Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"James Fleamont Potter! Stop running from me."

"Shhh! I'm not running but hush up about my name. No one is supposed to know about it, I've told you that," urges James, miming quiet in front of him with two hands, eyes wild and panicked behind his glasses. "Godric, Evans. That's one way to send my career spiraling."

"If you don't get to your place in the next ten seconds, I'll be sure to tell the entire world your full name," threatens Lily, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping irately on the floor beneath her. "Both worlds."

James narrows his eyes. "You wouldn't," he hedges.

"I would and I will if you make me chase you down – where is Peter?" she exclaims suddenly as she turns towards the mock seating area designed to look comfortable but they all know from experience is not. "He was there only a minute ago."

James shrugs half-heartedly. "Dunno, but I can go and try to find – "

"You'll do no such thing," snaps Lily. "The only thing you'll be doing is sitting. Now go."

James wilts under her words but slumps his way over to one of the seemingly plush but hard chairs, dropping down into it dramatically. Lily swivels, her eyes searching, only stopping when Peter appears again, seeming mildly sheepish.

"Sorry, Lils," he apologizes as she eyes him. "Needed the loo."

Lily visibly softens, reaching up to pat Peter's cheek affectionately. "Go sit down," she orders him firmly, though her tone is far gentler than it had been with James. "Now that just leaves – Black!"

Sirius ducks back behind the partition he'd been peeking around, his eyes widening a bit. Lily barrels into his view again, Sirius freezing with half of a turkey wrap in his mouth as the red head stares him down, painting an impressive figure in her tailored suit.

"What are you doing?"

Sirius eyes her cautiously, chewing twice before swallowing, gasping a little once he's done when the wrap tries to stick in his throat. "Food's good this time," he offers up with a charming smile. Lily doesn't fall for it; she rarely does anymore. "C'mon, Evans," whinges Sirius in a mild sulk. "I'm starving."

"We ate before we came here," responds Lily in a huff, "and you not only scoffed down your own meal, but half of mine as well. You are a great many things, Sirius Black, but I assure you, starving is not one of them." Sirius pouts, glancing down at his turkey wrap. Lily groans and rubs at one temple. "You lot will be the death of me one day."

"You keep saying that," mumbles Sirius, but he flashes her a wicked grin. "When's it happening?"

"Soon if you have anything to say about it," launches Lily, not looking amused, but Sirius smirks. "Why can't any of you be like Remus? He hasn't moved since he sat down. I haven't had to chase him once!"

Sirius glances over to the seating area where Remus is indeed relaxed at one end of the small sofa, the phone Lily had given them all a few years before held in his hand, looking perfectly content with where he is. Remus is the only one of them that had really mastered the device at all, Sirius rarely using his own, though he did have a fondness for YouTube.

"Moony is an entirely different species. He came out of the womb calm and ready to please," says Sirius as he turns back to Lily and lifts the wrap back to his mouth. "Count yourself lucky that you've got him and accept your fate with the rest of us."

Lily snatches the wrap from his hand before he can take another bite and glares at him as Sirius squawks indignantly. He tries to grab it back, but Lily holds it out of his reach behind her.

"Sirius," she says, his name long and suffering on her tongue, "you have five minutes until this interview starts. Please – I am begging you – go and sit down."

"But – "

"You'll get this back once you're finished," snaps Lily, waving the wrap at him a bit viciously. A piece of cheese flaps its way loose, Sirius dodging it as it flies through the air. "Go."

Sirius grumbles under his breath but relents, beginning to venture towards the others. He glances back in enough time to see Lily take a bite from the wrap and Sirius scowls at her distrustfully, but the woman only points her finger, her green eyes dancing. He sulks over to the seating area, plopping down on the sofa beside Remus. Sirius studies him for a second, the other not glancing up and only acknowledging his presence by the subtle incline of his head. He leans sideways, his arm winding across the back of the sofa behind Remus' head as he peers over his shoulder at the phone, balking a bit.

"Are you reading, Moony?" he murmurs low enough so that no one else can hear him. "I should have known."

Remus hums faintly, the corners of his lips quirking upwards in the beginnings of a smile. "Keeps Lily from hexing me," he responds distractedly.

"Lily never wants to hex you." Remus waves the phone around a bit as indication, one eyebrow arching pointedly, and Sirius snorts. "Not a chance. Anything I use that thing for would only make her want to lock me away somewhere, and we can't have that, can we? Why not an actual book? I'll never understand reading on those things."

Remus finally glances up at him, all half-focused brown eyes like he's still trying to come back to reality. "It's difficult to pack a book around everywhere we go, you know that," he says logically. "Besides, this way, there's no chance of me forgetting about it and leaving it behind somewhere."

Sirius scoffs lightly, leaning a little closer and nudging at Remus' phone until he rolls his eyes and stows it away from sight. "Need I remind you that you're a wizard," he whispers with a grin. "That's what shrinking charms are for. Make books fit perfectly in your pocket. And you never forget or lose anything, Remus. Be serious."

Remus' smile widens as Sirius speaks, his distraction clearly fading away. "That's you," he murmurs, and Sirius beams, his mouth opening to respond, but he's interrupted by the crew assembling and beginning to count them down. Sirius huffs and shifts away from Remus a little, turning to face forward again.

The interview starts the way they all do, with greetings and light banter, the foursome joking easily with the man quizzing them about their new album and future touring plans. James and Sirius take the helm, easily slipping into their roles, Peter speaking up when he feels like it, always charismatic and effortlessly charming with his lazy smiles and exuding warmth. Remus says the least of them all, but people seem to have grown used to that by now, their fans fawning over him for that aspect alone.

"This album is shaping up to be your best one yet," compliments the man in front of them. Sirius has already forgotten his name. "Released barely a week ago and it's already topping all the charts, skyrocketing in a blaze. That must feel good. And Scatter the Shadows is quickly becoming your most downloaded song to date." Sirius squirms a bit, making it look as though he's only readjusting in his seat, the man's eyes turning towards him. "Sirius. I understand you wrote all the songs for this album."

"He did, but that's not unusual," speaks up Remus, sounding proud. "He writes most of our songs."

The man across from them hums in acknowledgement, his eyes shifting between them before flickering to James and Peter. "A talented man, so we've all heard. Though, you all are, aren't you?" he says brightly, his smile all teeth. "There is a bit of the album I'd like to talk about right now, if that's amenable. The little bonus at the beginning of Scatter the Shadows. It sounded like you lot were having loads of fun."

James laughs, leaning back in his chair, balancing his ankle over one knee. "We were, yeah," he admits, humored. "Marlene, our producer, loved it. Convinced us to include it on the album."

"I'm sure you have loads of moments like that," encourages the man, tilting his head curiously.

"All the time," voices Sirius. "It's one of the great things about doing something like this with your best mates. It's not work or some sort of slog. It's just living and being."

"That's incredibly deep. Quick, write it down for a new song!" exclaims the man enthusiastically, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes. "But turning more serious now – no pun intended – " Sirius bites the inside of his cheek even as Remus nudges him with his elbow. " – this particular bit we're discussing is a curious thing. Some astute fans of yours managed to pick something out of it that's raised a lot of questions. I was wondering if you'd elaborate?"

His eyes are fixed solely on Sirius, causing his skin to itch beneath the surface, a prickle of unease rising. Sirius arches his eyebrows, and the man smiles effusively.

"Let's play it for you so that we're all on the same page," says the man, nodding to someone off-set.

The recording blares loudly, their four voices laughing around them. James is bickering with Peter good-naturedly, Sirius lobbing out insults from the background. He can hear Remus grumbling vaguely about needing new friends, but then the sounds change, the main voices distorting, like whoever is controlling the volume has focused in on whispers, and Sirius' plastered smile falters, turning to a frown as Remus stiffens beside him.

Fuck.

--------------------

Sirius grumbles to himself as he scribbles over the paper supported on his propped-up knee. It's not going anywhere, he knows that already, but it doesn't stop him from trying.

Stranded in the night and we –

He scratches over the words with a grunt.

Talking in the days, basking in sunlight like –

Sirius growls to himself, striking over the words again forcefully with his pen. He glares at it and the notebook, things Lily had provided him with years before. He'd been resistant in the beginning, but he'd finally been forced to admit they were far easier to use at a moment's notice than rolls of parchment and a quill. They also drew far less attention than pulling out an inkwell that never failed to spark talk amongst the media and fans when spotted. A few brave souls had called Sirius eccentric for a long time when photos had spread around of him doing just that, bringing the Ministry down on their heads, which had prompted Lily to push the notebook and biro harder until Sirius had caved.

War in blood and loyalties strained –

He stares at the mess of paper in front of him. Sirius hasn't written a song in completion that he's liked in more than two months, and that's two months too long as far as he's concerned. Every word that fills the page feels wrong now and he can't figure out why. They're meant to be starting work on their new album soon, and while Sirius has a backlog of songs skipped over for better things, he feels as though none of them are good enough.

Sirius tips his head back to rest on the sofa cushions behind him, allowing the pen to drop from his hand briefly. Maybe he just needs a break. They've been touring around the world for five months, and he's tired. He doesn't even remember where they are now, somewhere in Australia, and he hasn't seen home in a month, something they'll all typically gravitate back to at night while in Europe, but that's made more difficult once they reach different continents, Apparition draining and involving multiple jumps, leaving their bodies stretched thin and depleted. The hotel rooms and suites they arrange are nice enough, but it's never the same, even if they are together, something they've always said is the most important part of all of this.

He lifts his head and looks back at the notebook, plucking up the biro again. "Focus, Black," he admonishes himself. "You're better than this." Sirius draws in a deep breath and starts writing once more.

When you're lost in the dark, too tired to even breathe. When the nights crush down and your bones seethe –

Sirius growls again, louder this time, throwing the notebook and pen to the side just as the door opens. Remus pauses, staring across the space at him with one eyebrow raised. He says nothing but eventually moves forward, dropping to the floor beside Sirius easily, back resting against the sofa in a mimic of Sirius' own positioning.

"Did it insult your mum?" he asks casually, glancing at the notebook in the middle of the room, half-twisted and mangled now.

Sirius snorts. "I would've kept it if it had done that," he remarks, and Remus smiles, a soft thing, matching the lighting surrounding them.

"I was talking about Euphemia." Sirius hums, dropping his head back again, gazing at the nondescript ceiling above them. "It's still not coming, is it?"

Sirius' face scrunches, a deep frown pulling over his mouth. "No," he breathes, feeling like a failure.

Remus is quiet for a time before he says softly in an echo of Sirius' earlier thoughts, "You just need a break. We've been going nonstop for nearly a year now. We'll be home in two days. It'll come back, Pads." His voice is gentle, and Sirius thinks maybe he can see it, what Sirius is thinking currently, which he probably can. Remus always seems to pick out everything.

"Yeah, maybe," he mumbles in a muted reply.

"Sirius – "

"It's fine, Moons. You're right. I'm just tired. It's been a long year." Remus falls silent and Sirius finally looks over at him, studying his face, realizing as he does so that they're all exhausted, the wear under Remus' eyes standing out sharply against his skin. Sirius sighs. "You're ready, too?"

"'Course I am. I've been dreaming of Effie's pies for over a week now," responds Remus with a broad smile, his eyes taking on a hazy quality as he thinks about them. Sirius chuckles, knocking their knees together. "She owled me the other day. Told me not to let you come back with all your clothes smelling like cologne sweat and takeaway. She'll be insanely jealous."

Sirius throws his head back and barks out a rattling laugh, seeing Remus' smile spread further from the corner of his eye. "A woman after my own heart," he attests fondly, his own smile stretching into place, but he sobers after a moment, his laughter dying away. "I've missed them."

"I know you have," murmurs Remus, shifting over the floor, lowering himself until his shoulders are pressing into the sofa, one bumping into Sirius' own and settling. Sirius watches him as he moves, not really paying attention to what he's doing. "I have, too."

"Cheers to the Potters for adopting the desolate and abandoned and everything in between," voices Sirius, and Remus hums in agreement.

The door opens again, James strolling in. He drops into the chair at their side, legs stretching out and crossing at his ankles as the rest of his body sags, all the air seeming to leave him.

"Merlin's bollocks, I'm fried and sautéed," he mumbles. "I don't know how Pete does it. He's down in the lobby charming the concierge as we speak. I thought we were meant to be the energetic ones, but I just feel fucking old."

"Says the youngest of any of us," mutters Sirius. "How d'you think I feel?"

James ignores him, his eyes flickering between the pair of them. "What are you two doing? Moping on the floor? Can't be good for the bones," he remarks before his gaze shifts and settles on the crumpled notebook nearby. "Ah. Still?"

Sirius' eyelids flutter in irritation. "Yes, still," he grumbles out. "I've given up for now. I don't want to talk about it."

"They can't be that bad," says James, once again ignoring Sirius as he leans forward and reaches for the notebook. Sirius pulls his wand quickly and summons the mess of pages to him. "Oi!"

"I hate them all and I hate myself," voices Sirius lightly, resting his head back again, clutching the book close.

"You need a muse, mate. Lacking that, maybe a good shag."

Sirius resists the urge to squirm, feeling heat spread across his chest, intensely aware of Remus still pressed against his side comfortably. He can't pinpoint why the conversation shift feels awkward now because of it.

"Yeah, well," he stutters out, not looking at either of them, "bit difficult when I'm hiding myself away, isn't it?"

James grunts, his eyes turning serious, losing their amusement. Remus doesn't say anything, but his gaze fixes on the side of Sirius' face studiously.

"You shouldn't be doing that," voices James, sounding a bit irate. "It's been long enough. It shouldn't matter anymore. It shouldn't have mattered from the beginning. I still don't understand why you agreed in the first place. It's who you are, Padfoot. Why hide it?"

Sirius shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly. "He made some good points," he mumbles, still not able to meet either of his friends' eyes. "And he was right. It has helped, hasn't it?"

"Maybe," says Remus quietly, still observing, his emotions contained and held back, "but what has it cost you all these years?"

Sirius scowls. "It's not like it's mattered," he nearly snaps, becoming irritated. "I don't want anyone having their noses shoved into my sex life, so it was for the best. Let them speculate about me dating this actress or that singer. I don't care. They can piss off with it if it leaves me free and clear."

"Sirius, mate – " starts James, looking unconvinced when Sirius finally glances at him, but Sirius stands abruptly, his joints cracking in protest at the sudden movement after so long in the same position.

"I'm going to bed," he says monotonously. "Two more days and we're going home. That's what I'm looking towards. Everything else is just dirty water under a bridge."

The two men's eyes follow him as he stalks from the room, notebook still clutched tightly to his chest, like a protection or a shield that does absolutely nothing.

--------------------

They all have homes, nicer ones, Sirius and James having been wealthy before the band's start of success, Peter and Remus gaining profits quickly after that. Sirius has a flat in the heart of London that he loves, with spectacular views and a warm, flowing floorplan. Remus had also purchased a modest flat nearby, but when they're home, they rarely find themselves there, preferring to be home instead.

Home is the Potters' house at the edges of a wizarding village near Cheltenham. It's convenient for them, keeping out the prying eyes of Muggles and wizards alike due to the warding surrounding the structure and land, but more than that, it's comforting. Fleamont and Euphemia had made their offer in no uncertain terms: they all belonged here as far as they were concerned, and it would always be their home unless they chose not to return. Sirius and Remus always came back, returning to that family they'd both lost long ago for different reasons.

They stayed in the main house often enough, especially after returning from a long absence, but Fleamont had made it his mission to make them feel comfortable, though they already did. The man refused to hear reason. He'd hired a team and had a separate, smaller structure built on the property near to the main house. It was as warm and inviting as the house itself, containing several bedrooms for whoever chose to stay, along with a studio for them to work in when they were home.

Coming back to it all felt like a dream once they arrived, Sirius immediately dropping his small bag containing his shrunken items as soon as he stepped through the front door, Euphemia gathering him into her waiting arms for a fierce sort of hug only she'd ever been able to properly provide him. Sirius had sunk into it, catching her sweet floral scent, remnants of baking and her favored perfume. He'd breathed in deeply, pulling a laugh from his surrogate mother, the woman knowing exactly what he'd been doing and never minding or scolding him away from the action.

Remus had received the same welcome, of course, before they'd been ushered into the house and smothered with questions and wholesome food alike. They'd slept the first few nights in the rooms saved away for them in the main house before they'd naturally gravitated to their personal space.

Stepping inside is like being able to breathe again, both of their shoulders dropping into such a relaxed pose that they actually laugh at themselves as they stand just inside the entrance and stare around. There are records mounted to the walls, a few of their own but mostly other bands they idolize and listen to constantly. Instruments are littered everywhere, guitars of all varieties, several drum sets, a violin, a large contrabass balanced on a stand in one corner. There are a few woodwinds and brass pieces mounted to the walls and in cases in organized chaos, and a standup piano in another corner of the main room.

Sirius hums in contentment as he gazes around their space. "You know," he says reverently, "other than Effie's cooking and Monty's…everything. Both of their everythings, really, this is what I miss most when we're gone. Trying to bring it all with us or even half of it is too much, but my fingers itch for it while we're away."

"I know," murmurs Remus, watching as Sirius drifts across the room, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing over one of the guitars, possibly his favorite if he could ever manage to choose. Its white base gleams in the soft light that hits it, the silver ripple at one side a blaze of glitter. The stem is dark, neon blue flowering vines growing up its length to the neck. "You should play it for a bit. It's been a while. I can figure out some dinner for us."

"We don't have anything in," comments Sirius in distraction, fingertips still touching gently, eyes filled with a sort of calm worship. Remus watches him silently for a while, Sirius able to feel his gaze burning where it rests, prickles of sensation springing to life under his skin, heat spreading. He clears his throat, trying to banish the strangeness overtaking him, something that's been happening far more frequently as of late that he can't explain.

Remus seems to shake himself out of whatever daze he'd fallen into with the sound, his eyes shifting to one of the drum sets nearby. He moves forward, his own hand reaching out to graze over a cymbal with a feather-light touch.

"You know Effie stocked us up on food and supplies," he says in return. "She always does when she knows we're coming, and even out of hope sometimes when she doesn't."

Sirius smiles warmly and drops his hand from the guitar, turning to face Remus. "Might play later," he says and follows the other into the kitchen, the pair beginning to root through the cupboards and fridge in search of something edible. Euphemia had indeed stocked them up nicely, all their favorites present along with other things, even several already prepared meals. "That woman really knows us. All hail Effie Potter."

He removes some sort of saucy noodle dish, cracking open the top and taking a cursory sniff, his eyes lighting up as he does so. "Dinner," chirps Sirius happily, holding the dish out to Remus for his inspection and agreement. Remus removes his wand to heat it quickly, and as Sirius pulls down plates and cutlery, something crosses his mind, his eyes slipping back to his friend. "Talked to your dad lately?"

Remus noticeably stiffens, his shoulders tensing, the line of his neck pulling taut, causing the curious, crescent-shaped scar there to stretch. Sirius winces at the reaction, telling himself he should have known the subject was a bad idea.

"No," says Remus in a short, clipped tone. "Not since before the tour. He said some…unfavorable things, so I haven't – "

"Right," interjects Sirius as his friend seems to stumble. "Right, yeah. Sorry. I shouldn't have – sorry I brought it up."

Remus sighs, carrying the dish to the small table, Sirius following with their plates. "It's fine. Ask if you're curious. It's fine," he repeats, but Sirius doesn't say anything else and Remus' face twists up. "It is fine, Sirius. You don't have to do that. It's just…you know how he is. He was never supportive of it, not even when Mum was first trying to teach me to play. Said it was a waste of time. And you know he got worse after she – "

"I know," says Sirius quickly, reaching across the table's surface and grabbing the large spoon from his friend's hand, his fingers lingering when Remus' eyes meet his own, their brown depths looking far too gutted for Sirius' liking. "I know, Moony. We don't have to talk about it, not unless that's what you want. If anyone understands shitty families, it's me, yeah?"

Remus nods, the knot in the center of his throat bobbing like a spasm as he swallows, but his eyes refill with light slowly, his expression softening as he gazes back at Sirius. "Yeah," he breathes out, the word a sigh, like a soul escaping. "He's just…difficult. He doesn't understand."

"Mm, yeah. Right. My dear old mum would be rolling in her grave if she knew half the things I got up to."

Remus snorts in amusement, the tension that had built between them breaking like a band snapping, relief flooding Sirius' chest. "Your mother isn't dead, Pads," he laughs out, his shoulders vibrating with it, and Sirius stares, a smile spreading into place easily.

"And isn't that just a crying shame," he laments humorously. Remus shakes his head as his mirth slowly subsides, his eyes falling closed for a few seconds before reopening and settling on Sirius' face.

"C'mon, we should eat and get to bed. The tour might be over, but the work isn't. Interview tomorrow. Early rise, and I will cover your bed in solid ice before I stand over your arse for more than thirty seconds shouting to wake you up. You're impossible when you don't get a solid ten hours, which is never anymore."

The spell breaks at the reminder just like the tension, and Sirius jerks his hand away from Remus', pulling the spoon with him, having forgotten they were pressed together in the first place. Sirius swallows around a growing lump in his throat and nods, beginning to scoop some of the noodles from the dish, doling them out to Remus' plate.

"Right, questions. Rah rah. Can't wait for that," mutters Sirius, not lifting his eyes again for the remainder of their time in the kitchen. 

Chapter Text

"Sirius!"

"What?" he cries, rounding on the blonde who looks affronted and awed. When she doesn't immediately speak, Sirius rolls his eyes. "What, Marlene?"

"You're not, are you?" she hedges, leaning forward a little, head tilting to the side as though she's divulging a secret.

"Not what?"

"Serious!" shrieks Marlene, throwing her hands into the air, her blonde hair, tipped a dark purple, flying around her shoulders. "There's no way that you have no new songs to offer. You always have something. Always."

Sirius scowls down at the floor, kicking at the edge of the rug next to his feet. "Yeah, well," he mutters, "not this time."

