against his chest as he holds him, because he truly is a saint and Sirius does not deserve him.

There's a knock at the door, and Sirius freezes, before burrowing beneath the covers and tucking himself in to Remus' squish. The logical part of his brain – which obviously hasn't woken up yet – knows that it's just James and Lily, and they won't give a shit that he's tear-stained and sleepy. But the bigger part just wants to be left alone, so he doesn't emerge when Remus says, "come in," in his lovely, gravelly sleep-voice.

"Morning," James says, and the sound of mugs being placed on a hard surface stirs Sirius' interest – coffee? Tea? Water? He's so thirsty that any of those would be a dream. He pokes his head out of the covers, spies the coffee mug and launches himself towards it.

"Hey," Remus says, smiling fondly at Sirius' antics, "I would have passed that to you, you know?"

Sirius shrugs, settles himself against Remus' side, and carefully balances the mug on his knees, taking a sip even though it's scalding. Remus cards his fingers against Sirius' scalp - a sensation that usually makes him sag with pleasure, but today barely registers through the foggy grief-exhaustion-anxiety-sadness haze he's under.

"What's the plan today?" James asks, and the question is obviously directed at Sirius, but Sirius struggles to focus - it's all meaningless chatter to Sirius, because his world has shifted forever, why hasn't everybody else got the memo that everything is utterly wrong without -

"I'm at school until half five this evening," James tries, "and Lily's working till seven-"

"But I can swap shifts with Dirk, Sirius, if you'd like me to stay."

Sirius is already shaking his head, because the thought of being such a burden to either of them is unbearable - he cannot handle that sort of guilt on top of his already overwhelming load. (Even if the thought of being alone with his thoughts for a whole day is also unbearable - he will deal).

Remus clears his throat, "I have a day-off today. I can be here all day if you'll have me. Just need to get Alice to feed Winky," he says, and Sirius feels the relief like a shield, protecting him from the awfulness of his own mind. James and Lily seem similarly relieved, and Sirius feels a surge of both love that they care so much and irritation that they don't trust him to be alone. (His head is a fucking mess, and he's too tired to examine his conflicting emotions).

In lieu of having to come up with a verbal response, Sirius leans in to Remus' touch, and forms lazy half-signs, 'stay with me. Please.'

Remus murmurs, "always," quiet enough that even though James and Lily are watching intently, it's an intimacy that's just for the two of them.

Silence falls and Remus plays with Sirius' hair and Sirius' coffee cools and Alphard is dead.

(These are the facts, but they feel more like knives through his chest).

There's something else that needs to be said - Sirius can see it in the way that James and Lily, as in sync as ever, keep exchanging glances full of worry. But neither of them say a word, and the silence stretches longer and bigger and worse. Eventually, when he can't stand the tension anymore, he spits, "if you've got something to say, then say it, won't you?" It's harsher than he intends, and James flinches, but Sirius can't bring himself to feel guilty for his bluntness. (If things were different, he would be beating himself up for being so shitty towards his closest friends. Then again, if things were different, Sirius wouldn't even be feeling so numb to it all in the first place).

It's Lily who asks the question that they're all itching to, because Lily is the bravest of them all.

"We were just wondering when the funeral is, Sirius?" No matter how gently she asks it, Sirius' heart still shatters in to a thousand tiny shards, and it hurts - it hurts so much, how can she just say it like it's not rending the world in two.

Remus seems to sense something, because he reaches out and catches the mug just before it falls off Sirius' knee as he shifts violently, blindly lunging for something - anything to make it hurt less. He shoves his face into his knees, hugging his legs to his chest as tightly as he can, and he breathes, the raggedness of his broken heart still aching with every inhale.

There's a hand on his shoulder - too large for Lily's, too warm for James' - and even though everything in him wants to shrug it off, it grounds him enough that he can find the words to say to his knees, "it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to go."

The grip on his shoulder tightens abruptly. "What the hell does that mean?" says Remus sharply.

"My - my parents don't want me there."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" James says incredulously.

"This is different," Sirius insists, "Reg says - they've barred me, and -"

"Barred you?"

"What the actual fuck," hisses Remus, and Sirius looks up in surprise at the venom in his tone. The hold on his shoulder is hard enough to bruise (and Sirius would know), and Remus mouth is a grim slash. "How the fuck are they so fucking evil, I will kill them-"

"Moony-" James says pointedly, but Remus shakes his head.

"They know how special Alphard is - was - to Sirius - they are doing this on purpose, and I cannot -"

"Moony."

"Don't Moony me, Prongs, how dare they bar him - this is so fucking unfair, that's-"

(Remus has removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but it's now shaking with how hard his nails are clenched into his palm, and Sirius would rather a thousand times that it was him Remus was hurting).

"Remus." Remus finally falls silent at James' I'm-a-teacher sternness, but still glowers defiantly. "Do you think this is helpful?" He nods his head at Sirius, who suddenly becomes aware that his cheeks are damp.

Remus has the grace to look ashamed as he deflates. Keeping his movements as obvious as possible, he moves back to Sirius' side, taking up his hand and twining their fingers. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and Sirius nods distractedly - he doesn't even know why he's crying, and he's more concerned with where Remus' nails have dug into his palms. Remus raises their joined hands, uses the pad of his own thumb to wipe Sirius' cheeks, and it's so tender it stings the raw edges of Sirius' broken heart.