Marlene had come barreling through his and Remus' front door that morning, a mystified James and Peter in tow, informing them all it was time to start working on the album. Sirius had balked as they'd followed her back to their small studio where he'd immediately began to pace. The news that he had nothing to give her had unsurprisingly backfired, sending the woman quiet for a long expanse of time as she'd openly stared at him in a harsh sort of awe. 

"Sirius!" she shouts again, and Sirius barely restrains himself from wincing and flinching away at the decibel her voice reaches, his ears ringing.

Sirius releases an irate huff and looks back up at her. "Why does it matter?" he snaps.

"Why does it – " begins Marlene before she emits a rude and disbelieving laugh. "You've gone mental. How can you ask me that? It matters because you're already behind on the next album. You would have been fine, there would have been a bit more time, but then you lot went and extended the tour by an extra month, and that wiped out any amount of leeway you had. We have to start working on this now, Sirius."

"Why?" shouts Sirius, his anger flaring. "Why does it matter? We're doing all of this on our own. We're not some Muggle band tied to a label with expectations to meet. We don't do endorsement deals because we don't need them. No one is hanging on this except us!"

"Exactly!" cries Marlene, stepping up closer to him, invading his space. "That's exactly right, Sirius. Us! We're relying on you. We all pulled into this because we believed in it and what you lot could do and become, and you have! It's a bloody fantastic thing, it is, but it has to keep going or else things begin to run dry. Do you think they can survive that profit loss a new album would bring?" Marlene points at Remus and Peter, them and James sitting on the other side of the room behind the booth, having cleverly remained silent thus far. "Of course they can't, because without new content, things run dry. Royalties aren't enough to keep things going forever, Sirius. And it's not just them! It's me and Dorcas and Lily and Mary. It's everyone you've pulled into this with you."

Sirius frowns, teetering a bit on his feet but stabilizing himself quickly. "I'd take care of you if that happened," he mumbles, but Marlene only looks enraged.

"That's not the point, Sirius!" she shouts heatedly, but then her voice and demeanor soften when she sees the expression falling over his face. "That's not the point, love," repeats Marlene, soft this time. "I know you would, and we're all grateful for that, but you can't do that for a plethora of reasons, least of all the fact that while you may be able to sustain it for a while, you couldn't do it forever. It would wipe you out quicker than you think. None of this is permanent if you don't work at it, and it's expensive to keep it going, much more than it was in the beginning when you and James were footing the entire operation. It's grown, and so have the financial demands."

Sirius glances over to his friends again, searching their faces, seeing equal looks of worry plastered in place, though he's not sure if it's for the situation or for himself. He finally looks back at Marlene, that feeling of failure sparking inside him again.

"What do you want me to do?" he demands, though his tone is weaker than he'd intended. "They're not coming anymore. I can't force it, Marls. It doesn't work like that."

"You have to do something!" she cries fruitlessly, tossing her hands about again.

"All right, that's enough," interjects James before either of them can say anything further. He stands from the plush sofa lining one wall and moves beside them. "Calm down, Marlene. This is just a slump. It happens. He's overworked, we all are. Give it a bit more time, let him clear his head. It'll come back, and if for some reason it doesn't…" James trails off to a pause, his eyes shifting to Sirius apologetically. "If it doesn't, we'll worry about it then. There are always other options."

"None as good as him," barks Marlene, her words like a warm flush and a stab of accusation all at once. Sirius glowers at her, but Marlene's expression suddenly shifts as she angles back in his direction. "What about all the others?"

"What others?" questions Sirius in confusion even as his heart rate spikes.

Marlene rolls her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me, Black," she says testily. "You've been punching out those lyrics for years now, even back at Hogwarts, and we've barely made a dent in the stacks you've got. Where are the rest?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says quietly, voice nearly a growl. Marlene scoffs, causing Sirius' mouth to pull into a tight line, lips pressed together firmly as he glares at her.

"Pick your favorites or I'll do it for you. I've still got some of the rejected ones lying about."

James' mouth is open as Sirius and Marlene stare one another down. Peter and Remus are on their feet now, approaching quickly, Remus just coming up behind his back when Sirius breaks.

"No."

The word is forceful, enraged, the lights around them flickering. Three sets of eyes focus on him warily, James' and Peter's shining with concern, but it's the soft pressure of a warm hand coming to rest over his shoulder that calms Sirius enough to bite back the wave. His gaze flitters back to Remus who's watching him with some sort of understanding, a defensiveness clear in every line of his body, and Sirius is too grateful to form words adequate enough to express himself.

Sirius swallows thickly, clearing his throat, before saying sourly, "They're not good enough."

Marlene's face contorts into an odd expression. "What's not good enough? Your songs?" She snorts, rolling her eyes again. "Get over yourself, Sirius. They're fine, I've seen a lot of them. Just hand them over and we'll work out the kinks."

"I don't want fine, Marlene!" he snaps, lurching forward a little, only Remus' gripping fingers keeping him in place. "I've never settled for fine in my life, and I'm not starting now."

Marlene drops into the rolling chair behind her, some of the fight seeming to air its way out of her. "Well, we have to do something," she insists. "Either you write new ones – which, according to you and everyone else, isn't happening – or we make use of your old ones."

"We're not using the old ones," mutters Sirius, crossing his arms over his chest, his entire body stiffening. James bumps his foot with the toe of his own as Remus pulls him backwards a bit and closer, whether out of some form of protection for Marlene or the need to comfort, Sirius isn't sure, but he relaxes marginally. "And the new ones aren't coming. I don't know what to tell you other than you've got to wait."

Marlene crosses one leg over the other as she leans back in her chair, studying him calculatingly. She finally sighs and pulls her wand from her pocket, whipping it through the air and producing a patronus that careens across the room and outside beyond their view. They all watch it go, Sirius' mouth parting a little before he rounds on her again, fire flaring in his eyes.

"What did you do?" he hisses.

Marlene stashes her wand again and crosses her arms over her chest, staring him down. "You left me no choice," she states, unapologetic. "Someone has to talk some reason into you, and clearly it won't be any of these gits."

"McKinnon," growls Sirius, trying to step forward again, but Remus holds him firmly, his other hand coming up to Sirius' shoulder as well, fingers applying pressure in a staying motion.

"Marls, what have you done?" asks Remus, stepping up beside Sirius, his hands still not releasing.

Marlene doesn't have the chance to answer before a loud crack sounds outside the door. It opens slowly, and Sirius turns on his heel, pulling Remus with him, the other following his movements like it's something rehearsed. Sirius' eyes narrow, his mouth pulling into a thin line, back going rigid. He glances back at Marlene.

"You bitch," he mutters accusingly. Marlene only shrugs in response, not looking concerned.

"Fucking hell," mumbles James, already stepping forward, his hands lifting. "Look, this isn't – you're not needed here. Go back home or to work or wherever you were."

Regulus dodges around James easily, smooth motions that Sirius tracks with his eyes as his brother's gaze lands on him. They stare at one another for a long, silent stretch of time, everyone else quiet around them, Sirius' eyes narrowed as he takes in his brother's nearly expressionless face until Regulus finally glances away, looking at Marlene.

"You said we have a problem," he says, little question in his tone, a look of indifference on his features.

Marlene gestures to Sirius. "He's not writing songs," she explains, and she almost seems repentant even as her expression remains firm and resolved, "and he won't give up the ones we've never made use of in the past. We've got to get started on this album. I'm not sure what else to do."

Regulus shifts his gaze back to Sirius, face still a blank mask, one eyebrow arching in silent question. Sirius crosses his arms over his chest and leans backwards on his heels, bumping into Remus as he does so, his friend not wavering behind him in some sort of solidarity.

"Sirius," begins Regulus, voice calm and cool, "you're not writing?" Sirius doesn't answer, mouth remaining firmly closed, and Regulus sighs in bubbling irritation as he looks at James. "Explain."

"Explain what?" demands James, his eyes pinching around their corners behind his glasses. "You already know because I've told you. He's having trouble right now. He just needs time."

"Time," murmurs Regulus, turning his attention back to Sirius. "That's something we don't have; something we never have, and you know that as well as I do, Sirius. Marlene's right, production on the album needs to start soon if we hope to keep to the schedule."

Sirius scoffs as he breaks in his composure. "C'mon, Reg," he says indignantly, "what schedule? We make our own ways with this stuff, we always have. That was the deal in the beginning."

"Things change, Sirius," says Regulus in reply, some of his own tension seeping away. "Fans are expecting it soon. If they don't get what they're promised, they get bored and move on to someone else. You know that."

"The fans will come back," states Sirius grimly. "They always do. And if they don't, it means we weren't doing something right from the beginning, doesn't it?"

Regulus regards him stoically for a moment before asking, "What's wrong with the songs you've already got?"

Sirius glances at Marlene who arches her light eyebrows at him expectantly before he looks around the room at his other friends, all their expressions a mixture of support and annoyance. Remus nudges his back gently, a soft gesture that grounds Sirius where he stands.

"They're not…they just aren't what we need, Reg," mumbles Sirius, feeling himself closing in at his edges, some sort of shame growing inside him. Regulus opens his mouth to speak and Sirius' eyes narrow. "They won't sell," he says emphatically, "and you're all about the selling, aren't you, brother? I don't care about that, but I won't offer out something that's only half of what it could be. We've never done that and I refuse to start now."

Regulus inhales a slow breath as he considers Sirius' words. "I understand," he states, and Sirius frowns at him in disbelief. "I do, Sirius. I know how you are, how your mind works, but we have to produce something."

Before Sirius can form any sort of argument of defense, James has his hands on Regulus' shoulders, urging him to the other side of the room. They fall into a heated discussion, hissed words sounding between them that Sirius can't make out. Remus grips at his shoulders again, turning Sirius to partially face him as Peter steps closer.

"Don't pay any attention to him," insists Remus quietly. His gaze drifts to Marlene, who looks at them unrepentantly. "Or Marls. Dorcas will deal with her." Marlene pokes her pierced tongue out at Remus, and he winks at her, though his expression is still disapproving until he looks at Sirius again. "It will come back, Pads. You know it will. We won't use the other songs. We'll never touch them."

"Moony's right, Sirius," chimes in Peter at their sides, pulling Sirius' focus slowly. "They're yours until you decide to share. If you say they're not right, we believe you. You've never steered us wrong before. Why should we doubt you now? There are more important things than an album."

Sirius feels a swell of gratefulness overtake him, but it's drowned out by a stifling amount of guilt that surges up directly after. Marlene is right, Peter and Remus don't have what he and James do and always have. They don't have a cushion to fall back on if this all fails one day. And Sirius hadn't lied, he would take care of them, but he also knows the other two would never accept it no matter how adamant he was. Bile springs into his throat, burning and acrid, and he swallows it down before it can fill his mouth, but the bitter taste remains with him.

"Thanks, lads," he says quietly. Peter looks pleased with himself, but Remus frowns a little, his brown eyes sweeping Sirius' face, a mild sense of concern flooding his irises and making them muddy as it mixes with the light from the room.

Sirius forces himself to look away, watching James and Regulus again. Their argument seems to have toned down some now, James' hands pressed over the sides of the other man's face as he leans close and whispers, their noses almost touching. Regulus nods along even as he scowls mildly, and Sirius exhales a long breath, clearly able to see the petulance in his younger brother. When they finally cease talking and make their way back over to the group again, Sirius turns to face them.

"Did your sweetheart talk some sense and decorum into you?" questions Sirius, snark filling his tone. James pins him with an admonishing look that Sirius scoffs at, his arms crossing over his chest again.

"Shut up, Sirius," bites out Regulus, his expression taking on true emotion now. Sirius rolls his eyes until Remus pokes at his spine.

"Behave," he warns in a whisper near Sirius' ear, the sudden warmth of his breath causing Sirius to shiver a little.

"You've got another month," states Regulus, and Sirius bunches a piece of his shirt into his forming fist at the tone of his brother's voice, like Sirius should be grateful for his generosity. "One month to see if your…whatever comes back. If not, we're using your backlog. Consider this your one reprieve."

Sirius works himself up to a nasty, sneering smile. "How kind of you," he utters foully, dipping into a half-bow.

"Do not, Sirius," snaps Regulus in warning, his grey eyes flashing. "I'm being kind. I'm not required to be. You lot pulled me in to protect your interests and to see that things run smoothly. That's what I'm doing. Don't pretend like you don't want me here or that I'm doing something wrong by performing my job."

"Oh no, of course not, dear brother," tosses out Sirius loftily, his sneer still in place. "Why would I ever think that when you've got your fingers pressed into every aspect of my life like I'm your bloody puppet. For fuck's sake, if I'd wanted that I'd have stayed at home with Walburga and her bodiless elf heads."

Regulus' face flares with rage. "Are you trying to compare me to – "

"Okay, that's enough," interjects James forcefully, stepping between them again. "There's enough fucking testosterone in this room to make a hot air balloon take flight. Sirius, you've got your time to work through your shit. No one is touching anything, I promise. Reg – " James turns piercing, reproachful eyes to his boyfriend. " – calm the fuck down and let it go."

Regulus and Sirius both glower at him with nearly identical expressions filled with ire, but James doesn't react or respond to it, not backing down from his position separating the two brothers and their forming claws. Remus gives a gentle tug to the back of Sirius' shirt, pulling him from his hostile trance.

"Fine," he mutters. "We'll talk about it in a month."

Regulus opens his mouth, outrage clear on his moving tongue, but James speaks up first. "Great, fantastic. Sounds like a brilliant plan. Moving on. Marls, take a holiday." Marlene rolls her eyes as she tips back in her chair in defeat.

"You all need to go," speaks up Regulus, his tone controlled, words clipped. "Mary is waiting to get you dressed, and then Dorcas and Lily are going to escort you into London for the talk show performance."

James and Sirius groan as a unit, some of the tension that had built in the air around them all slipping away finally. "Fucking hell, I forgot about that," grumbles Sirius, rubbing over his eyes. "Which one is it this time?"

"It doesn't matter," inserts Regulus. "You've got less than four hours. Go before Lily has all our heads on platters."

Sirius internally shudders at the thought of an angry, frantic Lily Evans even as he huffs a laugh. Remus nudges him again, urging him forward, and the foursome retreat, leaving Regulus and Marlene alone, Sirius not entirely comfortable with that scenario but having little choice in the matter.

--------------------

Sirius hates performing on small sets. At one point, they used to feel intimate, but that had faded after the early days. Now it's all a large hustle, an endless bustle of people and orders, things to follow along with, little freedom in what they do. Television crews want to control how they set up, the volume at which they play, even how they move and interact with one another. It causes his teeth to grit harder inside his mouth every time another suggestion makes its way into the open. They deny most of them, typically always doing what they want once the performance begins, but it doesn't take away the grating feeling over his skin.

Their tours, the larger stages they play, the festivals they join and make themselves a part of, that's where they really get to let themselves go and be free. Sirius loves that freedom, would do almost anything to feel it every second of the day. It's where he feels the most alive, like flying through an open sky, nothing but a scattering of stars overhead, everything wide and wonderful, the air in his chest coming easier.

Mary had taken to battling back against the oppressive nature of these more stifling performances in her own way, agreeing with them about how they were treated and handled, liking it no more than Sirius or the others did. As their appointed stylist, an offer that had thrilled her and made her squeal so loudly they'd all nearly gone deaf for a full day afterwards, she had a specific eye for not only what made them each the most comfortable, but for bold statements, incredibly large 'fuck you's at those that would try to control them. Her methods were subtle, admittedly, but she got the job done, mainly in ways that threw up a significant two-finger salute at the Ministry, their largest combatants.

The crew of the program positions them how they want, and once they're gone and off set, unable to do anything about it anymore, the foursome shift around to their desired places, ignoring the glares and mutterings cast in their direction. Sirius smirks at James over their guitars slung around their shoulders, Sirius able to hear Remus' snort of amusement from behind him. Peter ghosts his fingers over the strings of his bass idly, the sound muted and not reaching more than their ears, his own small smile forming on his cherub face.

Sirius rolls his head around over his shoulders, loosening up, bending his back and cracking it pleasurably as they listen for the announcement and watch for the silent countdown. When it comes, James steps up to the mic in preparation, his body loose from where Sirius watches at his side. As the lights turn up, Sirius sucks in a breath, his lungs filling with it, body twanging like the strings of his guitar, heart thumping at a fast pace, already matching the drum beats he knows will come from Remus soon.

Peter starts them off, the low bass a rhythmic thrum under their collective feet, and then Remus joins in, sticks barely skating over the cymbals of his set before they hits hard and true, a thunderous sound, quaking everything. Sirius and James strike their strings as a unit, and then they're going, taking off, flying high. Sirius feels ecstatic, full of life and music, notes invading his veins as James begins to sing, voice low, a constant vibration.

"Daybreak over smoke, fires raged until we've choked. Sunlight spills to clear the land as hands reach into quicksand."

Sirius loses himself in the lyrics, his own words come to life and sent into the world to the masses. Nothing else can make him feel like this or ever has, and he thinks nothing can ever compare. James keeps singing, growing louder, emotions flooding every single word like he's reached into Sirius' head and pulled them out himself. Sirius is electrified.

He turns just before the chorus starts, eyes settling on Remus, always his favorite part no matter where they are. Something comes over his friend when they play, always has, and Sirius never fails to devolve into a puddle of worship when it happens. Remus sinks into himself in moments like these, when he plays, loses all that carefully constructed and held control he binds so close to himself. He loosens, slumps, every part of him releasing as he feels it, what the music means to them both, so much more than the other two. His hands soar over the drums, mouth presses close to his own mic, radiant voice joining in with James' own, so much more than any of the others.

James can sing, but Remus is the one with the voice, something of which they're all extraordinarily aware. Listening to him is like transcending to a different plane of existence, a religious experience if one ever existed. He should have been their lead, they all know it, but he'd not wanted the focus, preferring to stay in the background where he could just be himself and fall apart, allowing his strikes and personal rhythms to stitch him back together again. Sometimes, Sirius finds he can't breathe simply from watching him.

This is one of those times. He nearly stumbles over his own notes as he drifts into it with Remus, eyes locked on his friend and not moving even as his feet shuffle closer, expertly dodging around cords and equipment. Remus glances up at him, sweat beginning to dot his brow and drip around his eyes, pulling Sirius closer, his fingers working the strings of their own accord, following familiar patterns, knowing instinctively what to do which is for the best because Sirius' head is gone into the earth now, diving into brown the color of freshly tilled land. Remus keeps staring at him as his hands beat down over and over again, his head moving with the rhythm, mouth permanently parted in readiness and excitement, that thing that overtakes them both in these moments.

Sirius jerks the stem of his guitar upwards on a straining note as Remus brings a stick down with force, his foot thumping the pedal beneath him, rattling through Sirius' entire being. He's sinking, becoming buried, yet the air is so much clearer than it should be, but then the bridge comes, and Remus smiles, his eyes still fixed on Sirius.

Sirius stops breathing entirely, everything catching at the base of his throat.

"Listen as your children scream for guidance and turn your back to infect them with silence. Spread false belief that you can be salvation as you lead them by their hands to their damnation."

James hits an impossible note behind him, but Remus lands it better, his voice echoing out, face flushed with heat matching the fire in his eyes and the flames licking through Sirius' veins. It's a crescendo of noise, a choir of euphoria swirling around him, the music lifting him into the air as Remus somehow keeps him grounded just enough to keep going. Sirius sucks in a sharp intake of breath when Remus finally blinks and breaks the spell, and he's left feeling weak and fluttery, his bones like jelly beneath his skin, needles stabbing his lungs, a different sort of thrumming in his heart.

He shakes himself out of it, and forcibly turns back towards James for the ending, a practiced thing that's never required any practice at all, the two of them always matching in everything step for step. They meet beside the mic, hips pushing outwards, guitars nearly meeting and connecting, fingers moving quickly, an earthquake of shredding sound, but Sirius is still wobbly, his knees weak beneath him even as he keeps going.

James shouts out the finishing words into the microphone and then the lights filter away, plunging them into darkness. Sirius lets his hands fall, his arms going limp. He looks back towards Remus where his friend is panting on his stool, Sirius barely able to make him out except for the glint of his eyes, dark like wet dirt now in the shadows around them. Sirius tells himself to keep breathing as his mind scrambles for some sort of reason in the blackness. 

Chapter Text

Sirius avoids Remus as much as possible for the next week, telling himself it's just until he sorts out whatever happened and came over him during their performance on the talk show. It's a feat made difficult by the fact that they work together, even more so that they're housemates. Sirius holes himself away in his room most days, scribbling in his notebook but mostly staring out the window at the stretch of trees beyond, lost in thought.

When Remus is gone, Sirius finds himself venturing out, fingers skimming over the instruments lining their walls until he selects something that piques his interest. He plucks at strings, blows through mouthpieces, and sometimes, on rare occasions, he finds himself in front of the piano, fingers dragging across the keys, tapping at them in no particular pattern, stifled memories that never stay buried for long resurfacing in these moments.

He falls into an old song, a familiar yet fuzzy thing, his fingers still remembering the motions even if Sirius himself doesn't. It's soft, sad, causing his chest to ache in a way he thinks it shouldn't, for reasons it shouldn't, because it's not the song but the feeling of eyes staring at the back of his neck, burning him like red-hot coals where they settle, blinking rarely. Nails bite into the skin of his shoulder, pressure against the base of his spine, correcting hands straightening his posture, a harsh, unforgiving voice close to his ear, simmering orders and instructions that causes his flesh to crawl where he sits now.

Sirius shakes it off, keeps playing, picking up momentum, the tune coming easily, filling the room, the entire house, flooding it with music, an enchanting melody. It's hypnotizing and Sirius begins to settle the deeper he sinks into it, but his back remains rigid, those eyes still fixed on him, unwavering, Sirius waiting for the piercing bark of disdain and judgment that he can do better, Blacks don't fail, never falter. Blacks are perfect in every regard.

He jerks out of it suddenly when he feels a warmth by his side, the press of an arm against his own, something knocking into his knee. Sirius waits for the reprimand over losing himself in what he was playing because that's not what music is about, Sirius, but it never comes. He turns his head, jolting a little when he sees Remus next to him, eyes concerned but filled with a deep sort of understanding, and Sirius only realizes now that his chest is heaving as he gulps in fierce breaths.

"It's all right," says Remus softly, his voice kind, encouraging. "Keep going. It was beautiful. You never play that stuff, the classical ones. I could hear it outside before I ever opened the door."

Sirius shakes his head quickly, the motion spasmic. His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth and he can't speak, can't tell Remus why it's a bad idea for him to play at all; can't tell him he's not good enough to touch the ivory bones beneath his splayed and shaking hands. Sirius looks at his friend and wants nothing more than to tell him to go away, that he shouldn't be here right now even as he wants to clutch at him and beg him to stay, and he doesn't understand that, can't make sense of any of it, his mind ripping back to their most recent performance. Sirius stares into Remus' brown eyes as his friend studies him, and he remembers that look, that fire spreading, trying to build again even as he forces it down to the pit of his belly where it roils and curls, angry and snarling for release.

Remus' gaze shifts over him, unaware of any of it, or so Sirius desperately wants to believe. He leans forward, fingers wrapping around Sirius' hands, the blaze spreading again, trying to attack, and Sirius twitches with it. Remus shushes him in a soothing way, gentle touch guiding his fingers back to the keys and pressing down until the notes tinkle around them, pulling Sirius back to himself a little.

"You're okay," assures Remus serenely. "You can play, Sirius. No one's going to say anything. I'll just sit here and listen. I like listening to you."

Sirius still doesn't move, searching Remus' face, hands joined together where they rest, pressing down on the now silent notes. Sirius feels something trickling along his spine, like fear or disgust, a heavy sense of disappointment, but Remus smiles at him, a bright thing, more radiant than anything in Grimmauld Place had ever been. He shifts their hands, fingers fumbling over half-known strokes and combinations, the music choppy, but it eases something in Sirius, and then he's moving on his own, dancing across the ivories and blacks.

The music pours out around them, a blanket wrapping them up. Sirius' shoulders steadily relax the longer they sit there on the padded bench, Remus watching him adamantly, brown eyes shifting between Sirius' face and his hands, like he's storing the movements away for later study, memorizing the way his expressions alter with the melody. Sirius falters over the keys when Remus' thigh presses perfectly against his own, lines meeting lines, heat spreading where it shouldn't exist. He drops his hands to his lap, glancing at his friend briefly before looking down again, every part of him feeling strange and unsettled, though he can't tell if it's from the piano and memories of childhood or Remus. Sirius has a suspicion that it's possibly both.

If Remus notices anything odd, he doesn't speak to it, saying instead, "You should do that more often. The classic rock tunes are nice, and I know you love them, but…" he trails off, eyes sweeping over the side of Sirius' face again, remaining silent until a grey gaze lifts and meets his. "Something comes over you when you trudge your way into classical. You change."

Sirius swallows, looking away once more. His fingers fidget together over his legs, and he can feel Remus' eyes watching him as he moves.

"Fear of rejection," he quips, only half jesting, his words more muttered than humored. Sirius thinks James would be proud of him for saying it; he can see his face, all too soft smiles, no teeth showing, eyes compassionate. Sirius scowls at himself, but Remus pulls him back out of his quickly growing spiral.

"No, that's not it," he murmurs thoughtfully, still fixated, like he's drinking Sirius into himself. The idea leaves him feeling a bit fluttery and Sirius frowns internally, his mind working over the puzzle sluggishly, resistance where there shouldn't be. "It's truth."

Sirius' head whips up so quickly that his neck spasms, heat bursting through his nerves and up into the back of his head, scalding droplets of water trickling down his back. He resists the desire to rub it, not looking away from his friend, Remus appearing almost proud, like he's spoken a revelation, something awed in his expression.

"You're playing truth," he explains when Sirius can't manage to form words to question him. "It's like you're picking it all apart, years and centuries of music and taking it back to its core. Fraying a thread and weaving it together again…" Remus' voice trails away, his eyes slowly dropping, leaving Sirius almost reluctantly, one finger falling against a key, the note it sings out nearly sweet to their ears, a reminiscent sound, like childhoods warped and never lived as they should have been, stolen days and years, gone and grown too soon.

There are a lot of things in Sirius' head, ideas forming before flooding away, water running downhill, never able to fight the gravity that holds it bound. There are songs in his mind, lyrics swirling and disappearing, things he can't quite grasp yet, merging into flickering life set inside warm skin and warmer chestnut browns, but they run and hide whenever Sirius tries to latch onto them too tightly.

When Remus clears his throat, Sirius jerks a little, only realizing that he's been staring for far too long. He blinks, looking away, gazing at his friend's fingers hovering over the keys.

"Could you – " starts Remus, but he pauses, seeming hesitant. He glances up at Sirius uncertainly. "Would you teach me? Doesn't have to be now. Can't be. We've got things going, but…eventually."

Sirius licks over his suddenly dry lips. "We've always got things going, Moony," he returns, and Remus snorts, shattering whatever bubble had fallen and encased them so completely. "'Course I will, if that's what you want," agrees Sirius readily enough. "Anything and everything you want, Remus, you know that."

Remus smiles at him, and it's like a sunrise birthed into life over shimmering water, all glittering diamonds and mystifying facets. "Thanks, Pads," he murmurs. "You're a good mate."

Sirius swallows around the forming lump of something important in his throat, forcing his own large grin. "You'll never find better," he retorts.

"You're right about that," comments Remus easily.

Sirius thinks he might be in trouble.

--------------------

The problem with breaks is that they're never really breaks at all. They get a few days here, another there. If they're lucky, they get a week, just one, seven days of rest and time to relax, to simply be, but it's a rare thing anymore. There are always interviews, award shows to attend, meet and greets, planning meetings for future tour dates and album discussions, Mary holding fabrics up in front of them and fussing with their hair. Sirius was promised a break and he is sulking.

"You're sulking," states James bluntly as he examines himself in the reflective surface of an automatic towel dispenser in the lavish loo of some grand building hosting a gala or production or premiere of something. Sirius doesn't know and he doesn't care much.

"I am not sulking," he mutters, peering at the dispenser. "How d'you suppose these work?" Sirius waves his hand under the opening at the bottom, a sheet of paper steadily rolling its way out. "I can't figure it out. It looks like magic, but Evans and Moony keep saying it's not. Brottleries, they say, whatever that is."

"Bratteries, I think," murmurs James, pinching at his chin with two fingers. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he thinks. "Bratwurst? No, that's not it. Meat, innit? How would that work? You are."

"Fuck off, Prongs. Bratwurst. Who raised you?" tosses out Sirius, still waving his hand about, the trail of towels growing significantly longer after each pass. It's amusing, at least. "I am what?"

"Euphemia Potter. She makes a lovely bratwurst. Always juicy."

"Please never say the word juicy near me again," utters Sirius in disgust, leaning back against the wall beside the gleaming metal dispenser, having quickly grown bored with its peculiar brand of magic, which it is. He doesn't care how much Remus argues that it's not. "I have enough nightmares without adding that to the list."

"Your list of nightmares or the one you keep of words you don't like?"

"Both."

James hums. "Noted. You are sulking. You're moody, and don't pretend you're not or that I've gone mental. We both know better. What's wrong with you?"

Sirius stares at the floor, picking out a smudge spot over the polished tiles that are a mockery of marble. The collar of his suit jacket chafes at his neck, his tie too tight around his throat. He wants to loosen it, remove the jacket, but he knows Mary will have his head if she finds out he ruined her "masterpiece". Sirius snorts and James glances at him, his eyebrows knitting closer together.

"Speak now, Black, or you'll regret it," he threatens without any heat, finally stepping away from the dispenser.

"You won't do anything here, you'd be mad. And why didn't you just use the mirror, you plonker? It's right there beside you."

"It makes my chin look better than the mirror," states James, like it's a fact. Sirius supposes that to his friend, it likely is. James leans forward, pinching his chin again in Sirius' face. "D'you think it's weird? Sort of pointy, isn't it?"

"Your chin is fine, mate."

James' hazel eyes widen behind his glasses. "Only fine?" he demands, voice rising several octaves, and Sirius scoffs.

"Reg has written sonnets about your chin," he says gruffly. "I've seen them. Now shut up about it."

James releases his pinching grip, the blood that's gathered under the surface of his skin and darkening it further flooding away quickly. He beams, looking pleased, preening slightly. Sirius wants to kick him.

As James leans back against the counter encasing the sink basins, Sirius squirms under his assiduous gaze. "So," he says suddenly, voice bright and sunny even as his face falls into a grave expression, "are you going to tell me, or do I have to force it out of you with a well-placed constriction charm on your pants? You know the one. Gets tighter the longer you lie. Never fails to work, and you know I excel at them."

James looks so bloody proud of himself and Sirius scowls, shifting his hips at just the uncomfortable thought, reminders of their schooldays and beyond coming into sharp focus, all the times James had the notion that Sirius needed that right sort of push to get over himself. Sirius had known better than to think his friend would allow the subject to drop or slip past without further acknowledgement no matter the progression of their conversation. There had been scarce few times when Sirius had been able to use the other's distinct level of distraction and general lack of focus to divert James away from topics Sirius wasn't ready to speak about or trying to avoid completely. It rarely worked, James somehow always tuned into him like a perfectly kept guitar.

"Won't work if I'm not wearing pants," snarks Sirius, leaning more heavily against the wall and sticking his legs forward, crossing one ankle over the other as his arms create a guard in front of his chest.

"Trousers then," counters James, undeterred, eyes landing on Sirius and not shifting away. "Sirius."

"I'm fine, Prongs. Stop worrying and nattering. I – " Sirius stops when he looks up to see the open expression taking over James' face, filled with whatever acceptance he thinks Sirius needs. "I don't know," he mumbles, and then sighs, the sound more forced air than anything else. "I think I am sulking. I'm tired, James. I'm more tired than I think I've ever been and I don't even know why. There's just so much and it's – my mind won't shut up for five minutes to let me breathe and there are all these things swimming in it that I can't grab onto long enough to hold them still."

James studies him quietly, all evidence of humor from earlier now gone. "You're still not writing?" he asks, his tone gentler than Sirius had expected, James usually straight to the point, nailing the heart of the matter no matter the ache it leaves behind. It's one of the reasons Sirius loves him as much as he does. James just always seems to see through to his baser self even when Sirius can't, but even he appears to be struggling now.

"No," says Sirius, feeling a bit desolate and drifting. "Nothing will – it's like I can't organize it. It's all a clusterfuck on fire, and the flames are spreading."

James' face pinches thoughtfully, a small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, his brows gravitating together at their center above his nose. The brown of his eyes darken, overtaking the olive green starburst within.

"Have you been thinking about it again?"

"No," says Sirius quickly, and James pins him with a knowing look, one eyebrow arching slightly. "I haven't, not that. The war's been distant, mostly. Might have been thinking about home a few days ago. Piano."

James nods, not requiring any further explanation. "Remus mentioned something," he hedges, and Sirius rolls his eyes, because of course he had. The others always went to James when they were truly worried about Sirius and couldn't manage to break through on their own, knowing James had the uncanny ability to do it in a way no one else could. Except…that doesn't feel true anymore. Remus had broken through, knocked down those carefully constructed walls, had pulled Sirius back to where he needed and was meant to be. The whole thing only confuses him further. "Don't be put out with him. He's just concerned and for some reason feels like he's doing everything wrong lately. He said he thought you'd been dodging him, which doesn't make much sense to me."

The words gouge at something deep inside Sirius' chest and he winces before he can stop himself even as he shakes his head. "I'm not upset," he assures, but he can't admit to the avoidance yet because James will want to discuss it at length and Sirius still doesn't understand why he feels like it's necessary. "I'm just too far in my head."

"You're always in your head, Pads," murmurs James fondly, his eyes glittering a bit behind his spectacles. "It's one of the things that makes you you."

It's said as a joke, a mild tease formed from affection, but Sirius can't make himself laugh or even smile. "Not like this, James," he says in nearly a whisper. "This is different, and I can't shake it."

James sobers instantly, hand reaching out, gripping Sirius' shoulder with an ease of familiarity and that brotherhood that's always been so tangible and strong between them since they were eleven and too idiotic to see it for what it was. He squeezes a little, a firm pressure where it's needed most.

"You will," says James confidently. "You always do, and we're all here to help you. Whatever you need, Sirius, you know we'll give it. We'll do whatever it takes to pull you back every time." Sirius' jaw wobbles at the words before he manages to still it, but James sees it and never comments. Sirius clears his throat, yet it doesn't help erase the emotions welling like an inflating ball inside, blocking his air passage, but James only squeezes his shoulder again, more firmly this time. "We've got you, Padfoot. I've got you, no matter what, yeah?"

"No matter what," echoes Sirius faintly, nodding a little when he finally looks up and meets his friend's eyes, fierce and determined even as his face remains lax, open and accepting. Sirius releases a small noise and then James grins, shaking him a bit with his hand.

"C'mon. Let's go schmooze. Or drink!" he says exuberantly. "My vote's for drinking. None of that top shelf stuff either. I want the good and dirty of it."

Sirius can't help himself, barking out a sudden burst of laughter. James' grin widens as he steers them to the door and back out to join Remus and Peter.

--------------------

Regulus tells them nearly a week later to come to his and James' for an impromptu meeting. Sirius rankles a bit at the summons, but Remus only shakes his head and bodily hoists Sirius up from where he's sprawled over their sofa, removing the ukulele from his hands with a practiced sort of ease as he shoves him down the hall towards his bedroom to change his clothing. Sirius grumbles under his breath the entire time, not really stopping until James pulls the front door open and drags them inside.

Sirius instantly makes his way towards the kitchen, snagging one of Regulus' oldest bottles of Firewhisky along with two glasses before anyone notices what he's doing. He journeys back into their sitting room and drops next to Remus on a deceptively comfortable sofa, the thing swallowing them even as it provides support in the perfect places. Sirius offers one of the glasses to Remus, who only raises one eyebrow beneath his shaggy mop of wavy fringe.

"I've a feeling we'll be needing it," mumbles Sirius, pouring far more than he knows Remus thinks is necessary into the glass, not stopping even when his friend motions for him to pull the bottle away. "Hush, Moons. It's for your own good." Remus huffs, though it sounds less like annoyance and more like disguised amusement to Sirius' ears, and he says nothing as he lifts the glass to his lips to take a testing sip.

Lily and Mary are already there, venturing in through the side door where they'd been outside. Regulus is nowhere in sight which is suspicious to Sirius. Lily plants herself on the sofa beside Sirius, wedging him in the middle, but he doesn't care. She always smells nice and she never criticizes him when he decides to drink in what could be considered excess. Something in Lily seems to understand that he only does it when he needs it most, so she remains silent other than fighting him for the glass a time or two to steal her own large gulps, much to Sirius' chagrin.

Mary follows James around the room as he totes in snacks and drinks of all varieties which Sirius ignores (mostly; he's never been good at resisting Hobnobs, grabbing up a stack of four in one go). She picks and plucks over his hair, buzzing like a high-pitched gnat, a solid form of entertainment as James continuously tries to bat her away from him.

"Will you leave me alone, woman?" demands James, more pleading than angry. "My hair is fine. We're not even doing anything right now."

"You never know when you're going to get caught by a camera, James Potter," insists Mary, still reaching over his head, fingers ruffling through his hair. "If you'd just give me ten minutes one day and a pair of scissors, I could really – "

"No!" cries James, lunging away from her, holding up his now empty tray in defense against her still hovering hands. "I've said no every time you're brought it up and the answer hasn't changed. No, Macdonald. Leave. Me. Alone. I like my hair. Other people like my hair. Fans love my hair. They're always saying how much they want to touch it."

"That's mine, actually," slips in Sirius, glancing down at his glass when his next drink comes up empty and frowning before shooting an incriminating look at Lily who smirks at him. "I see you, Evans."

"Shut up, Padfoot," squeaks James as he dodges away from Mary again.

"Are we discussing Potter's hair again?" says a voice from the doorway. They all look around to see Marlene and Dorcas strolling in, the pair dropping to the floor easily after Dorcas grabs a handful of crisps, offering half to Marlene. "I like it. Gives him an edgier look. Like a disturbed moose."

"Do you even know what a moose is?" questions Remus sedately, head tilting to the side a bit as he observes the two women.

"'Course I do!" lobs Marlene, sounding affronted. "Bloody huge things, aren't they? Potter's got some growing to do to match up, but the hair is on point."

Sirius hums, eyes trailing across the room until they land on James, who stares at him like he already knows what's coming. Sirius grins wickedly.

"Marls is right, I think," he says in agreement. "I can see it, though I think the comparison was better in fifth year when you tried to style it into those spike things that wouldn't hold so you added in glue. Still don't know how you managed to get your hands stuck, do you, Prongs?"

"I don't know, Padfoot," counters James, glaring at him as the others laugh uproariously around them. "D'you know how you manage to walk like a fucking pixie with wings in those massive boots of yours and still somehow went tumbling arse over tea kettle down the grand staircase?"

"I do, actually," returns Sirius, leaning back into the cushions, shoulder pressing snugly against Remus' beside him. "I was staring at Liam Clarke. He'd just got those new robes that were only a smidge too tight and – "

"Please, make it stop," begs Dorcas from the floor next to a nearly crying Marlene. "I didn't come here to listen to Black wax poetic about some bloke's bits."

Sirius' grin turns into all teeth, sharp and ready to sink into flesh, his eyebrows waggling on his forehead suggestively. "It was like a religious experience, Meadowes," he attests, licking over the bottoms of his top teeth like a predator. Dorcas' nose scrunches up in distaste, her arm winding around Marlene's waist to pull her closer, nearly into her lap, something Marlene doesn't seem to mind, her blue eyes shining hungrily.

"You don't believe in religion."

"Mm, no, but he got me close in a plethora of ways," quips Sirius, unaffected by her tone.

Marlene and Dorcas groan as a unit, Lily shoving at Sirius, knocking him further into Remus, who grabs around Sirius' wrist with quick reflexes to steady his sloshing drink, the glass now refilled from the bottle between their thighs. Peter wanders in then, glancing around the room at his laughing friends in curiosity.

"What did I miss?" he asks, plopping into a vacant armchair and leaning forward to grab a waiting butterbeer.

"Sirius' brief and flickering belief in a higher power because of a bloke's arse," offers up Remus levelly as he takes a slow sip from his still half-filled glass. Sirius eyes his drink and then Remus in turn, silently telling him to pick up the pace. Remus rolls his eyes and ignores him.

"Oh," says Peter, blinking between them. "Is it Tuesday already?"

"Oi!" cries Sirius, lobbing a biscuit at his friend's head. "My sacrilege doesn't stick to a schedule."

"Really? Could have fooled me," mutters James, and Sirius pulls his wand, aiming it at James' head.

"Want me to fix up your hair, Prongsie?" he coos sweetly, batting his eyelashes coyly.

James frowns deeply, looking suddenly wary. "You wouldn't," he says warningly.

"Don't test me." Sirius only stows his wand when James settles and begins dodging Mary's pulling fingers again, swatting at her with his tray irately. Sirius exhales an annoyed sigh, glancing around the room. "Want to tell us what this is about, James? The whisky isn't curing me of my growing boredom."

James only shrugs. "Like I've got any idea," he says in puzzlement. "Reg just said it was important."

"Uh huh, of course he did, but everything to Regulus is important even when it shouldn't be," mutters Sirius, tossing his head back as he downs the remainder of his second glass before quickly refilling it. Remus kicks at his ankle and Sirius scowls as he caps the bottle again. "Where is my darling brother, then? Off in his hole staring at numbers and counting his Galleons?"

"Sirius," levels James, eyes flashing in warning. "Don't."

Sirius sinks deeper into the sofa, his legs stretching out in front of him as he pouts and stares at the opposite wall sullenly. The others pick back up on the conversation, the topic steering to nicknames, Dorcas questioning Peter on his because she's somehow never heard the story of when he'd made his own half-arsed Halloween costume and tied strings around his belt loops, leaving him with what James could only describe as what looked like a rattail. They're still not sure what his end goal had been with that, and Sirius secretly thinks Peter hadn't either, though he'll never admit to it.

His gaze flickers around the room as he tunes out the voices surrounding him, nursing his third drink so that Remus refrains from actually injuring him with another kick or a too-sharp elbow to his ribs. James and Regulus don't live in a flat, something that had surprised Sirius more than anyone when they'd announced they were purchasing a house. Regulus, though Sirius and the others know he has the easy ability to be warm and caring, still possesses a level of coldness within him, ingrained from years spent with their family, something Sirius thinks he'd been born with to an extent, never fully managing to shake away.

The house had been more than a mild shock, but the décor and environment more so. Sirius had never doubted James to make a place as comfortable as possible, but Sirius had seen Regulus' office, and his flat before he and James had decided to cohabitate. Everything about Regulus was all cool, crisp, clean lines, muted colors with only a few accents of mildly brighter things mixed in. It never reminded Sirius of Grimmauld Place, but it got close enough that it sometimes made his skin crawl.

But their home here and now isn't anything like that. It's warm and inviting, a place that against all odds, even considering James, Sirius always feels comfortable within. It's become a perfect mixture of both, James' love for bold colors and half-chaotic décor melding with Regulus' own need for organization and more modern tastes. There's artwork hanging on the walls, but between it are random photos, some moving and others not, all smiling faces and silliness, love and happiness invading the sometimes stark works beside them. Their furniture is soft and pliant, not stiff and forcing a rigid posture at all times, the perfect places to cozy up and relax or nap, something Sirius has done here too many times to count.

Sirius automatically feels himself relax whenever he steps through the front door, no matter how tightly wound he is, something coming over him, a thing that sinks in the longer he remains. The only place that's better is his and Remus' little carved out corner of the world.