James moves to Sirius' other side, and Sirius leans tiredly against his side - it's not even eight am and he just wants to sleep until he wakes up from this nightmare. Lily tucks his feet into her lap, shuffling closer, and for a moment, Sirius' sniffles are the only sound.

Eventually, James breaks it - "We can find out where they're - um. Where he'll be buried. And then we can go and pay respects. I know it's not the same, Pads, but -"

"Yes." Sirius says, unable to meet anyone's eyes, because he's terrified he'll see Alphard's disappointment that he can't even bring himself to stand up to his parents on this one small thing. Instead, Remus presses a kiss to his temple and Lily squeezes his leg gently.

"I'm proud of you, love," James murmurs, "we all are."

"For what?" Sirius says bitterly, "Alphard's the bravest man I know - knew. This isn't-"

"Having the courage to make yourself a priority is brave," Lily says fiercely.

James nods in agreement, "if you went to the funeral, you'd be seeing your abusers again. You'd be understandably anxious about that, and about making a scene, and you wouldn't get to actually say the goodbyes you need to. I know you know this."

"Sometimes self-protection is the bravest thing you can do," Remus says quietly, and Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to take their kindness and force his mind to accept it - to shove it at the voice that calls him a coward and shut it up because it's wrong, dammit.

But he's so tired and sad and empty, and the combination is too much for one person to manage. He curls into Remus' lap, facing away from the world's compassion that he can't quite convince himself he deserves. Remus returns to stroking through his hair in silence whilst Sirius wallows, and eventually James and Lily have to leave with kisses and well-wishes and the promise that they are only a phone call away.

(Sirius isn't alone - not emotionally, and certainly not physically - but he's alone in the intensity of this feeling. It's an exhausting, constant wave of grief that continually shudders through him, and it wears him down to the extent that he's slipping into a restless sleep once more).

It's Remus who phones into Sirius' work, explains the situation with a levelness that Sirius could never have managed, and arranges for compassionate leave. It's Remus who alerts their wider group of friends to the circumstances, details what he needs from each of them - knows what he needs from each of them - and responds to the overwhelming tidal wave of well-wishes. It's Remus who sits in silence with him for hours at a time, willing to listen when Sirius feels like talking (which isn't often, especially in the beginning), and ready to talk when Sirius' head is too loud and overwhelmed (which is often).

The next few days are not a blur. Sirius remembers them in sharp painful detail, and every breath aches like an old wound. He does his best to keep busy - he and Remus go to Richmond Park, trample through the snow-laden fields, walk as far as Remus' aching bones will allow. Remus takes him to the newest exhibition on Aboriginal art at the RA, and he wishes that his mind felt less foggy to appreciate its beauty and individuality. The two of them bake cookies - gingerbread shaped like dreidels - and binge the entirety of One Day At A Time and completely sort through Sirius' wardrobe.

It helps to keep himself occupied, because it prevents the memories from forcing their way through, though not even the sight of Remus with flour on the tip of his nose is enough to lift Sirius' spirits.

He's not sure why it hurts so much – he hasn't seen Alphard for a year, at least, and even then, their relationship has shifted from a paternal one to something like distant friends. The closeness had fallen by the wayside (and doesn't Sirius just loathe himself for allowing that to happen?) when Sirius had found friends he could rely on and a life he loved.

And yet it hurts so fucking much.

Perhaps it's the fact that he used Alphard's money to escape and rebuild his life afresh, without once going to actually visit his uncle and tell him how grateful he is. Perhaps it's the niggling voice in his head that whispers that Alphard knew about the abuse but still did nothing to remove him from it. Perhaps most painful of all, it's that in spite of the awfulness of his upbringing, his memories of Alphard are among his most nostalgic, but recalling them in a world where Alphard lives no longer is unbearable.

He finds himself going to text Alphard when he stumbles upon a recipe Alphard would have loved. He has to force himself to put down the scarf he's unthinkingly picked up for Alphard's Christmas present. He thinks of him when he hears Vivaldi, and when he passes bouquets of red flowers, and when he sees a deer frolicking through the fields, and suddenly his memory is everywhere.

(And it's unbearable).

(He's so, so tired).

Remus doesn't leave. That thought is the one that Sirius wakes up and lies down to. Every time he reaches for him, Remus is there before the thought has even fully formed. Every time his breathing becomes too tight and everything too much, Remus has his hands clasped in his own and is counting steady exaggerated breaths. Every time he begins to cry and doesn't know how or whether he'll ever stop, Remus holds him close and lets him sob in to his stomach, offering nothing but kindness and love and support.

And it should feel suffocating – like having an overly-attentive shadow, only… it's actually the biggest comfort he can imagine? Having someone who knows him so intimately means that he doesn't have to put into words how terrible he feels - because Remus gets it, and he gets him. James and Lily are, of course, wonderful, but it's Remus, and it's always been Remus, and there's nobody else Sirius would rather have by his side. Remus validates him and supports him and loves him unconditionally - and he knows any of his friends would do so too. But it's Remus.

(He spends a lot of his time wrapped around Remus' warm body, hands clasped together, Remus massaging his shoulders and neck, scratching his scalp, it's all Remus-Remus-Remus, and the tactile side of Sirius that craves physical contact is in bliss).

(Even if nothing else is).

#littleoldrachel writes #writing #fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus/sirius #100 ways to say i love you

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