Regulus still hasn't shown, and eventually Remus stands and stretches, Sirius watching him as he moves across the room with slow, meandering steps. He ventures to the opposite side where a large harp stands, more of a statement piece on Regulus' part than anything else, or so he says, neither him nor James able to play it, but Sirius knows better, and he thinks Remus does, too. Remus knows how to play, something else Hope had taught him along with the drums. They don't own one themselves short of smaller versions like knee harps and a lyre because they're too large for their available space, at least that's what Remus says, but Sirius knows he wants one, understanding how much he loves to play it whenever the opportunity arises, which is why Sirius also knows Regulus had made the purchase for Remus instead of himself.

Remus settles down on the stool behind the harp, Sirius watching as his hands lift. The others are still talking, haven't noticed anything yet, and Sirius holds his breath as Remus plucks the first note, almost testing, gaining a feel for it. It chimes out around them and their friends' voices falter for a moment before they keep talking, everyone aware that in times like these, Remus doesn't much care for the attention. He plays for himself, some sort of lingering connection to his mum he's scared might fade away some day without it.

His fingers begin to move slowly, tugging at the strings, dancing along their trails, searching through different melodies before landing on one, and then he's playing with a little hesitancy. The notes emerge cautiously, a little stilted, but he gains steam as he continues, picking up his pace, his hands beginning to perform along with the music streaming around them. He plucks and glides, his eyes closing and then reopening, focused on the colored strings in front of him.

Their friends finally fall silent around Sirius, gazes trained on Remus as he loses himself in what he's doing, no longer paying attention or caring that they're staring. His chest moves evenly, breaths measured and controlled, Sirius fixated on it for a time before he shifts back to his hands again, those long, slender fingers moving like tendrils of sunlight dancing off the surface of a body of water, dazzling and hypnotizing.

Sirius has no idea what he's playing, can't pick out the tune to save his life, but he doesn't care. Remus could be recreating that annoying milkshake song and Sirius would still be enamored and just as breathless staring at him now. His hands are like ghosts as they play, delicate and wisping, like they weigh nothing, consist of no matter or mass, nothing tying them to the earth but pure sound and energy. There's a seduction in the way Remus moves when he plays a harp, drawing people in and keeping them there, a siren calling from sea, captivating its victim in a sense of overwhelming enthrallment.

When Remus finally finishes the song, his fingers hover around the strings like they don't want to stop, like he's forcing them to stillness. Sirius can't move his eyes away from him, everyone around them silent until they slowly begin to speak again in low murmurs, complimenting Remus, but the other man doesn't seem to hear it, never acknowledging their words. He stares at the harp, lost in a trance, but then his gaze shifts, settling on Sirius slowly, like he could feel Sirius burning into him. Their eyes lock and hold, Remus' a molten, melted chocolate, smooth and somehow electric. Sirius' heart is trapped in the base of his throat and he can't breathe anymore but he doesn't need it, can live the rest of his life without it if only they stay like this.

A slow clap from the doorway to the room jolts Remus, his head whipping around. Sirius sucks in a small breath, his lungs reinflating, and he only realizes as that connection breaks that his mouth is parted, hanging open just a little. He blinks, closes it quickly, turning his own head to see Regulus standing to his side, gazing at Remus with the smallest of smiles.

"That wasn't terrible," comments Regulus, and Remus rolls his eyes, his body relaxing over the stool, some sort of tension releasing with the light teasing. "One day I'm going to give you that thing."

Sirius thinks he'd buy Remus one made of solid gold and glittering diamonds if he'd keep playing and let Sirius watch him, but the idea dissolves into rationality as his friend says, "I'll never let you."

Regulus only hums faintly, his eyes sweeping Remus, and Sirius can see the thoughts playing through his mind almost as easily as he can always read James'. The harp only gets attention when Remus is around, like a magnet pulling him in each time, the man showing it all the devotion and adoration it rightfully deserves.

"Nice to see you finally decided to join us," speaks up Dorcas from her place on the floor, and Sirius startles, having nearly forgotten the rest of them were there. "Care to explain why we're here, Reg?"

Regulus' gaze flickers over them, lingering the longest on James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius before he states, "The Ministry is interfering again."

There are several groans that merge together between them all, filling the once mostly silent room with sound again. Sirius scowls automatically.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters darkly. "What the hell are they on about now? We've done nearly everything they've asked and they're getting their money. Dues, so they call it. I still say it's bribery and payoff." Sirius angles a distasteful look in his brother's direction that Regulus ignores as he moves to the smaller settee, sitting down beside James, who's now lost his empty tray and is watching Regulus closely, strangely silent.

"They're claiming we're still threatening the Statute of Secrecy. Our equipment transport is too obviously manipulated, our lighting during performances not looking manually controlled enough. There are a lot of things they mentioned."

"That's absurd," scoffs Lily from beside Sirius.

"What more could they possibly want us to do?" demands Sirius, sitting forward on the sofa, leaning over his legs and glaring at his brother, though the heat in his eyes isn't directed at Regulus. "We already have those massive buses driving round the country while we're touring. We make appearances in airports like every other Muggle celebrity, being sure we're spotted. We've even taken some of those flights to stick with the charade."

"We've hired cars to drive us around," adds Peter, looking not entirely thrilled. "We've taken cabs."

"And Lils taught us all about sending twits, because apparently it's what all the famous Muggles do in their free time," offers out James.

"Tweets," supplies Lily, sounding tired and exasperated. "It's tweets, James."

"Right, teets," mumbles James, clearly not paying attention. Lily sighs and slumps back against the sofa in defeat.

Regulus looks over his boyfriend with slightly abhorrent eyes. "That's not what you want to call – "

"I've even edited a lot of my songs that they claimed were too obvious!" exclaims Sirius, outraged and angry.

"It seems like they just want you lot to dive into the Muggle world completely," says Marlene, leaning back on her hands, looking thoughtful and a little distressed. "No magic at all for anything."

"Or pull out of it entirely."

The voice is soft and quiet as it emerges, but they all hear it regardless. Sirius shifts his sights to Remus, still sitting on the stool by the harp, face dour, eyes dark. His hands are splayed over his thighs in a relaxed position, but Sirius can see the strain over his arms, veins standing out sharply under his skin, highlighting how tense he is.

"That's what they want," continues Remus. "They don't want us to be part of the Muggle world. They never have. They've been fighting us since the beginning, and they'll keep fighting until they get what they want."

Regulus shakes his head, drawing Sirius' attention back to him in the silence that's fallen around them. "They won't get it. We're not pulling out of the Muggle world unless that's what you all decide is what you want. They don't control this, not any of it." His eyes move around the room, looking at each of the band members in turn before his gaze comes to rest on Sirius, his message of support clear even without his coming words. "You do."

Sirius nods once, a sharp movement, a fierce sense of gratefulness swelling for his brother in the moment. "You're damn right we do," he states, voice brash. "Let them try." He glances around at his friends. "We'll show them how loudly lions can roar."

Chapter Text

"We should go out."

Sirius, who's curled himself into a very tight ball in an armchair and had been grumbling under his breath as he'd scrawled and scribbled in his notebook to no avail looks up in surprise at the voice and words that come from above his head. Remus stands beside him, gazing at the nearly ruined page, holes torn into places from how hard Sirius had scratched out verses and individual words. There are arrows drawn everywhere, creating a chaotic mess that's indecipherable to even him now.

"What?" he questions, his brows knitting together in confusion. Sirius ignores the way something in his chest had kicked with Remus' initial suggestion, though his frown deepens.

"Out. Into the world. Fresh air, people," says Remus, reiterating his original offering.

Sirius stares at him in puzzlement. "We go out all the time, Moons," he mumbles, his mind still too slogged down by impossible lyrics that aren't cooperating. "That's all we ever do is go . In fact, we never actually just stay ."

"Yes, but that's for work," states the other man, his tone filled with an incredible amount of patience, as though he's explaining how a cloud is formed to a five-year-old. "This would be for fun. It'd be…just us, doing what we used to do. Browse through some shops, find a café, get some tea and a pastry. We could look for more records. You haven't had new ones other than what Lily and Mary have given you in forever."

"Just us?" says Sirius contemplatively, biting at the inside of his cheek as he studies his friend. "What about Dorcas and Lily? Reg said – "

"Since when do you listen to everything Regulus says?" questions Remus, arching one eyebrow enticingly, the corner of his mouth quirking, but Sirius doesn't return the small smile, his eyes dropping and the expression melts from Remus' face as he seems to connect the dots. "You shouldn't listen to most of the things he says and advises." Sirius doesn't respond, fingers picking at the metal wire lining the edge of his book. Remus releases a breath above him, like a stilted sigh. "Lily and Dorcas are good at what they do. They're helpful when there are large crowds and we can't get away with using magic to protect ourselves while they can without being noticed, but that doesn't mean we can't still defend ourselves when we need it. It'll be fine, Sirius."

"I'm not worried about that," denies Sirius mulishly, still picking at the notebook. His eyes drift up to Remus before dropping again, staring at the abysmal page in front of him, support on his raised thighs.

Remus lowers himself down to the table across from Sirius, leaning forward over his legs until he can properly see Sirius' face. "When's the last time you felt like a person and not a piece of meat meant for mass marketing and drool covered magazine cover spreads?" he asks, voice filled with a heavy sort of understanding that causes Sirius to cringe internally, pulling away from it. "That's what Regulus has all but turned you into and you've let him, but that's not what you are. You and I both know that. You're still a human being with interests and passions, with a bloody brilliant mind that just needs a break from everything else."

Remus reaches forward slowly, gently plucking the notebook from Sirius' hands who lets it slip away without fight. He flips it closed and sets it to the side before his eyes train back on Sirius, expression solemn and purposeful.

"Whatever's going on with you, I don't like it. I don't like seeing you like this, Pads."

Sirius can't look at him or meet his eyes, still staring down at his knees, the ripped and shredded material covering them and exposing a small amount of skin forming interesting patterns. There's a fraying, curling thread tattering away from them that reminds Sirius of the scar on Remus' neck, and he swallows back the confusion that's trying to rise in his throat again as Remus sighs.

"I want my friend back, Sirius," murmurs Remus, beginning to sound a bit desolate, and that makes Sirius' eyes lift to finally look at him. Remus offers him the smallest of smiles. "You've been…odd lately. Distant. I don't know why, but I miss you, and I'm only trying to help, so come out with me. We don't have anything going today, so we've got time to waste. I think it'll be good for you."

Sirius stares at him, thinking over his words, taking in the half-hidden concern flooding through his friend's brown eyes. "We'll get flattened by fans, you know that, don't you?" he finally concedes, and Remus cracks a smile that's nearly blinding.

"Maybe not." Sirius provides him with a plain sort of look and Remus chuckles. "Yeah, you're probably right, but that's part of life now. We still have to live it, don't we?"

"S'pose so," he mumbles. Sirius picks at the thread he'd been staring at a few minutes earlier, uncurling it and breaking the illusion. "Do you really think it'll help? Clear my head or…whatever?"

"Hopefully," says Remus optimistically. "Or maybe Prongs is right and all you need is a good shag."

Sirius looks back up at him, eyes turning sly. "Are you offering?" he asks coyly.

Remus smirks as he stands and stretches a bit, his arms lifting over his head. Sirius' gaze drops to the exposed bit of flesh around his waist before lifting again quickly.

"Don't you wish," teases Remus.

The yes comes unbidden to Sirius' mind and it jolts him a little as he watches his friend walk away from him, disappearing towards his bedroom. Sirius' throat constricts on him as he forces his eyes away, staring at a mounted cymbal on the opposite wall, words in different handwritings scrawled over its surface, messages of love and endearments, a gift from them all to Remus on his birthday a few years before. His eyes search out his own writing, blazing a trail in silver across the brass surface, the words standing out clearer than all the others.

The stars lose their shine in comparison.

--------------------

They Apparate into London, journeying to a smaller shopping district that's crowded but not overly so. Sirius feels a few eyes on them as they walk about, peeking into windows as they pass by to see if the shop holds appeal, but no one bothers them at first, something he's grateful about, his tenseness slipping away the longer they stroll down the pavements.

They come across a secondhand shop about a half hour in, ducking inside. The space contains all manner of things, clothing and books, gently used bedding, furniture, wall art, unframed photos and posters, and records. Sirius' eyes light up when he sees them, and he can feel Remus' smile on him as they dip and dodge through the teetering, unsteady mountains of objects surrounding them.

"I like this place," says Sirius as they flip through the square covers containing the vinyls, pausing to glance around the cluttered shop. "It's messy, but the good sort, you know?"

Remus hums as he plucks up a record, examining it for a moment before lowering it again. "I thought you might," he mumbles, sounding distracted.

"You've been here before?"

Remus looks up at him, blinking the haze away from his eyes. "Yeah, loads of times," he murmurs, dropping his voice as someone maneuvers their way past them. Remus squeezes in a bit closer to give the stranger more room to move, his arm warm where it presses against Sirius' own. "They've got great books. Lily and I are fond of this place, and we come here whenever we're out together on our own and have some extra time or we're in the area. Some of the records she's given you have come from here."

Sirius arches a black eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. "Secret trysts with Evans, Moony," he whispers like it's of the utmost privacy. "You cad. Never knew you had it in you."

Remus huffs and rolls his eyes, nudging into Sirius' ribs gently with his elbow. "I should be so lucky," he jests, but the tease hits a place in Sirius that isn't completely pleasant.

He falls silent, returning to the records in front of them, sorting through them slowly as his mind drifts away for a while. Finally, he opens his mouth and bursts out with it.

"Have you ever thought about it?" he asks bluntly. When Remus looks at him questioningly, Sirius tries to act like his answer doesn't matter, because it doesn't. "Lily. Have you ever, you know, thought about it? I know you both sort of…swing back and forth. I don't understand it, but it's your life and your choices. If you want a woman or a man, none of us will ever – " Sirius seals his lips shut then, looking back down at the edges of the vinyl covers, inwardly cursing himself.

Remus watches him curiously for a moment before he hedges, "Would that bother you, if I had or did?"

"No!" bursts Sirius, his answer far too quick. Remus' eyes are wide when Sirius looks back up at him and Sirius huffs to himself. "'Course it wouldn't. Why should it? That's what I mean. Lils is…she's great, isn't she? We love her. And you. We – we like you."

Remus' eyebrows lift high on his forehead as Sirius finishes speaking lamely. "You like me," he murmurs, sounding amused. "Really? That's it? Eighteen years of friendship and you like me, Padfoot."

Sirius grits his teeth as the gentle mockery in Remus voice, rolling his own eyes. "Fine, fine," he mutters. "We love you. There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," voices Remus, sounding incredibly pleased. He continues staring at Sirius with glittering eyes until Sirius steps on the top of his foot with the heavy sole of his boot. "Ow! Bloody fuck – why would you do that?"

"Serves you right, you giant prick."

"I'll show you a giant prick," mutters Remus, bending to rub over his foot with a mildly pained expression and Sirius turns away quickly as heat rises up his neck, encroaching on his cheeks. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What is wrong with me? thinks Sirius desperately, resuming his shuffle through the records. When Remus straightens again, he doesn't seem to notice anything amiss, picking up where they'd left off. "To answer your question, no. Lily is attractive and a lovely person. We all love her, but we're too much alike, too close to one another."

Sirius gnaws on the inside of his cheek contemplatively before he glances up at Remus again. "Is that the main reason you'd never consider it?" he asks, keeping his voice level and only curious, blocking out everything else that's battling for purchase at the base of his throat. "Because you're too close? Because you…know one another too well?"

"Well…no," denies Remus, his brow furrowing and expression sobering as he studies Sirius' face. "Closeness isn't a bad thing, but it's just…" He trails off, pauses, like he's restructuring his thoughts. "What's this about, Pads?"

"Nothing," brushes away Sirius with a casual shrug, fingers slipping over the records again, something to keep himself busy. "I'm just trying to understand."

"Understand what?"

"How your head works. You're always quiet. Nearly twenty years later and there's still things about you I don't know," offers up Sirius like it doesn't matter, though it does, more than he's willing to admit or look at too closely right now. "You don't date all that much. Never bring anyone home or back to your rooms when we're traveling. You're never out all night with someone, so I'm just trying to see it."

"You don't really do those things either," says Remus quietly, the music in front of them forgotten, his eyes fixed on Sirius, barely blinking.

Sirius snorts caustically. "I don't have much choice in that," he scoffs in irritation. "You do, but you never do it."

"That was your decision, Sirius," claims Remus with a deepening frown, beginning to look a little hurt around his edges. "You didn't have to go along with it and you still don't, but you do. Don't lay that at my feet and try to push what your brother has manipulated you into onto me."

Sirius sighs in frustration, turning to face his friend fully. "That's not what I'm doing and it's not what I meant, Remus," states Sirius, barely keeping the bite from his voice. "I just…" He glances away, eyes shifting around the shop, observing an elderly man browsing along the opposite wall before he looks back at Remus. "I'm not doing that. I know I didn't have to do it, but it made sense. It still does, I suppose, which is why I've not said or done anything about it. I'm not pushing it off on you. But you've had…what? Two moderate relationships the entire time I've known you? A handful of one offs that we all know about? That can't be all there's been for you, but you never say anything about it or what you…I dunno. What you look for, I guess. I'm curious. There's nothing holding you back. You could literally have anyone and would want them, man or woman, so why are you always at home with me when you don't have to be?"

Remus stares at him with an odd sort of expression, like there's something he can't figure out, like there's something Sirius is missing. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, hesitant, a layer of uncertainty but hints of an obviousness to it.

"I like being with you."

It's a simple sentence, only five words, but they putter through Sirius and wrap around his heart, squeezing it in warmth that radiates outwards. It extends to his fingertips and toes, travels up to his scalp, tingling and sublime. Heat spreads across his chest beneath his shirt and jacket, and Sirius shifts, the leather squeaking faintly with the movement, acutely aware of Remus' eyes still pinning him in place.

"Yeah, well," he mumbles, looking down at their feet, sliding his tongue along his teeth as he searches for more words that matter at all in comparison. He looks up at Remus again. "I like being with you, too, Moons, but there's more to life."

Remus' frown remains in place for another handful of seconds before it morphs and alters to a pleasing sort of smile. "Don't explain life to me, Black," he says easily, that same tension that seems to be building and wavering a lot lately slipping away. "I know what I'm doing."

"What are you doing?" presses Sirius, leaning forward a bit, following Remus' eyes until they completely break away.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" supplies Remus slyly.

"I would, actually. Yes. That's why I'm asking, you berk," mutters Sirius, but Remus only grins at him as he pulls out a record and offers it over. Sirius glances down at it and blinks. "Fuck," he nearly moans. "Is that The Clash?"

Remus clicks his tongue as Sirius takes the album in his hands with a ginger touch. "I know exactly what I'm doing," he murmurs confidently, turning back to the bins of records as Sirius stares down at the nearly pristine cover clutched between his fingers.

Their conversation drifts to easier topics after that while they continue browsing, eventually finishing with the records and moving around the shop sluggishly until they locate the books. The pair spends a long time searching through the shelves, Remus plucking out a few titles and fanning through the pages before returning them, seeming mostly uninterested. Sirius manages to find a few things while Remus looks around, the covers of the books dark and exciting, the blurbs promising epic tales. He locates a couple that scream Remus to him, and when he shows his friend, Remus smiles blindingly at him, accepting the books and holding them safely in the crook of his elbow.

On their way to the front to complete their purchases, they stumble upon a section of instruments, neither of them able to resist taking a peek at what's on offer. There's not much that's worthwhile or piques their interest, but Sirius finds a beaten and abused acoustic guitar, the finish rough, its shine long gone. Sirius almost feels sorry for it, existing through such a rough life and then being abandoned in a place like this where no one would probably ever want it. Remus watches him as his fingers sweep over the neck, plucking at the out of tune strings, and he doesn't seem surprised when Sirius finally picks it up.

"I think I might paint it," he says as he studies the instrument with care. "Make it something special."

Remus only hums and smiles, taking the records and books from Sirius' hands so he can pack the guitar without risking a drop.

After that, with their purchases complete, the two walk down the pavement outside and duck into a vacant alley. Sirius pulls his wand and sends their things back to their home so they don't have to carry them around the remainder of the time they're out, and then they're off again, exploring at a leisurely pace until Remus grips around his elbow, urging Sirius to stop and motioning across the street at a small café.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"Starving," says Sirius in return, his stomach growling as though sensing the food nearby.

The place is small and cramped, so they order a couple sandwiches and drinks before venturing back outside, glancing around until they spy a few benches in a cluster nearby. They settle down on one, Sirius stretching his legs out and reclining back against the wooden metal bars, warmed from the sun flickering in and out behind the rolling clouds overhead.

"So," broaches Remus casually as they eat, "has it helped?"

Sirius doesn't have to ask or even look at his friend to understand his meaning. He picks at the edges of his sandwich, plucking away the thick crust and dropping it to the pavement below for the birds that are soaring above the buildings surrounding them.

"Maybe. I dunno," he says, his words slow and considering. Sirius' eyes track an ant as it moves to inspect a piece of bread. "My head doesn't feel as…yeah."

Remus hums a little, a small sound that becomes lost in the bustle of people and cars traveling around them. "Happy to hear it," he comments lightly. He doesn't bring up Sirius' songwriting, never questions it, but Sirius hadn't expected him to. Instead, he hums again, this time stretching it out into a tune that grows and spreads, slipping under Sirius' skin and into his bones like sun-warmed honey.

He stretches out on the bench, arms draping over its back, knees falling away from one another as his body slackens. As Sirius relaxes, Remus begins to sing softly, and it's not one of theirs, not Sirius' own words, but one of favorites to listen to whenever he has the chance.

"Don't wanna live as an untold story. Rather go out in a blaze of glory," he croons, his own version slower to start than the true song, but Sirius feels himself smiling. "I can't hear you, I don't fear you."

As Remus keeps singing beside him, Sirius leans sideways and digs into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the stashed away pack and lighter hidden within. His friend doesn't seem to notice until Sirius clicks open the top of the box, the flame flickering in the breeze as he settles it over the tip of the cigarette, dragging in a deep haul before snapping it closed and stowing it from sight again. Remus falters and falls quiet, eyeing Sirius with an arched brow.

"Don't start with me," warns Sirius without any real heat, pointing the two fingers clutching the fag at Remus' face. "I don't do it often anymore and it's not like I've got a singing voice to protect."

"No, just your health," supplies Remus, still watching him, his brown eyes drifting between Sirius and the cigarette billowing smoke between them. Sirius drags it back to his lips, smirking at the other man around it, eyes squinting through the haze.

"Wizard," he returns complacently.

"Twat," counters Remus, snagging the stick from his fingers and lifting it to his own mouth, pulling in his own haul.

"Oi!" cries Sirius, trying to wrestle the cigarette back as Remus holds it hostage between his lips, a large smile growing over his freckled face. " You do have a voice to worry about. Gimme that."

"I can't hear you!" sings out Remus raucously through his bubbling laughter, echoing his earlier song, and Sirius huffs, feigning frustration through his amusement. They draw a few glances in their direction but the pair ignores everyone around them in favor of each other. Remus finally relents as his humor tones back down to manageable levels, handing the cigarette back to Sirius, who snatches it quickly, shielding it away after another quick drag. "I'm not sure what you're even talking about. You can sing. You've got something to protect."

Sirius drops his eyes to the pavement again, watching a now trailing line of ants circle around the bread he'd dropped during their lunch. Remus is right, he can sing, but not like James and not anywhere near as well as Remus. He can sing well enough to get his point across for the songs he writes, carries the tune and supports it, but placing that needed power behind it is where he falters and fails. He can't hold the notes the way they deserve.

It had been a point of contention for him for a long time in his younger years because Sirius had wanted to sing. There were things he wrote down, important words that he wanted to scream to the sky and have them heard the way they deserved, but he lacked what was needed, something he'd never understood. Sirius is talented, he'll never deny that. He's mastered more instruments than anyone can count, even himself. If it interests him, he can play it, or he'll figure out how. He knows how to build a melody, assemble it from nothing, layering one thing on top of another until it sounds how it does inside his head. He can write music to beat everyone else into the ground, but he can't deliver it through his voice.

But Sirius had eventually learned that where he was lacking was where his friends thrived. He understood that it wasn't about flaws and personal downfalls, but about carrying one another where they needed it most. Peter can't sing either, but he has a rhythm inside him that they all envy in a wonderful sort of way, something that seems to match the beat of his heart and pours from him.

James can't write, doesn't have the patience or the ability to construct the words in a way that fits and makes sense. He can't sit still long enough to even try, though he often brings ideas of his own to Sirius, prattling about them in excitement until Sirius is able to write them down for him and structure them in a way that makes sense. But James is the one who can take a note and turn it into something that fills an entire room with sound, fingers plucking over guitar strings like that's where they belong, like he was born with them connected to their tips.

And Remus…

Remus doesn't like the spotlight, hates being the center of attention in anything unless necessary, and even then he shies away from it as much as possible, going quiet and timid, eyes dark and guarded against any sort of prying from outside individuals. He sings in the background, exists in the background of their stage setups, but Sirius knows he stands out. Their fans love him, cry out his name, watch his hands and try to mimic them.

Remus, for all his denials and twists in the opposite direction, is their heart. He's the beat that flows through them all, ties them together. He not only hears music, but he sees it, helping Sirius often when assembling things together. Remus paints pictures with notes, brushstrokes of melodies filling a boring sky, turning it pink and crimson, tinting it with oranges and golds. Remus brings the light and the color they'd be missing if he wasn't present.

So yeah, Sirius can sing, and he does when he needs or wants, finally settling into his own role as part of a grander thing they'd all managed to craft together through the ease of learning and knowing one another better than brothers created through misery and fear and laughter. He sings in his broken sort of way that no one complains about, but only those he keeps gathered and knitted close to himself have ever heard him. What he does isn't for the public, isn't something to be monetized before it's layered between James' and Remus' collective voices. What he does is private and personal. It's intimate.

Remus plucks the fag from his fingers again just before Sirius takes his last haul, ignoring the indignant squawk he receives in return. "You can sing," he reiterates smugly, like he can see Sirius' thoughts playing out like a film above their heads, "so I'll be having this to retain whatever you've got left of your voice, thanks."

Sirius swats at him, his foot kicking out at the same time, connecting with only slight force to his friend's ankle, but Remus only grins wolfishly. He licks over his exposed teeth as he drops the cigarette to the ground and stubs it out with the heel of his trainer, then he's leaning towards Sirius, mouth opening, tongue visible beyond his lips, and Sirius stares, going a bit breathless as the divide between them shrinks to nearly nothing. His heart stutters and something inside him is singing now, loud notes, exuberant cries he can never hope to recreate himself. Sirius goes still as Remus draws closer, their noses almost touching before he stops, and then Sirius is flinching in shock when Remus begins to sing like they're on a stage under lights, with a screaming crowd at their feet.

"I wanna taste love and pain, wanna feel pride and shame! I don't wanna take my time, don't wanna waste one line!"

Sirius gawks at him, but then he's throwing his head back and laughing to the grey sky above, startling a few watchful pigeons from their roosts on the rooftops. Remus keeps singing, never stopping, shouting out the chorus of the song, Sirius aching to join in with him. He almost does, his own mouth opening, uncaring of where they are or the fact that others can see and hear them, having mostly forgotten they're not alone at all, until the flash of a camera and a girl's voice startles him from the bubble surrounding them.

"Oh my god, he's actually singing. Listen to him. Moony's amazing," she says in reverence.

Sirius' and Remus' heads both whip around, Remus choking over his last words as everything dies away. His mouth seals shut as he stares at the small crowd that's grown around them in the past minute, eyes darkening and dulling. Sirius straightens on the bench, his back stiffening, muscles locking up. There are phones pointed their way from stretching arms and gripping fingers, bright, hopeful faces staring back at them, watchful, cataloging his and Remus' interaction, something that makes Sirius' hackles rise before he manages to squash it.

He doesn't mind their fans, not really. He loves them, actually. They're fun to talk to in the appropriate settings, but this isn't one of them, though he'd known before they'd left it was an inevitable conclusion to their outing. Sirius' gaze shifts around as he imperceptibly feels for his wand stashed away between his belt at his back, a nearly unconscious action though reaffirming all the same.

One brave and polite boy wiggles the phone in his hand, already clearly recording them. "Do you mind? Is this all right?" he asks, his eyebrows pinched in mild worry. Sirius wonders what they'd all do if either of them said no.

Sirius glances at Remus who looks pleasant, though Sirius can see the uncomfortableness dancing around his edges and in the depths of his eyes, but Sirius shifts a bit closer, pressing their thighs together in support, and plasters an easy, lazy grin on his face as he shrugs one shoulder.

"'Course it is," he says casually, fighting back the constriction taking over his throat and the irritated feeling fluttering in his chest at having their fun little moment interrupted and filmed for others' enjoyment. "We're entertainers, aren't we? You've got to have your videos."

If the people gathered around them pick up on the snideness of his comment, they don't react to it, though Remus does, his head twitching on his neck a little, gaze flickering to Sirius before looking forward again. Sirius tries to force himself to relax, but it's no use, his body remaining tense and bunched up like large fingers are gripping around him and squeezing forcefully.

"Could we get some photos with you two?" questions a girl hopefully, uncomfortably close to Remus. Sirius wants to physically push her away, but his fingers dig into the coarse fabric covering his legs instead.

"I don't see why not," agrees Sirius, trying to keep the begrudging tone from his voice as he turns towards Remus, lifting a questioning eyebrow, his expression conveying far more than his words. "Moony?"

Remus looks back at him for a moment before his own smile spreads, smaller than it usually is when he's out of the public view. "I think that's a reasonable request, Padfoot," he intones lightly, only the corners of his mouth, pulled a bit too taut, giving him away at all.

"Listen!" shrieks another girl a little further away. "They're using their nicknames. Swoon."

Sirius resists the urge to cringe as he and Remus stand, allowing several people to shuffle around them, repositioning when they feel like it as they pose for snap after snap, lights from the phones flashing in their faces until Sirius sees red spots everywhere he looks. He blinks quickly several times in an effort to clear them, but it does no good, the stains on his vision remaining for more than a minute before beginning to dissipate and vanish.

There are pens and books and scraps of paper shoved in front of them, pleas for autographs that they graciously scrawl out each time. It's something Sirius has never understood, the want for a scribbled, nearly illegible name on a random object just because it's known by the media and mostly worldwide. It's still only a name, and ones like Remus Lupin and Sirius Black aren't likely to be forgotten easily. But still they sign until their hands begin to cramp and the group seems satisfied. Several of the people gush about their music and past performances, Remus and Sirius falling into some easier chatter when that happens, always enjoying discussing those aspects. Some of them ask questions about some of their songs, like what the lyrics mean, many of them that Sirius is forced to remain vague in his explanation because they stem from the war that had died out just before they'd left school as they were preparing themselves for the fight ahead or his own family struggles that he could never hope to elaborate on and has no desire to do so.

Things are mostly fine for a long while, but the crowd slowly grows, more and more people recognizing them and gathering around. People are shouting at them to be heard, the pair having to attempt to tone things down, focusing their attentions on only one or two at a time and trying not to overlook anyone, but the group begins to become a bit restless the longer the interaction stretches, and Sirius' once relaxing form begins to go rigid again. Remus remains cool and collected beside him, always better in crowds than Sirius ever has been, Sirius loving attention but in a controlled environment, something that had only begun to bother him as their fame had climbed and their faces became more recognizable.

"I really love all the songs you're produced," offers up a man only a handful of years younger than they are, and Sirius supplies him with a gracious smile that falters when the man continues. "Your lyrics are always deep and connect in a way some bands can't manage, but I think your earlier stuff was a bit better than it is now."

Sirius would have stumbled if he'd been moving. He feels Remus tense beside him, but Sirius doesn't look at him, can't make himself, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him. He barely refrains from gaping at the blunt honesty of his statement.

"Sorry you feel that way," he mutters, some of the feeling leaving his voice. His own insecurities with his lack of writing surge back up inside him, filling his head with a loud, deafening static that he tries to shake away without it being too obvious. "Everyone is entitled to their opinions."

"It's more than an opinion," says the man, suddenly sounding almost pompous, and Sirius begins to dislike him a great deal, his teeth gritting together and grinding, his skull rattling with the vibrations of grating enamel. "I've run across others who think the same. You used to write about things in a very poetic way, but anymore there's less poignancy and more whinging about things lost or general oppression. It gets redundant."

"What do you think you know about – " begins Sirius, suddenly hostile, but Remus nudges him in the ribs, urging him to silence. Sirius snaps his mouth closed quickly, inhaling a breath through his nose. "If you're not a fan, you don't have to listen. Stick with the earlier stuff if you've no interest in the new. That's my suggestion. Anyone else got a question?" He physically turns away from the man, and as he does, the crowd shifts, then there are hands on him from behind, pinching fingers, someone touching him like they have any sort of right. "Oi!" he shouts, rounding quickly, furious eyes sweeping the people he encounters. "Hands off the merchandise!" His words are a snarl, his anger reaching a peak he can no longer control.

"Sirius," he hisses Remus in warning, clutching at his elbow, and Sirius whips his head to look at him in outrage.

" Remus ," he grinds out, but he stops as he follows his friend's eyes to where they're watching the phones spread around them, recording everything. Sirius bites back his coming words, swallowing them down with force, something sticking in his throat.

"But d'you think you'll ever go back to writing like you did years ago?" comes the irritating man's voice again from Sirius' side, and his eyes narrow, hands balling into fists. Sirius shoves them into his pockets to hide them away and to keep them reined.

Someone touches him again and Sirius does snarl this time, face shifting to enragement. He rounds on his heels, glaring around the group now surrounding them, having steadily pushed them forward, away from the bench. His eyes flash threateningly.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he growls. "Do you think it's okay to just fucking touch someone without their permission because you know their name and you've seen them in videos and photos?" Sirius flips around to the man again and leans in closer to him, the man taking a step backwards, an action that thrills something inside Sirius. "What makes you think I want to write like that anymore? Have you never heard of growth, branching out? Maturity? People evolve and move on from their past, you simpering little shit. Go judge someone else's abilities and stay the fuck away from mine if you don't think it's good enough for your precious fucking ears."

The people around them have gone silent by the time Sirius finishes his rant and comes back to himself. He glances around, eyes settling on the phones pinning him down, the entire thing captured and stored away, Sirius knowing it'll be used against him. He nearly wilts, only barely managing to keep himself held at a towering level in the center of the chaos. Remus' fingers tighten on his elbow.

"We need to go," he suddenly whispers in a rush beside Sirius' ear, tugging him to the edge of the crowd.

Sirius isn't sure how they escape the people without being pawed at and held in their clutches, but somehow they do. As they walk with quicker than normal steps, it takes a while before he looks over at Remus, but when he does, he realizes his friend is likely the reason. His face is a storm of emotion, the hard, angry set to his jaw prominent, a muscle jumping above the bone from where his teeth are latched together. Sirius wants to cower from it, because he knows that though Remus doesn't allow rage to overtake him often, when he does, it's a devastating thing, leaving Sirius feeling wrung out and like the largest disappointment ever birthed into existence within their wretched little world.

They don't speak, Sirius not even daring to open his mouth, Remus pulling him along down the pavement. He doesn't release his grip until they’re in a deserted alleyway, his fingers only slipping away so that they can Apparate home. Once inside their house, Remus stares at him with an unreadable expression, and Sirius licks over his suddenly dry lips as he struggles for something to say.

"Remus. Moony, I – fuck, Remus, I don't know what I was thinking. I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have – "

But Remus is moving then, breaking through Sirius' stuttering apology. His arms engulf Sirius, wrapping him up firmly and pulling them together, chest bumping against chest. His hold is strong and firm, and Sirius sinks into it even as he flounders, not understanding, even when the other man speaks over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the anger is still there, but it's being pushed out, away from them and into the world beyond, someplace it can't touch or hurt. "I'm sorry, Sirius. They never should have laid a hand on you, not even a finger. I wanted to rip their arms from their bodies. They have no right and you did nothing wrong. And that bloke, what he said…" Remus' words trickle away, his embrace around Sirius tightening. "He was wrong. He was wrong, Sirius. You're brilliant. Everything you write deserves the stars and so much more, and if he can't see that and understand it, it's his loss."

Sirius' mouth falls open, but no sound emerges. He inhales a shaking breath that he can't manage to stifle, his chest shuddering against Remus', but his friend only clings to him, not moving. Sirius' own arms lift then, returning the hold, his chin resting on Remus' shoulder. He nods, not speaking, nothing worthwhile in his head, but he thinks maybe it's not needed, not with Remus, who always seems to understand. 

Chapter Text

"You are," says Regulus measuredly, his voice emotionless, though there's a hint of fury seething beneath its surface, "the largest moron I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. And to make matters worse, I get the privilege of calling you family."

Sirius' face contorts in animosity from where he sits on the coffee table in his and Remus' sitting room, his brother glowering down at him. Regulus looks like a spring pressed too tightly, ready to burst and erupt, a volcano threatening destruction to an unsuspecting village far below its peak.

The videos had hit social media and spiraled until they'd gone viral, or so Remus had said, though Sirius still doesn't completely understand what that means other than the concept that too many people have seen it. They'd known it would happen and had been anticipating this reaction from Regulus since their impromptu day out. It had only been a matter of time, and unsurprisingly, it had barely taken little more than a day.

Sirius' red-flushed face is everywhere now, in news articles, plastered over magazine covers. YouTubers are compiling his words with random music, distorting his voice for jokes and laughs. There had already been an outcry from fans, half claiming Sirius had no right, the other coming to his defense. Sirius' head aches, a dull throb just beneath his skull on the back side, like a nail being driven in slowly.

He opens his mouth to speak, a retort to his brother's anger already forming on his tongue, but Remus beats him to it.

"What was he meant to do, Reg?" he demands heatedly. Remus is standing just to the side of Sirius, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders squared. His expression is dark and formidable, sending a shiver lacing down Sirius' spine whenever he looks up at his friend, hovering over him like a sentinel.

"Anything but lash out in the public eye!" snaps Regulus, losing his calm façade quicker than Sirius had expected.

"Regulus, baby, come on," speaks up James from beside Regulus, two sets of grey eyes landing on him. "You saw what they were doing to him. And what that bloke said was…fuck, I would have punched his large nose through his skull if it'd been me. I'm honestly not sure how Sirius managed to resist."

"I nearly didn't," mutters Sirius, Regulus turning his incensed gaze upon him again.

"That's not the only problem here," he launches, pinning Remus in his sights as well. "What the hell were you two thinking, going off without Dorcas or Lily? This is their job, to prevent things like this from happening, to protect you."

"Piss off, Regulus," spits out Sirius. "We can fend for ourselves just fine. We're not inept. We're two fully grown men who needed some time away from the constant shite. You can't fault us for that."

"I can and I will!" shouts Regulus, and he looks almost scared between the layers of anger coating his face, glaring down at Sirius with flashing eyes. "You put yourself in danger for no reason. You threatened everything we've spent years building. And it all could have been avoided if you'd just taken a second and bloody well thought before you went off half-cocked like you always do."

Sirius' mouth drops open again as he lurches to his feet, but Remus' hand connects with his chest. The other man pushes him back a step with a gentle sort of pressure as he shifts in front of Sirius. He can't see Remus' face, but something within it seems to make Regulus falter a little.

"We weren't in danger. We can defend ourselves, if need be," he says, his tone even, voice low, almost a growl of sound. "Lily and Dorcas have the added ability of being able to do it more covertly than we do under most circumstances, but make no mistake, Regulus, what happened the other day wouldn't have ceased to exist if they'd been there, and I didn't give one fuck about pulling my wand and blowing this all to pieces if it meant keeping their grasping, clawing, rude fingers off of him. He doesn't deserve that, no one does, but it's because of you and this image you've been so insistent on creating and maintaining that they felt like they could do it at all. This is your fault, Regulus. It has nothing to do with us going out without security we don't actually need but everything to do with you making Sirius hide who he is while also forcing him to flaunt himself as your obligatory sex symbol that isn't necessary anymore and wasn't needed to begin with."

Sirius blinks from behind Remus, several emotions working their way through him, not least of which being a stunned sense of awe and gratefulness. He doesn't need anyone to defend him, something they're all well aware of, but the fact that Remus hadn't even hesitated, had felt so strongly about the entire thing, leaves Sirius reeling a bit, though he feels now he shouldn't be surprised. Remus had been incredibly vocal after they'd returned home before he'd fallen into a stony silence, glaring at random surfaces around them, his expression brooding and filled with a wrath Sirius had rarely seen in the past. He'd not left Sirius' side the remainder of the day and much of the next, staying close, never hovering or annoying but simply there, like he was scared someone might sneak through their doors or windows and grab at him when Remus wasn't watching.

Regulus' grey eyes have gone dark, staring at Remus with a judgmental ire that can nearly be felt. "My fault," he hisses. "Making you lot successful and everything you are now is my fault? Where do you get off, Lupin? You'd still be playing those lousy pubs if it wasn't for me and what I've done and manipulated behind the scenes. None of you see what I do every day, the strings I pull, the people I schmooze and sweet talk to get you everything you have. You never have, and none of you care to look at it that closely until something like this happens that sends you into an unnecessary rant on ethics of all things."

Remus tenses in front of Sirius, and he doesn't have to see his face to know that Remus' nostrils are flaring, but Regulus keeps going.

"This is all for you," he launches like an aerial attack. "Every bit of it, so that your precious jumpers aren't threadbare in the elbows anymore and you can buy food and your drumsticks and whatever else you fucking desire. It puts money in your once bare pockets to keep you from rubbing sticks together in the rain while you hope for a bit of warmth, but that means you all have your parts to play. Sirius agreed to his. He didn't have to, I never forced him, but he saw that what I was saying made sense. He knew it would improve your miserable little life far faster and better than going it as you were, so do not place this blame at my feet."

Remus glances over his shoulder at Sirius, his eyebrows dipping as he half-frowns, like he's connecting a missing puzzle piece. Sirius does his best not to meet his eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin line as he glares at his brother.

"Maybe you don't need the protection that Dorcas and Lily supply, but you need their presences around to prevent these things from happening," continues Regulus, his tone turning sour and haughty, a combination Sirius thinks should be impossible. "They could have guided you out of that crowd or kept it from growing as large as it became. They could have prevented Sirius from firing off at the mouth and sabotaging everything. Now you're all under scrutiny, him more than anyone, and what do you think that's going to do? People are going to start digging, which means days and weeks of work to bury you all further, fights with the Ministry over keeping this going, him having to hide himself away more instead of less, so please tell me what you think you've achieved with all this, Lupin?"

"Even if they'd been there, this wouldn't have been avoided, Regulus," says Remus almost plaintively, a hint of underlying rage still infecting his voice. "Maybe we shouldn't have gone out without them, I'll admit to that, but we both needed a break and to feel like normal people, Sirius especially. No one seemed to see that except me, so I did what I felt was right and it backfired. That's my burden to bear and I am bearing it every second of the day, but that's not the first time things like this have happened. 

"People view Sirius as an object, not a person. They grab him all the time, much more than they ever do us. They think they have some right to him because you've marketed him that way, like an object. He's your brother, Regulus, not a thing to be monetized through half-lude photoshoots for magazine spreads. It's lucky that we don't need the endorsements, otherwise you'd be pushing him to model with barely a shred of clothing covering him, and don't pretend I'm not right. Lily and Dorcas can't stop everyone, not when they've been led to believe Sirius belongs to them."

"Sirius does belong to them. You all do, or so they need to think. That's the point, Remus," snaps Regulus. "We need them to want you, or nothing sells and it all falls apart. You're not normal people anymore. You will never be normal people, and if you want a day out without being overly harassed, stick to the wizarding world where they at least seem to have some modicum of sense. Or, better yet, if Sirius doesn't wish to be groped, maybe he shouldn't go out at all."

"Regulus," says James suddenly in warning, his voice a low, ominous rumble as he steps forward. His side presses against Sirius', a steady, stabilizing presence of force and camaraderie, his hand resting over the center of Sirius' back, the touch a grounding thing.

Regulus glances at James, his expression twisting before morphing into something more annoyed than feral and spiteful. He inhales a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself a little before his eyes settle back on Remus.

"You cannot go out without them," he says levelly. "It's never been my intention to keep you all under lock and key, but unfortunately with success comes limitations that you've got no choice but to live by now. A large part of that includes not being able to venture off on your own without things like this happening. It's the way of your life now. You're not normal anymore, none of you, and you never will be again. That also means that situations like what happened the other day are going to keep occurring. People are vile and rude. If Sirius doesn't want to be touched, he needs to keep himself guarded."

Remus scowls darkly, Sirius able to see the side of his face now. His neck tenses, the line at its side standing out prominently, flexing the scar that's carved there, rippling it, the moon shifting in a hazy mist of fog.

"You're ignoring the main problem here. Again," says Remus in a biting tone, his jaw clenching tightly between his words, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "Sirius is – "

"Right here," interjects Sirius, finally stepping forward, done with listening to them argue for and against him, about him while he remains silent. Remus looks at him, his features altering, turning sheepish, like he's only just realized what he's been doing, but Sirius bumps against him with his elbow, a small gesture that Remus seems to understand for what it is, his body relaxing marginally, face schooling back into measured calm. "I'm right here and I have my own opinions."

Regulus stares him down, grey eyes flashing, but Sirius doesn't waver in his stance. "I think we've heard enough of your opinions," he bites out, words clipped, brows pinching together harshly, disapproval clear in every line etched into his face.

"He deserved it," tosses out Sirius, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowers back at Regulus. "He should have kept his mouth shut, but he didn't. He just kept – "

"He was voicing an opinion," lobs Regulus, his anger clearly spiking again. "He was a fan expressing his ideas. They do it all the time, but he said something you didn't like, something that hit too close to home, and you reacted as you always do. You didn't think, never considered that your actions have consequences. You lashed out and tore him down in front of the entire world, knowing they were all watching, aware that they were all filming your every movement and word, but you didn't care. You got angry and hurt, so you fired off at your mouth once again. And now, here I am, mopping it all up while you lounge around with the entire world still worshiping at your feet."

Sirius' mouth drops open. "Do you think this doesn't affect me?" he demands, fire in his voice. "Do you think I don't see or care about the things they're saying about me?"

"I know you don't because you never do!" shouts Regulus, stepping closer to Sirius until they're nearly face to face. "You don't care about it and it doesn't affect you because I never let the worst of it touch you, something we've just established is unwanted." His hard, furious eyes dart back to Remus briefly before landing on Sirius again. "I clean it all up, keep it away from you so you don't have that pressure on your shoulders. Meanwhile, you sit around and wallow in your own misery and self-pity like you always have, moping over the small things because the larger things never reach you. And I do that for you. I protect you all in a way no one else can. I do everything for you and never receive so much as a thanks for it, but that's fine, it's expected now, and I'll keep doing it because whatever else you lot might think of me, my main job and goal is to keep you safe and as happy as possible."

"Happy?" echoes Sirius in disbelief, a bitter sort of laugh escaping him before he can stop it. "Do you think this is happiness, holing way inside this house or hotel rooms constantly, barely seeing the world around me? I have nothing but all of you, and that's enough, but sometimes, Reg – "

Sirius stops abruptly, clamping down on the words that threaten to pour from over his tongue like a gushing waterfall of truth he doesn't want to admit. Regulus' expression shifts, the lines of his face softening, dulling the harsh edges, making him look younger than he normally does, always so controlled and tamed, a powerful force to be feared, created for the express purposes of making others cower and bow down before him.

"Sometimes what, Sirius?" he asks, voice quieter than before, urging and prodding, something curious at its center. Sirius swallows thickly, his heart hammering, mind screaming furiously to retreat. His nose twitches as his own expression threatens to wobble and fall apart, but he's saved from saying anything further or explaining himself when their door suddenly bangs open, hitting against the wall and bouncing back towards the frame, only stopped by a dark hand reaching out to catch it.

Dorcas barrels inside, Lily close on her heels, the pair looking determined and fierce. They stalk over to them, the women stopping in front of Remus and Sirius in turn, glaring at them silently, their anger palpable enough that Sirius is surprised there aren't flames shooting from their fingertips and eyes. Dorcas lifts her hand, whacking it around the back of Remus' head in reprimand, Remus grunting and clutching around where it had connected. Sirius watches them, but he startles and yelps when Lily does the same to him.

"You idiots!" she cries heatedly. "What were you both thinking?" Then she's pushing forward, her deceptively strong arms wrapping around Sirius, pulling him tightly against her. "Don't you ever do something like that again," she scolds a bit breathlessly in his ear. "You scared the shit out of me when I saw, Padfoot."

Sirius can't help it, he relaxes almost automatically in her hold, her sweet and spicy cinnamon smell wafting through his nose, always a comforting thing and Lily providing it when he needs it most. He returns her hug without hesitation, sinking into her as Lily does the same to him, seeming as though she's breathing for the first time in far too long, the air escaping her sounding a bit harsh to his ears.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "We just – "

"I know," she interrupts, pulling away from him enough to look up into his face, "but you can't, Sirius." She glances towards Remus who looks a bit cowed by hers and Dorcas' reactions. "You both are smarter than that." Lily heaves out a large breath, her shoulder slumping a little as she reaches up, soft hands gripping around the sides of Sirius' face, holding him steady and in place as her eyes sweep over his form like she's searching for something hidden away from sight. "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Sirius smiles at her, a small thing pulling into place at the corners of his mouth. "I'm fine, Lils." She doesn't look entirely convinced, but Sirius reaches back and tugs at her coppery hair held away from her face in a sloppy tail. "Promise. S'not the first time."

Lily doesn't smile or seem appeased. She frowns, a deep expression that contorts her entire face. Green eyes flicker back to Regulus for a second before she looks over Sirius again, still searching silently.

"There never should have been a first time, or any since," she says mulishly.

Regulus thankfully remains silent as the women chastise Sirius and Remus a bit more, drilling it into their heads that they're not to venture out into the public eye without them again unless there's no other choice. Sirius sulks a bit, but he relents because hanging around Lily and Dorcas isn't the worst thing in the world, most times the opposite. James eventually pulls Regulus off to have dinner with his parents since they're there, leaving the other four to their own devices.

Dorcas inspects Sirius over, ignoring his protests as she bodily twists him this way and that, lifting the side of his shirt, exposing ink stains as she seeks out bruises that don't exist. Sirius lurches away from her pawing hands when she threatens to make him drop his trousers after he lobs out a snarky comment, clutching at his belt defensively as he levels her with a glare that pulls laughter from her throat, her mess of braids swaying around her head mesmerizingly.

Lily, the saint that she is, orders them takeaway so no one is required to cook. When she disappears to fetch their meal, Sirius stays far away from Dorcas, always making certain to keep Remus between them however necessary, much to the woman's obvious amusement, her brown eyes glittering fiendishly.

"If you're that scared, Black, don't do it again," she warns in a light tone. Sirius glowers at her.

They all scoff down their curry hungrily when Lily returns, arms laden with bags that smell divine. Sirius' mouth tingles pleasantly as he leans back on the sofa, patting his stomach once he's finished, listening as Remus and Lily discuss a book he'd found at the shop during their excursion, everyone avoiding the ending to that day for the time being. As they talk, Sirius catches Dorcas' eyes and motions with his head towards the hall. She lifts her eyebrows in silent question but stands to follow him to his room.

Once inside, Sirius sprawls over his bed and digs beneath it for a moment before he returns with the guitar he'd bought. Dorcas examines it as she settles down on the edge of the mattress beside him, not looking impressed.

"It's not much of anything, is it?" she questions in bemusement, glancing up at him, her gaze puzzled. "Why did you buy it?"

"I wanted it to have a good home," he murmurs, fingers drifting over the base, catching on the uneven spots in its finish. "Who knows how long it had set there. It doesn't deserve that. Thought I'd refinish it, paint it up nicely, give it new life." Sirius looks up at Dorcas, a small smile forming. "Think I might give it to Lily since James and I taught her to play. She'd like it, don't you think?"

Dorcas matches his smile, though hers is a bit brighter, her puzzlement clearing from her eyes, replaced by a shining sort of light that glows from her skin. "She'll love it. She loves anything from you," she says sincerely, reaching up to grip his chin between her thumb and index finger, "because she loves you, you incredible wanker."

Sirius snorts, tugging away from her grip gently. "You love me, too," he comments breezily.

"I do," confirms Dorcas without hesitation. She's quiet for a moment, her eyes dropping to the guitar in his hands. "You did scare us, you know? Lily was beside herself when she rang me. I could barely understand half of what she was saying. And then she sent me one of the videos. Marls and I watched it and we just – " Something flashes through her eyes as she stops, her fingers curling into her palms. "I'm sorry, Sirius. That happens far too frequently, even with us around, and it shouldn't."

Sirius shakes his head, settling the guitar on his other side before turning back to her. "It's fine, Cas," he attempts, reaching his arm around her shoulders, but she pulls away from his hold, her gaze sharp.

"It's not, Sirius. It is not fine. That shouldn't ever happen. It should never be okay or acceptable to do that to someone, no matter who they are," she expresses adamantly. "Please tell me you understand that, because if you don't…Sirius, you just have to know that. It's important that you do."

Sirius looks away from her, staring at a photo of all of them on his wall, taken right after they'd all joined back up for this endeavor. "'Course I do," he mumbles, "but it doesn't change anything." Dorcas stares at him with a muted sense of horror and Sirius shrugs his shoulders, his eyes settling in the space between them. "It doesn't. They're still going to grab and pinch and pull whenever they get the chance. I've been mass marketed as theirs. There's not much that can be done about that now. I love our fans, I do, Cas, but some of them think they have rights that they don't, but that's not entirely their fault, is it? Not when I'm offered up on a silver platter for their taking whenever the opportunity presents itself. Not when I'm splashed across magazines and photos on the internet, plastered onto billboards that tower in the sky for everyone to gawk at. Not when so little of who I am is really known that they get to create whatever version of me they want. Regulus has done his job well."

Sirius plucks at a fraying thread on his sheet, exposed on his rumpled, unmade bed, something Sirius never bothers with doing. Remus sometimes sneaks in when he's gone and does it for him, Sirius instantly messing it up again whenever he takes notice, much to his friend's chagrin and Sirius' delight.

"It shouldn't be that way," says Dorcas softly, her expression pained when Sirius glances at her before dropping his gaze again. "There's no reason for it, we all see that. I don't know why you keep going with it. None of us understand it."

Sirius shrugs once more, finally meeting her eyes again. "It's not his fault, Cas," he murmurs. "Regulus. He was just doing what he thought was best. And he's right, I did agree to it, because at the time it made sense, and it worked. Doesn't change the fact that I was young and bloody stupid for doing it because now I'm trapped. The backlash of a lie like that coming after all this time, the drop we would suffer…it's not worth it."

Dorcas leans forward quickly when Sirius turns his head, following his eyes, not losing their connection. "Isn't your happiness worth it?" she asks plainly, almost pleading. "You're miserable half the time, Sirius. You may think you hide it well, but you don't. I see it. So do the others. You sit back and watch us pair off, live our lives, your own brother finding his happiness and getting to flaunt it with James because of these shite rules he created for you to follow…where's the fairness in any of that? Don't you deserve that for yourself?"

"What makes you think I want it?" mutters Sirius, still trying to force his gaze away from hers, but Dorcas reaches up and catches his chin again, her grip firm but gentle, allowing for escape if he's truly desperate.

"Don't give me that fuckery, Black," she says flatly. "Maybe it was true years ago when you first made this agreement, but I don't buy for one second that it still is. I see how you watch Marlene and me, how your eyes linger on James and Regulus a little too long. You want it, and there's nothing wrong with that. You're allowed to let yourself have it, Padfoot, but you're going to have to fight for it."

Sirius slowly pulls out of her hold on him, turning his head away finally. He looks at the guitar beside him, beaten and battered, bruised so much that most would think it's beyond repair, but Sirius knows better. He thinks there's a metaphor in there somewhere, something aching and poignant, but he still can't land on it, his mind feeling ripped to tatters, everything seeping through the shreds of what once was, nothing clinging to life or taking root as it once had. He sniffs forcefully, a harsh gust of air blazing through his nose as he reaches for the instrument and settles it over his lap.

"D'you think lilies are too obvious?" he asks, fingers tracing the edges of the base and the smooth curve on the side. Dorcas stares at him for a moment, but she eventually hums as she wilts a bit, accepting the subject change without another comment, though she keeps watching him as they talk about what Lily might like.

They're drawn back out of Sirius' room when they hear more voices from the further reaches of the house, music joining in soon after. Sirius stashes the guitar and then follows Dorcas down the hall. Peter, Mary, and Marlene have joined them now, James and Regulus having returned from the main house and their dinner, everyone squashed into the admittedly too small room, but no one seems to care much.

Mary drapes herself over Peter's legs on the floor, looking comfortable as she chatters with Lily beside them, her own legs stretch across Mary's. James is on Remus' drum stool, picking at a guitar he'd pulled from the wall, matching his notes with that of the song streaming from their sound system. Remus is resting in the corner of their sofa, legs drawn up near his chest, watching their friends, looking mostly relaxed, though Sirius can still see some lingering strain around his brown eyes when he glances up and takes notice of him and Dorcas as they enter.

James looks at him as well, none of them speaking, but it's not a necessary thing, not anymore. They've been friends for so long that they can all have conversations without using words, getting their points across with only a few shifts in their expressions and tilts of their heads. Remus settles a bit more after the exchange and James resumes his picking, his shoulders dropping to an easier, more relaxed position.

Sirius falls to the opposite end of the sofa, his eyes searching out his brother. He finds him talking to Dorcas, Regulus appearing far calmer than he had when he and James had left earlier in the evening, his face not nearly as sharp and hostile. Sirius wonders if the Potters had something to do with that, always having the ability to pull people out of themselves with little to no effort on their parts, something Sirius has marveled at for years. He leaves Regulus to it and leans back, simply enjoying his friends spread around him, their effortless chatter filling the room, overtaking the low rumble of music that weaves its way through them like threads stitching and binding, sewing them together with seams that feel unbreakable in the moment.

Lily eventually stands, coaxing Sirius over to the piano, Sirius relenting and allowing the woman to pull him along with a huff of sound. She's the only one who can ever talk him into playing the thing when he doesn't already have the desire, one look into her wide, pleading green eyes always melting something inside him. He plays her favorites, Lily sitting on the bench beside him, swaying along with the notes, bumping against him periodically, a gentle, welcome pressure. As he plays, Sirius feels eyes on him, finally glancing up briefly to find Remus watching him with a small, secret sort of pleased smile dancing over his lips. Sirius turns away quickly, returning his focus to his fingers as they move over the keys with practiced motions.

The others decide to stay there for the night, something that doesn't surprise Sirius in the least. It's the reason Monty had designed the place with so many extra rooms because they've always done this since leaving school, somehow migrating back to each other, gathering closely, staying whole when things feel as though they're breaking around them. There aren't enough rooms to support them all at once, one shy from what they actually need, but when this happens, when they're all together, Sirius or Remus tend to offer up their own bedrooms, bunking in with the other.

When Peter begins to yawn, Remus follows the same familiar pattern, handing over his room with ease, his head tilting backwards over the arm of the sofa, catching Sirius' eyes in a grinning question. Sirius only snorts and shakes his head, silently calling his friend a fool.

Drinks find their ways into hands at some point, Marlene digging through their cupboards until she locates a Muggle rum they have stashed, doling it out, enticing Peter to stay with them for a while longer as they sip and converse, joke and jab teasingly around the room, like reforming the common room at school. It's only when Dorcas and Marlene finally wander their ways from the room for their own slumber, the quiet settling in a bit more without Marlene's boisterous voice invading, that Sirius navigates to a chair, picking up his own guitar on the way, a black acoustic piece, simple with red pinstriping along its edges. It's one of Sirius' favorites when he writes, trying to join music to the words flittering through his head, but he hasn't made use of it in a while, and he's beginning to wonder if that's his problem.

He settles in the chair, supporting the guitar on one thigh, fingers positioning over chords easily, grazing across the strings. Callouses snag as his hands move, using his fingers to pluck, not planning on doing anything too involved, forgoing the pick buried somewhere in his pocket, always present for when necessary. He strums a few notes, checking the tuning, making adjustments where they're needed, and then he hums to himself, the strings twanging along with him, short, doleful notes vibrating through the hollow of the instrument and into the room, filling the space, layering over the voices around him.

Regulus watches him from the other side, eyes tracking his movements, his brother not speaking. When Sirius glances at him, he sees a solemn sort of look in his grey gaze, something almost apologetic and sorrowful that Sirius knows he'll never speak to unless forced. He drops his focus back to the guitar, picking up a better rhythm as he goes. His eyes close as he drifts along with the melody he's creating, waiting, hoping, but nothing comes. His mind remains blank and empty, no words forming to match as they so often do at times like this. Sirius feels like a void, like he's been drained of every good part of himself, and he growls in frustration, fingers dragging over the strings, digging into his fingertips painfully, leaving terrible marks behind in their wake.

"All right, that's enough," says a voice from above him, and Sirius looks up to see Remus standing over him, staring down with reproachful eyes. "Let me have that." He doesn't take no for an answer, removing the guitar from Sirius' hands even as Sirius tries to protest. Remus remains stoic and silent as he settles the instrument back in its stand and then faces Sirius again. He reaches down, gripping around Sirius' wrist, hauling him up from the chair. "You're coming with me."

"Moony, what the fuck?" demands Sirius even as he's dragged from the room.

Remus doesn't respond, only pausing long enough to grab Sirius' jacket, handing it over and snatching up his own, then he's tugging them through the door and out into the chilled night air. Sirius ignores his jacket for the time being even as Remus pulls his on halfway, his grip not relenting on Sirius' wrist to do the other sleeve just yet, Remus never faring well in the cold while Sirius comes alive when it hits his skin. They keep walking through the sprawling field separating their house from the Potters', Remus finally hooking them down the property toward the stretching tree line in the distance, taking them far away from the two structures and any invading lights. It's only them knowing where they are so well that keeps them from tripping over their own feet, though Sirius still stumbles a few times as he's pulled to keep up with Remus' determined steps ahead of him.

"Remus," he nearly snaps after nearly five minutes of walking and silence, "can we just – will you stop?" Sirius forces them to a halt, effectively removing his wrist from his friend's hold even as Remus turns to look at him through the darkness, only the half-moon overhead casting any sort of faint light, just enough for Sirius to make out a few of Remus' features. "What are we doing out here?"

"Lay down," instructs Remus, motioning to the ground beneath their feet. Sirius balks, staring at him as though he's gone mental.

"You've gone mental," he deadpans. "Either that or Prongs is about to jump from the shrubs and try to scare the piss out of me. Regardless of which it is, I'm not falling for it."

Remus rolls his eyes, his pupils catching the glint of the moon, reflecting its light. "Will you just lay down, you git?" he levels at him. "This isn't a prank and I've not lost my mind. Just do it. Please?"

It's the plea that breaks through Sirius' mild irritation, the subtle glitter in Remus' eyes dissipating it completely. Sirius huffs in annoyance, more forced than really existing, and he drops to the ground as he tugs his jacket over his arms. Remus settles beside him, waiting for Sirius to recline backwards before following him, their heads pillowed in the grass, only just beginning to grow damp with gathering dew. It tickles over the back of Sirius' neck through his hair, but he ignores it as he waits to find out Remus' intentions.

When the other man says nothing further, Sirius grumbles a little under his breath, shifting over the hard dirt beneath him, releasing a grunt. "Remus," he says, taming his tone into a moderate thing, trying to keep his irritation at bay, "want to explain to me what this is?"

He hears Remus move beside him, Sirius turning his head to face him, watching through the shadows that flicker over them from the stretching trees. Remus points towards the sky with one arm, his other hand lifting to Sirius' jaw, warm fingers pressing against cool skin, urging Sirius' head back around, angling him to stare upwards.

"Just look," he murmurs, his fingers lingering for a moment before they finally fall away. Sirius ignores the urge to pull them back to him. "That's all this is, Pads. Just look at it."

"What, the stars?" asks Sirius, his brow furrowing, not understanding. "Why?"

"Because you like the stars," comes Remus' simple reply and Sirius is forced into silence with the words and the heaviness of some strange devotion behind them. Sirius turns his head again, glancing at Remus, his mouth parted slightly, breath misting in front of his face as he takes his friend in, the thought that he'd rather look at Remus instead coming unbidden to his mind and ringing loudly. He sucks in a sharp burst of air and looks away even as Remus' eyes flicker in his direction, like he knows what Sirius is doing.

They're quiet for a long time, gazes sweeping the bejeweled expanse of darkest navy above them, glittering and twinkling, the stars winking down at them. It's a dazzling sight, leaving Sirius breathless and floating, always feeling freer than any other time in moments like this, everything wide open, stretching outwards and onwards forever and lightyears beyond, a never-ending plane of existence, uncharted, never mapped, mysteries abounding, beauties bursting and dying in an instant.

"You like the stars," says Remus eventually, breaking through Sirius' thoughts, but he doesn't mind, fixing on his friend's words like they're the most important ones to ever be spoken. His voice is a whisper in the silence surrounding them, still sounding loud as it hits Sirius' ears, the only thing that matters now or possibly ever again. "You like the stars but you never look at them anymore. We used to come out here a lot, do you remember that? Sometimes with James, but also without him, and then always without him, just you and me, making new constellations, patterns no one had ever seen before, or maybe they have. We'll never know. But you used to look at them all the time and now I can't remember the last time you did.

"I think that might be part of your problem with this writing thing," he continues just as softly, his words not a judgment of any kind, only a statement, an opinion, an offering of a repair where it might help and mend what's been broken. "I think things like this open you up, make you see things better. It releases whatever traps you create in your mind that block things out and hold them at bay. You're meant to be free, Sirius. You've always been meant for freedom, and that's a difficult thing to have now with our lives, but this…"

Remus trails off for a moment, eyes sweeping the sky, seeming to settle on a specific constellation, a dog craning above them, calling to the watching moon. His face shines in the half-light cast over them, turning silver and glistening, gleaming like the bits of metal attached to Sirius' jacket, one of his favorite possessions, but he finds himself thinking there's no true comparison, his mind shifting to the words he'd written on Remus' cymbal for his birthday.

"This frees you. It opens you up, lets you breathe the way you need, the way that's necessary for you to be you," says Remus adamantly, voice filled with conviction. "You look at the stars and you see everything, all of it, more than the world, but the entire universe spreading out around you. You piece together the parts that are separated, form that jigsaw, leave your own beauty in the aftermath. You create the divine, and the stars are your muse. So this is what we're doing. We're freeing you."

Sirius isn't staring at the stars anymore, forgotten, no longer important. Something is sticking in his throat, caught at its base. His eyes are fixed on Remus as he gazes skywards, lost in his own thoughts, the smallest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lips. He talks about Sirius creating beauty, but there is no beauty left to be crafted that Remus couldn't surpass and outshine so easily.

And suddenly, Sirius can't breathe again, his lungs failing beneath the trap of his ribs, deflating and ceasing to matter at all. It rattles through him, all of Remus' words and those silver scribbles on that brass, a muse made out of stars, but that's wrong, Sirius only just realizing it now and not understanding how he'd always been so blind to it for all these years that's passed.

The stars lose their shine in comparison.

Sirius had written those words, crafted them with his own hand and mind, but he'd done so with his sights set on Remus, somewhere he'd always rested, even if unintentionally. All his best ideas had come from the man beside him, all those moments spent in the darkness just as they are now had been with Remus. Those freeing times Remus speaks about with such conviction hadn't been about the stars or any of their surroundings at all, instead gravitating and rotating around the thing stuck within the center of it all: Remus.

His muse isn't the stars, not the life he's lived, not really, only the smaller parts making up the grander design, Remus nestled inside each one like a plant breaking through concrete, straining for the sun, never noticed until it blooms, blossoms spreading outwards, opening up, a gust of breath when it's been missing from the earth for too long only to return like a crash of the softest light after the darkest of storms. Remus is his muse. Remus with his soft voice and protectiveness when it's needed most, his fierce loyalty and his hands that pluck over harp strings like that's where he was born to reside, playing music, filling Sirius' heart with it. Remus with his moonlit face, features bold in their silver quality, pulling Sirius in, always keeping him whole when he's shattering to bits of himself, never allowing him to fall, even for a second.

"Fuck," he breathes out.

Remus turns to look at him finally, eyebrows knitting together curiously, a look of mild, puzzled concern flickering through his dark eyes. Sirius' chest is heaving and stuttering around the air that's trying to refill his lungs, his mouth hanging halfway open, eyelids no longer blinking, but Sirius can't control any of it because he can't figure out how he'd never managed to see it until now, something that seems so impossible in the face of such a crashing revelation.

"Padfoot?" questions Remus, propping himself up on his elbows and gazing down at Sirius in bemusement. "All right?"

Sirius closes his mouth slowly, swallowing and licking over his dry lips. He turns his head away, looking back up at the sky, though he sees none of it, Remus' face still shining in his vision like a beacon, a lighthouse calling ships home through choppy waters, a sounding cry in the oppressive silence of an endless, twisting forest. He nods, the motion a bit jerky, hoping the darkness hides most of it away.

"Fine, yeah," he mumbles. "I'm good." Sirius risks a glance in Remus' direction. "Think I just had an idea."

Remus beams down at him, looking more than pleased, and Sirius can't breathe again. 

Chapter Text

Sirius Black has had a great many terrible and sleepless nights in his life. He doesn't remember sleeping half the time he'd spent trapped within the walls of his family home, listening to the old floorboards creak around him as he'd stared at his ceiling, waiting for the harsh, ominous clacking sound of his mother's shoes as she moved from room to room, never knowing if his would be the next, if she would have found yet another reason to bestow her disappointment on him. He'd had bad nights while at school, restless and turning within the confines of his bed, red drapes blocking him from view of the others, the stresses of his life even then, so young, weighing on him and keeping his rest held at bay, just beyond reach.

Sirius had struggled for sleep a lot after the night he'd finally left home for the final time, only James eventually realizing after a few weeks and climbing into his bed on a regular basis providing him enough comfort to close his eyes and at least feign rest. They'd already been well bonded before that, but Sirius still likes to think that's when everything cemented for them, becoming set and holding fast, never to be shaken again. That's when James had really started singing, his voice pouring out in the darkness between them as he'd tried to soothe Sirius of whatever torments lingered behind in the shadows that still tried to encase him so thoroughly.

The thought of the war had kept him awake as they'd grown and aged, drawing closer to that momentous, terrifying day when they were expected to leave the safety Hogwarts provided them and join in the efforts to bring down one of the worst wizards in history. Sirius can still remember Dumbledore's words clearly, their old headmaster drawing them each into his office alone, speaking to them about bravery and honor, pressing their courage, offering tidbits of information about a secret organization fighting behind the lines of Aurors, untouchable by the Ministry, never to be controlled.

Sirius had been ready, knowing he'd face members of his own family, knowing what was being threatened. They'd all been ready, promises made for their willingness to battle against the oppressive force, but that hadn't meant none of them were scared. They had been, hiding it away from sight except when it crept in during the midnight hours, hovering over them like a pall of doom, the heavy shroud of death floating through the air everywhere they looked. It was a terror not for their own lives, but for everything they stood to lose by stepping foot onto that already blood-soaked battleground, washed in bone fragments, shattered and scattered like freshly fallen snow.

He'd lost the entire concept of what sleep meant when Regulus had finally emerged from that looming house, seeking Sirius out, weary and more broken than Sirius had ever seen him before, the expectations laid over him and forced down his throat having cracked something open in his brother, draining away all that had once existed, leaving him an empty shell. Sirius had patched everything he could with time and a sort of patience he'd never possessed before, and then James had filled him full again, reinflated Regulus to a better version of himself. Regulus hadn't come around to Sirius' way and path in the world, but had discovered that he could form his own, chopping down trees in his way and carving out the bases of mountains, creating something new and uncharted, the elation keeping Sirius floating for days and weeks, months passing by in sleepless nights that had barely bothered him.

He'd lain awake during tours in strange rooms, staring at ceilings that weren't his own, reclined back in plane seats, rattled around on a bus that wasn't necessary except it was, struggling to find that peace that never came, leaving him dismantled from the inside out. Sirius is accustomed to it now, knows how to process it and move on, how to keep his eyes open and mind functioning even when it tries to falter.

But the night he spends in his bed with Remus by his side, once they've come back in from the edge of the woods beneath the splattered, glittering sky, after they've stripped their damp clothing away, is one of the worst Sirius can remember. Remus has the uncanny ability to slip into unconsciousness wherever he is if he decides that's what he wants, something Sirius has envied for nearly twenty years. The other man sleeps peacefully beside him, rolled to his stomach, arm cradling his pillow, and Sirius watches him, not moving, barely daring to breathe for fear of disturbing him, though he knows that's unlikely, his friend always sleeping deeply, Sirius the one so easily roused even if he's resistant to removing himself from his bed on most occasions.

A sleeping Remus Lupin is an unstructured Remus Lupin, something Sirius had discovered sometime around their second year. The other holds a tight control over himself under most circumstances, but like this, only his dreams crafting themselves around him, the rest of the world blocked out by closed eyelids and steady breaths, he's limp and loose, untamed, not managed or bound, his entire body flowing over the bed like streams of water leaking from a creek, eroding crevices in the once-even land beneath him.

Sirius wants to reach out and touch him, his hand twitching at his side.

He rolls, flops over to his back with force, punching out a sudden gust of air from his lungs, the sound loud in the silence of his bedroom. Remus never notices, doesn't so much as stir beside him, Sirius staring forlornly up at his ceiling, almost wishing he would.

It's a terrible night, one that leaves Sirius feeling more alone than he thinks he ever has in his life.

The next day, once their house has cleared of people, when they've all been whisked away for separate endeavors, Peter and Remus with Mary so she can design some new clothing for them, James with Lily for a solo collaboration with another artist, and Sirius with Dorcas for a radio interview, Sirius pulls out his notebook and biro as he waits for the segment to start. He writes out a song in half an hour, structuring the tune in his head as he goes. It's the fastest he's ever written anything, the entire thing merging together seamlessly in his mind, flowing from his fingers with an ease he's never possessed before. He stares at the page, only two scribbled out words existing, nearly perfection. Sirius studies at it for a long time until he closes his eyes, letting the book and pen drop to his lap, his hand giving out, going numb.

He can't do this, can't wrap himself around it. Sirius can't have feelings for one of his best mates, but the stuttering of his heart whenever he thinks about Remus stretched out under the watchful moon, skin painted silver, the way he'd mumbled in his sleep the night before as Sirius had gazed at him in fascination, the breath escaping his lungs at such odd times, like watching Remus slip so deeply into a song that sometimes it's as though he'll never come out again – all these things aim him towards the truth of it. He's falling for Remus, but not just falling; he's sunk, drowning, struggling at the surface as choppy waves force his head back under again.

Sirius refuses to accept it.

--------------------

The backlash over Sirius' outburst during his and Remus' lonesome excursion continues to whip at them as the weeks progress. The media keeps pushing at it, bringing it back to the forefront of everyone's mind, though the initial fan outcry seems to have died down a little, Sirius telling his side of things in the few interviews the band had attended since, playing their part.

Sirius refuses to make any sort of public apology even when Regulus advises him that it's in his best interest, leading to a large row between the brothers that had ended with James standing in the middle with a hand pressed to each of their chests, keeping them separated. Regulus had eventually relented and caved on the matter, but Sirius hadn't trusted it, going so far as to get Remus to keep an eye on his social media accounts his brother had forced them all to create, just to be certain Regulus wasn't slipping in and putting words in Sirius' mouth against his will.

Meanwhile, Sirius continues to struggle with himself, avidly denying what a deep part of himself knows to be true. His eyes search Remus out at odd moments during their days, watching as he does tasks as mundane as stowing away dishes or uncrossing one leg only to cross the other as he sits and reads or converses. Sirius tries to keep himself occupied whenever they're able to stay home, working on Lily's guitar or spilling out lyrics and sounds from his own instruments to join with the words.

His notebook begins to fill up quickly, the contents within better than they have been in months, possibly years, but it doesn't stop Sirius from thinking about Remus painted a pale silver and glowing from the inside out. It trickles and seeps so far into his mind that he finds himself writing the word several times while working on songs only to scribble it out of existence again, his eyes drifting to the cymbal mounted to their sitting room wall.

Sirius, for the first time in years, finds himself grateful for the distraction of constant events and bids for their appearances. He wants them all, eager to remain as far away from their joint living space as possible even if the acts do grind on his nerves at times.

They're at a meet and greet, the turnout only slightly smaller than expected in the upheaval of Sirius' public eruption. They're there to chatter with their fans, answer questions, sign autographs over album covers and magazine spreads, sometimes even on skin, all in the name of more exposure and keeping the people happy. Whenever there's a break between swarms of people, the handlers allowing them small reprieves to catch their breath under the insistence of not only Regulus, but Lily and Dorcas as well, Sirius finds himself scrawling messily in his notebook again, forcing the word silver from his mind, avoiding topics of the moon, though they keep poking out and swirling across the page in incriminating blue ink, Sirius scowling at them before he crosses them out with a frustrated vigor.

James leans closer, peeking over Sirius' arm, humming out a pleased sound. "Writing's back on track, then?" he says, more to himself than to Sirius. "Good to see it, mate." He bumps against Sirius' side, sending his letters awry as his body rocks and sways with the contact. "When are you going to let us hear them?"

None of them ask about starting work on the album, knowing that sort of pressure only has the propensity to send Sirius into a stressful spiral, making it more difficult for him to create anything at all. Not for the first time, Sirius thanks the entire universe for his friends.

"Soon," he promises, finishing out another line before looking up at the others. A grin stretches over his features. "Should be able to start recording again before long if you all approve."

Remus snorts on his other side as James nudges Peter who's draped himself across the table in exhaustion, rousing him back up as they spy the next wave of people gathering at the front of the room in preparation. Peter grumbles but sits up straighter.

"We always approve of what you write," supplies Remus easily, leaning back in his chair, his arms pulling up over his head in a lazy stretch, Sirius' eyes tracking the movement before he forces himself to look away. "You're the one that judges them too harshly."

"Because they're not good," states Sirius, like it should be obvious.

"They are," mumbles Peter as the people begin to flood the room. "You're just the worst possible critic."

An odd sort of warmth floods Sirius at the notions from his friends, his gaze dropping back to the book on the table beneath him. He stares at it for a moment until his eyes catch the word moonlight and he slams it closed quickly. The first group of people trickle up to them, a couple girls with a few blokes. They talk to them for a minute, signing what they want before they trail off again, the next set stepping up to the table. They continue for a while like this, listening to the gushing that always inevitably comes, Sirius and James both politely turning down requests to touch their hair because they've done that too many times in the past and it becomes awkward quickly.

As they near the end of the wave, one man discusses drumming with Remus, asking him about his different sets and how he keeps his rhythm so well. When they're finished, he turns to Sirius, questioning him about his various tattoos, a topic Sirius is always thrilled to visit. He'd stopped with the magical tattoos once they'd decided to branch into the Muggle world, the things charmed to remain still on a near permanent basis now to avoid any slips. He pushes up his sleeves, showing off the ones that line his arms before standing and lifting his shirt for the bloke to examine the other ink marks marring his skin, impressed by the guitar that stretches from the center of Sirius' back, the neck wrapping around his side on an upswing and spreading across his ribs.

When they're done, the man is polite and pleasant, thanking them all before wandering away. Sirius settles back down as the next person steps forward, her eyes a bit wide as she stares down at Sirius, but he ignores her for the most part, signing what she wants and then sending her down the line to Remus. Sirius catches sight of his friend's face as he leans forward to scrawl his name over the girl's album cover, his mouth pressed together in a tight, thin line. Sirius nudges him, gaining his attention when he's done.

"All right, Moons?"

"Fine, Padfoot." His answer is shorter and terser than usual, his gaze not meeting Sirius', trained on the few people that are left waiting inside the room.

"You sure?" prods Sirius. "You didn't even smile at that last one, and you always smile at them. It's your thing. Makes them go all gooey and swoony."

"Swoony for Moony!" chimes in Peter from the opposite end of the table, grinning cheekily up at another gaggle of girls in front of him. "Clever, innit?" They giggle at him, their faces flushing red.

"Shut up," grumbles Remus, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong."

"I know what's wrong with him," interjects James, ignoring the girls that have moved to his position in favor of draping his arm around Sirius' shoulders and leaning forward to peer at Remus. "He's jealous." Remus' eyes snap up, widening slightly, but James continues before he can form words in response. "Jealous because that bloke didn't ask about his tattoos, too. It's fine, Moony. We love you the most, don't worry. I love you the most."

"Oi!" protests Sirius, elbowing James in his ribs, forcing an oof of sound from his friend. "That's cheating and I'll not stand for it. We're committed, you and me. You're meant to love me the most and everyone else second. This is adulterous."

"Adultery only applies when you're married," scoffs James, finally turning back toward the girls and beaming at them brightly in greeting, his hazel eyes glinting behind his glasses, "and you've never popped the question. What am I meant to do but go looking for love somewhere else?"

"I don't think that's true," intones Peter from next to James, sounding bored, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. "Adultery, affairs – all the same, doesn't matter."

"Aha!" cries Sirius, James only rolling his eyes.

When the girls are finished, they linger for a moment, glancing between James and Sirius. Then they're giggling as they spin on their heels, whispering loudly between small squeals, "I told you they were together. Everyone will have to believe us now."

Sirius' mouth falls open at the same time as James', their eyes tracking the girls as they nearly skip away from them. They're the last set for the time being, allowing them to simply gape and stare for a while before Sirius blinks himself out of his daze.

"I'm sorry," he bites out, "but what? Are people still on about that?" Remus chokes out a laugh from beside him, clearly trying to restrain himself. Sirius levels a glare on his friend. "Oh, shut up. James," he whinges, the name long and drawn out as it emerges. "Why? Explain it to me."

"I don't know, do I?" exclaims James, his voice higher pitched than usual. "I thought they'd moved on."

"They haven't," inserts Remus, sounding far too knowing for Sirius' liking. Two sets of eyes swivel in his direction and Remus smirks at them. "There's fanfiction about you two. You're a ship."

"A ship?" questions James, his head cocking to the side, causing him to look like a deranged deer. "Like a boat."

"No, like a relationship."

"A brotherly relationship?" asks Sirius, already knowing the answer. Remus shakes his head. "Bloody hell," he groans, lifting his hand to his face and pulling it down over his skin roughly. "Fucking girls."

"I'd say it's blokes, too," offers Remus. "You two do have that thing."

"The brother thing!" cries James in outrage. "Two brother things, if they want to get technical about it. I'm with Regulus. Reg is with me. We're out, we're proud. People know, it's not a secret. For fuck's sake, he comes to events with me, awards shows. He walks the red carpet beside me!"

Remus hums, nodding a little. "Yeah, there's a theory about that. In the fanfiction."

"Remus," says Sirius gravely, "have you been reading this fanfiction?"

"I've skimmed," replies Remus with an unaffected shrug, and Sirius blanches, his mouth falling open again. "But the theory is that you two used to have a thing years ago, but the industry pushed you apart to protect the nature of the band, to keep us all together. No interdating and the like. They seem to be under the impression that you two crafted something up to stay together and now Regulus is your decoy so no one questions why you're not dating anyone, and you can keep seeing Sirius."

"That's absurd!" squeaks James, looking affronted. "Regulus and I live together! And why would I use Sirius' brother as a decoy. Actually, you know what?" James flails his hands around, like he's knocking away a pesky insect fluttering near his head. "No, this is stupid. Sirius and I are brothers in everything but blood. That should be obvious. And I'm dating his brother."

"Does that make it like incest?" comes Peter's voice, finally joining in the conversation. "Brother on brother on brother? Brotherly threesome of incest. A thruple. That's what they're called, right?"

"No!" shouts Sirius and James at that same time and Peter furrows his brow.

"What are they called, then?"

Sirius growls under his breath. "Wormtail, be quiet. You are not helping." Peter merely shrugs and keeps staring down the table at them. Remus is nearly in hysterics beside Sirius who stares at him in mounting irritation. "Okay, I've had enough. It's time for you to stop." He reaches over then, hand clamping down on Remus' mouth. Brown eyes widen as the laughter fades away, and Sirius smirks in smug success until he notices those same eyes narrowing slyly. Sirius realizes what he's going to do a second before it happens, Remus' warm, wet tongue dragging over his palm with a loud slurping sound. "Yeurgh!" cries Sirius, wrenching his hand away a little, Remus collapsing into fits of laughter again. "Moony! You fucking prick, how could you? You're so health conscious and you've no idea where my hand's been."

That silences the other man quickly, his face sobering, something like resignation settling over his features. Sirius grins widely.

"Serves you right," he declares. "Now take back your spit."

Sirius pushes his hand forward towards Remus' face, attempting to wipe the wetness across the other's cheek or forehead, wherever he can reach first. His friend catches his wrist at the last second, struggling to force him back. They wrestle about, tussling for control of the situation, laughter springing up again between them, James calling out uselessly from behind Sirius, his advisements falling on deaf ears. Sirius is breathless, Remus panting along with him from the exertion and the chuckles of enjoyment, neither of them having done this since they were barely more than teenagers and fresh from school with too much energy to burn.

It's only a throat clearing on the other side of the table that causes them to both fall still, their eyes looking up at the same time to see a kind faced woman watching them in amusement, none of them having seen her walk up or noticed that the next wave had entered through the doors. They're both still breathing heavily, Sirius now halfway in Remus' lap from their struggles, arms wrapped up together, one of Sirius' wedged behind his friend's back while Remus' own grip at his side, his other hand clinging tightly to Sirius' wrist hovering above his face. Sirius' palm is dry now, a little stiff from the saliva that had been there not two minutes before. Sirius looks at Remus, darker than normal brown eyes meeting his own, still flooded with adrenaline and something intangible.

Sirius finally pushes himself away, the pair separating with a few grunts and clearing of their throats, Sirius smiling up at the girl sheepishly as he takes her magazine from her hands. He speaks to her freely, ignoring the gravelly quality to his voice that hadn't been there before, his palm still heavy with the remnants Remus' tongue had left behind.

When they're done for the day, Regulus is waiting for them at the edges of the room, having come along to make sure everything was handled properly, Sirius' brother never trusting larger crowds other than at concerts. He hadn't said as much, but Sirius is also under the impression that he'd accompanied them to keep his eyes on Sirius, remaining certain that he wouldn't add any more blunders to his already recently stained record.

"That went well," he voices as he steps up to them, the foursome standing and stretching out their stiff muscles and joints from lack of movement. "It's nice to see you didn't cause any sort of scenes today." His eyes land on Sirius, confirming his earlier convictions. Sirius scowls at him even as Regulus' gaze shifts between him and Remus. "Well, mostly. That was quite the show of entertainment you two provided."

Remus only smiles as Sirius tries to ignore the heat beginning to overtake him. "We were just messing about," he mumbles. "S'not like it's harmful."

Regulus hums, his eyes locked on Sirius, something curious and unreadable flickering through them before it's vanishing, his brother's typical aloof mask falling back into place. "Don't forget we're leaving for the festival tomorrow," he reminds them all.

"You're coming?" barks Sirius in outrage. "You never come to those things, Reg. What the hell do you think I'm going to do, strangle some unsuspecting fan for throwing something on stage?"

Regulus looks unimpressed by Sirius' outburst, one side of his mouth pulling outwards. "No," he says, very plainly and clearly, enunciating every syllable he speaks, "that is not what I think, and it's not why I'm coming with you this time. There are still things that need negotiation, matters they haven't agreed to that I have to make sure are set in place before I can allow any of you to step on stage."

"Have to line your pockets more, dear brother?"

"Sirius, come on," levels James, glancing at Sirius in disapproval. Sirius frowns at him.

"It's about your safety," bites out Regulus, hurt flashing across his face briefly before he schools his expression back into neutrality. "It's lacking this year and I don't feel comfortable with what they have."

Sirius curses himself silently. "Oh," is all he says, dropping his eyes to the floor between them.

"Yes," says Regulus in return, the word clipped, Sirius feeling his grey gaze burning into him. "Go home, Sirius. Take your entertainment with you. We'll meet you both tomorrow."

Sirius shuffles away with Remus feeling like the largest dick on the planet.

--------------------

Sziget is a massive festival and one of their favorites. They've been in attendance at a great number of others, some larger, Mawazine a wonderful one for a time until the climate of the whole thing became rocky and they'd pulled their name from the rosters for the foreseeable future. Some of the largest bands to date come from all over the world for the opportunity to play in the environment, the island in Budapest a beautiful place loaded with people.

It's a large five-day event, and they're lucky enough to have landed a prime spot on the last night when some of the biggest names are performing. Sirius is alive with energy as they cluster backstage, their set massive and sprawling, so much room to move he's not sure what to do with himself once he's out there. He paces around, guitar slung comfortably around his neck, doing some last-minute tuning, something he always prefers to do himself, only stopping when James wanders past him for the fourth time, looking a bit harried and concerned, his hair more of a chaotic mess than usual.

Sirius reaches out and snags his friend's elbow, forcing him to a halt beside him. "Whoa, time out, mate," he says, tilting his head and examining James' face. "What's up with you? You're normally the calmest of all of us before a gig, which is saying something for you. Why the nervous frenzy?"

James glances around them, his eyes seeming to be searching for something. "Reg went to talk to the ones in charge of the stage and security around it an hour ago," he supplies, tone heavy, and Sirius frowns, trying to pick out what he's not saying between the lines.

"Yeah, so?"

"He's not come back yet," states James, but Sirius still doesn't understand. James huffs and rolls his eyes. "Where's your mind reading when I need it, Padfoot? We're meant to go out there in five minutes. If he's not back, that means he's likely not worked out what was needed and he's still arguing. You know how he is. I don't think we should play until we get the go ahead from him."

Sirius studies his friend, trying to take him seriously, but it's difficult. They can't just not go out there. It would cause a riot, the crowd massive and deafening even from where they stand, blocked from view. They'd never be allowed into another festival again, least of all this one, something they rely on for spreading their name even further to those in attendance that may not have heard of them yet on some off chance.

"We have to, James," says Sirius solemnly. "You know we do. We can't refuse without serious blowback. I'm sure it's fine. He probably just got caught in the chaos and delayed. If it was that bad, he'd get word to us on what to do."

James bites at the inside of his cheek, fingers reaching out to fidget with Sirius' guitar strap as his eyes continue to shift around them. He finally looks back at Sirius when they get the two-minute warning call, his expression resigned.

"Yeah, all right," he mumbles, barely audible over the volume beyond the stage.

Sirius claps a hand over his friend's shoulder, pulling him in, their foreheads pressing together. "It'll be fine. C'mon, we're the best, right? Prime slot, everyone's ready for us," he says boldly, his voice encouraging and inspiring. "Let's go out there and do what we're best at, just being ourselves." James finally grins at him, Sirius matching it easily, his fingers winding into James' hair at the back of his head, holding him in place as Sirius plants a sloppy kiss between his eyebrows. "I love you. You are my favorite person." James laughs and ruffles Sirius' hair, delight slipping freely from him when Sirius squawks in protest, lurching away from him.

Stepping out onto the stage is like being bowled over by a hurricane. The sound hits them like a solid wall, rattling through Sirius' head, vibrating his veins. He teeters on his feet, swinging around with a graceful dip to right himself again, his grin broad and alive. The crowd roars out their approval as they maneuver across the stage to their positions, lifting instruments and drumsticks into the air in their own personal greetings. Sirius and James flood the top of the stage, leaning forward, the people in the front nearly able to touch them as they both motion with their hands to amp them up through their boisterous laughter.

They grin at one another as Remus strikes over the drums, the massive gathering of people only growing louder in response. Sirius turns to glance at Remus, his friend all glorious, shining light, eyes glowing from where he sits, looking nearly ethereal under the lights. Sirius only shakes himself out of his growing daze when Peter joins in with Remus, the strum of his bass shuddering the stage beneath their feet as it combines with the beat of the drums. James glances over his shoulder, meeting Sirius eyes, a silent signal exchanging between them, and then they're off, fingers moving, James' mouth opening as he calls out to the crowd.

They're electric, they're fire, lightning striking a tree and setting it ablaze in the darkest of spaces, all flickering oranges and reds, color come alive and bursting with a vivaciousness that can never be rivaled. They get three songs for this, the times on the last day limited, and they'd chosen carefully, pulling from fan favorites, the ones asked about and requested the most often. They've settled on a slower but powerful ballad in the middle, but their last song is the real showstopper, one that never fails to get people on their feet in the more demure regions of the world, a chilling and heart-stopping cry to be heard, one of Sirius' prouder accomplishments, a testament to who they are together.

James sings with everything he has, all the power contained within his body. He shouts out the lyrics in his own special way, bringing life and so much love to Sirius' carefully crafted and placed words. The crowd is nearly livid in front of them, rocking back and forth, jumping, pressing forward. Sirius' heart pounds in his chest as he sings along, well aware that no one is able to hear him and perfectly fine with that, unable to contain himself. He roams the stage, ventures back to Remus, playing up a few small solos between the two of them before striding out to the edge of the stage, crouching down and grinning brilliantly at those nearest to him, screams pushed back into his face, their lyrics raining down around them from more than a hundred thousand voices.

Just before James hits the final chorus, there's a lull in the music and words, but the crowd keeps screaming, keeps pushing and rocking, and then the band is erupting in a wall of sound again, blasting through the air as Remus hammers down on the drums and Sirius strikes out his own notes. James is leaning into Peter, the two playing together, matching their movements before James moves back to the mic and sings like he'll die if he doesn't.

"So grab me by the waist and drag me down all the way to the place where you can be and want to stay," he nearly shouts, the music swelling, but things begin to shift in front of them. The crowd is nearly riotous, a mass of force pressing against the barriers Sirius only now realizes are flimsy in comparison to what they're accustomed to in places like this, with a stage this low to the ground, little dividing them from what now feels like a very real threat. "'Cause we are the long-lost children, the ones who are always last, yeah, are the long-lost children, make the sleepless nights a thing of the past."

James seems to see it as the last word of the chorus filters from his mouth, his fingers falling still over his guitar. Peter's bass dies out, his head turning in their direction, something terrible flooding him. Remus is the last to notice, the drumming continuing until it stops as well. Sirius has just enough time to look over his shoulder, their eyes connecting, and then there's a surge of bodies on him, barreling into his side, knocking him over.

He hits the stage floor hard, feet trampling over him, and Sirius drops his guitar and curls in on himself, protecting the parts that he can, shielding his head. Panic surges through him, choking his breath away, tightening around his throat. Hands touch and pull at him, his hair yanked sharply, pieces of it snapping loose from his scalp. He cries out as pain laces through his body in too many places to focus on any one particular spot. Someone steps on his foot and he thinks he feels a bone snap, sending him rigid on instinct.

Several people begin to pull him up, forcing him to his feet, pawing at him, cold fingers touching skin, sending prickles of unease radiating through him. He fights back against them, shoving backwards, his head jerking around rapidly, searching through the crowd with a desperation he's never felt before even as he continues to struggle for freedom. There are security members on the stage now, trying to fight the crowd back and make them disperse, but there are too many people and not nearly enough protection, Sirius' heart lodging in his throat and not coming back down.

He manages to locate Peter at the edge of the crowd, being pulled away by a furious Dorcas. Sirius keeps scouring over the heads surrounding him like a sea of violent, churning waves. His eyes fall on James, being half lugged from the chaos by Regulus who Sirius has never seen look so explosive and terrified in his entire life, but James is safe, and Sirius can breathe for only a second until he realizes he's not found Remus yet.

Sirius whips around as much as he's able, using his elbows as weapons, knocking people away from him even as they continue to grapple for purchase on his clothing, nails slicing into his skin, but he can't find him, Remus nowhere in sight. Fear begins to overwhelm him, the force of it nearly suffocating, chains wrapping around his lungs and squeezing until they're contorted and ineffectual. He hears people screaming his name, but Sirius can't focus on it, knows it's the crowd surrounding him, the chants a normal thing even if the situation is anything but regular.

It's only when one shouts louder than the rest, a deeper voice booming through the crowd, that Sirius takes notice. His eyes flicker around frantically until he finds him, Remus pushed back toward the corner of the stage behind the equipment, his drums overturned, hair flying about his head, half his face dark with a blossoming bruise. Sirius stutters, his lungs restarting, a gasping breath attacking, leaving him dizzy for far too long in the violent ripple of people still trying to engulf him.

"Sirius!" calls Remus again, so many people around him, pulling him under their wave.

"Remus!" shouts Sirius desperately, beginning to try to force his way forward through the slog of people in his path, still fighting them off as best as he can, his arms starting to weaken from his constant struggles. Hands grab at him from behind and Sirius thrashes to be released but they hold firm. He finally twists his head, seeing one of the security personnel at his back, tugging him backwards through the sea of bodies, away from Remus. "No! Remus!" he cries out, fighting to move forward but he can't work his way out of the tight hold forcing him to safety.

Sirius watches helplessly as Remus meets his eyes one last time, relief seeming to flood his brown irises for an instant before his tawny head disappears beneath the wave. Sirius chokes, and then he screams.

Chapter Text

James is on him almost as soon as Sirius is pulled from the fray, the hands gripping him nearly dragging him off-stage where a line of security blocks the flood. James and the others trample up the stairs at the side, breathless from running around the back, and then James is grabbing at Sirius, twisting him around, not being careful or gentle, searching him over with a terrified sort of desperation Sirius hasn't ever seen from his friend before.

"Are you hurt?" demands James, finally facing Sirius towards him, but Sirius continues thrashing against his friend's hold and the hands still latched around his upper arms, keeping him in place.

"I don't know, but Remus – "

James' fingers dig into the skin of his cheeks as he forces Sirius to hold still and look at him, his hazel eyes too bright and wide, his glasses missing. Sirius vaguely notices that James is holding his arm in an awkward position, but he can't focus on it, his eyes already pulling back towards the chaos on the stage as he jerks his head away.

"I don't know!" he shouts frantically, his mind a mess, unable to focus on anything, least of all his body that aches and trembles everywhere because James is here and fine, walking and talking but Remus is lost and drowning. "I don't know, James, but Remus is still out there! He's out there and he disappeared and we have to fucking find him – " Sirius yanks hard against the hands gripping around him, finally prying himself loose. He staggers in the direction of the writhing crowd as he screams, "Remus!" but the sound chokes out halfway as the strain of it sends a surging pain down his side and across his chest, bending him forward under its sudden weight.

Someone pulls him back again, the hands on him gentler this time than before, and when Sirius looks around, his eyes connect with his brother's. Regulus stares at him, a deep crease between his eyebrows, his mouth turned down at its corners. He clutches at Sirius like he's frightened he'll disappear otherwise, and then James is there again, clinging to him as they both look him over for obvious damage.

"We need to get you checked out," says Regulus, his voice quiet and reserved, yet still easily heard over the colossal din of sound surrounding them. Sirius tries to struggle again, his mouth already forming Remus' name, Sirius nearly in hysterics, unable to control himself or force any measure of calm into his racing, shredding heart. Regulus pins him with a look, his fingers tightening in their grip on Sirius' arm. "They've got Remus. They just pulled him out. He's on the other side. I watched them take him."

Sirius shakes his head in disbelief because he couldn't have missed that, whipping it around on his neck, ignoring the pain that laces through him with the action. He searches with a sort of irrational frenzy until a hand slips over the side of his face, urging him back, James there again in his line of sight, his normally glowing bronzed skin now dulled and nearly ashen, hazel eyes understanding.

"He's safe, Sirius," murmurs James, voice tight, like his throat is trying to constrict around the words. "Remus is safe."

And Sirius wilts, almost collapsing, his knees giving out beneath his weight from the stress of it all. Someone behind him guides him down to the floor where he sits, trying to breathe, everything difficult to come back to him, his head spinning, sight blurring, his body numb. He hears mumbled words around him, but Sirius can't focus on them, can't pin them down, his eyes shifting from person to person, attempting to find something grounding, only locating it when James settles beside him and pulls Sirius against his chest with one arm, holding him tightly as Sirius chokes for air with pinched lungs.

Regulus is talking fast above him, his voice a hiss of sound, meant only for the ears of those they know. Lily disappears soon after with a curt nod of her head, green eyes solemn and hard, worry evident in every line of her face. James stands after that, coaxing Sirius to follow him, and then they're leaving the stage, skirting around its back, Sirius wobbling on his feet in James' firm hold around his shoulders, helping to guide him. He's not sure where they're going and doesn't much care, his eyes shifting around, still searching for signs of Remus because he's missing, never came to find them, and Sirius knows something isn't right.

He feels the tug of Apparition in his gut before he's being squeezed through that pressurized tube, blinking in the bright light when they reappear inside the walls of St Mungo's. Sirius stares around in a sort of haze until his gaze comes to rest on a floating trolley, a pale form covered in bruises drifting ahead of them down the corridor, eyes Sirius knows so well closed, freckles evaporating amidst dark splotches that shouldn't exist.

Sirius lurches forward out of James' hold before anyone can stop him, faintly hearing people call his name, Dorcas shouting after him, but Sirius ignores them. He hobbles his way to the trolley, keeping pace with it, the mediwitch on the other side eyeing him but never sending him away. Sirius reaches out with a shaking hand he can't control, laying it over Remus' arm but not applying pressure, not sure how to squeeze and hold the way he longs to do when his friend seems to be made up of nothing now but bruised, damaged flesh.

"Moony," he says, his voice barely a whisper of sound, but Remus doesn't open his eyes, never stirs or even twitches. Sirius releases a strangled sort of noise from the back of his throat before he can contain it, his chest tight, something in the center of it aching worse than he's ever felt before, like ripped paper slicing painful, unseen lines across his heart. "Remus, please," he chokes out.

But then the trolley slips through a set of swinging doors, a waiting Healer taking Remus from sight as the mediwitch blocks Sirius' path even as he tries to dodge around her. Her hands lift into the air, gaining his attention, but barely, Sirius' eyes still focused on the doors quickly closing and blocking Remus away from him.

"No, I'm going with him," snaps Sirius furiously, glaring down at the woman. She doesn't back away or waver in her stance. "Move," he growls, his face shifting into a feral sneer.

"Your friend will be fine," she says to him calmly, and Sirius thinks about running her over, shoving her to the side, whatever he can do to follow Remus. Only the pressure of a hand settling over the back of his neck keeps him where he is, Sirius not having to look to know it's James. "He's in good hands and they're treating him as we speak. We need to have a look at all of you now."

She pauses, her eyes skimming over Sirius with a critiquing air. "Your breathing is labored," she informs him, Sirius blinking down at her as he tries to draw air into his lungs, that same pinching, painful feeling snagging inside him that he's been blocking out. The woman leans forward, her hand trying to press around his side, but Sirius flinches away automatically, not thinking about his actions, still able to feel fingers digging into his skin and ripping it apart. The mediwitch pins him with a warning look, her expression firm but eyes soft, urging him to settle. She prods around his side, Sirius hissing out a sharp breath as pain sears through him agonizingly, his entire body locking up and clamping down against it. "You've a broken rib," she murmurs. Her gaze shifts around the corridor then. "Come with me, all of you. Let's get you mended. Mr Lupin will be fine, I promise you that. I'll bring you back once we're finished."

Sirius feels himself being steered away from the door, his resistance faltering and fading. Gentle fingers loop around his elbow, Peter there at his side now, guiding him along with the rest of the morose group. Sirius stares over his shoulder at the closed ward where Remus resides until they round a corner and it slips from his sight.

--------------------

He barely blinks in the coming hours, eyes shifting between Remus' prone form in his bed and the open notebook resting on his own lap. Remus is fine, only sleeping, but even with all the assurances they've been given, it hasn't alleviated the deeply pitted worry trapped at the center of Sirius' chest and stomach. The bruises are gone now, injuries healed. He'd been knocked unconscious by the wave of people that had pulled him under, flesh torn in places, his nose bloodied and broken. Sirius feels bile rise in his throat as he thinks about it.

They'd all had injuries that had been tended to, James with a broken arm that was now mended but still stiff and a large gash on his back. Sirius had come away with a broken rib, another one cracked, and a broken foot. He'd had an open wound on the side of his head, left there by stampeding feet, something he'd not even noticed until the mediwitch had healed it and cleaned the blood away. Peter had fared the best of them all, so close to the edges of it, escaping with only minor injuries, a couple of broken fingers and a few toes, all easily patched and rectified.

But Remus…

He'd been trapped the longest, had got the worst of it, the crowd having only him to surge to once the others had been removed from their path. Remus' leg had been fractured in two places, one of his ankles shattered. He'd had his own set of broken ribs for the Healer to contend with, a sprained wrist, bloodied fingers from fighting.

Sirius inhales a shuddering breath and looks at the ceiling, trying to ground himself again, a burn behind his eyelids that prickles and stings.

None of them had left, not even Regulus, everyone gathered in various places around Remus' bed in the mostly empty ward. Lily had returned at some point, accompanied by Mary and Marlene, having dealt with the main Muggles involved and toting changes of clothing and Sirius' notebook. She'd handed it to him with a soft touch ghosting along his jaw, and he sits with it now, James beside him, Sirius' legs thrown over the arm of his own chair, his feet resting in his friend's lap. James rubs idle circles over one of Sirius' ankles, staring across the room with distant eyes, deep in thought.

Sirius can't stop himself from watching Remus, the way his chest rises and falls evenly as he sleeps, terrified to even blink, that he'll miss something important if he does. Words keep filtering through his mind, unbidden, screaming loudly, Sirius scribbling them down, nothing making much sense yet but there all the same, a song forming, melody echoing faintly.

Bruises staining skin, handwriting silver markings on walls on a brass moon
Months formed from clay
Seconds colliding with days, words that mesh

He scrawls out the lyrics, eyes barely looking at them as they flow, Sirius knowing instinctively what's right and crossing over what's not. More words flood him, not matching up, forming different songs inside his mind, everything jumbling together, things he'll sort through later.

Feelings crawling up my skin, can't defend
Don't know how to win
When all we do is struggle fight and yell

Sirius doesn't even look away from Remus when the mediwitch returns to them, her eyes scouring over their group. "You should all go home and rest," she suggests, her face kind from the corner of Sirius' vision. "You've had a tiresome ordeal today." No one moves or even shifts, and she sighs. "Visiting hours are over, I'm afraid. You've got to leave now. Mr Lupin is fine. He only needs rest." She glances around their still figures, her shoulders finally slumping a little as some of her resolve crumbles. "Two of you may stay."

Regulus moves then, pulling himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and stepping up to the side of Remus' bed, looking at Peter, Sirius, and James in turn. "You three should go," he says quietly, his tone a gentle thing, something Sirius rarely hears from his brother. "You're exhausted and she's right. Today was…" He trails off, his eyes dropping down to Remus, something pulling at his expression, a sort of worried melancholy, guilt at the corners of his mouth. "You need rest. I'll stay with him."

"I'm not leaving him," says Sirius firmly, fixing his gaze on his brother, Regulus staring back at him, clearly teetering. "Do whatever you want, the lot of you, but I'm staying."

Regulus looks as though he wants to argue, but his mouth never opens, studying Sirius silently like he's searching for something he can't pinpoint. He finally nods and steps backwards, Marlene vacating her chair and moving to Dorcas' side, Regulus settling over the hard wood. Sirius frowns at him.

"You don't have to stay here," he objects, glancing at James, his friend's face soft and understanding as he gazes across the bed at Regulus. "Go home with Prongs."

"If you're staying, so am I," states Regulus, his posture stiff where he sits.

"I'm not sending James home on his own," denies Sirius heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest, a scowl working itself over his expression. James snorts beside him.

"Because I'm some sort of invalid with my mended arm?" he tosses out lightly, Sirius glaring daggers at him.

"Take your boyfriend and go home."

Regulus pins him with a stony look. "No," he bites out. "If you're not leaving him, then I'm not leaving you, not after today."

Sirius blinks at his brother, the emotion shining from his grey eyes startling him. He and Regulus have their moments, they always have, but his brother has always been a little timid and withholding when it comes to that familial crutch Sirius has so readily clung to in everything. Regulus is more independent than Sirius could ever hope to be, striking out on his own in most things, only finally beginning to pull James along with him because he's grown accustomed to it and James had eventually wheedled him down enough around his rougher edges. Regulus rarely shows love or care to Sirius except in his own special sort of way, never so openly as he is now, most of his feelings locked away carefully, hidden behind walls, only ever lowering just enough to release what he wants known.

"James can stay with me if he wants," speaks up Peter, breaking Sirius out of his daze.

James beams at their friend. "Slumber party," he chirps brightly. A few tinkling laughs sound from around them, Sirius snorting in amusement as Regulus rolls his eyes but looks relieved.

Sirius shifts his legs away from James, allowing his friend to stand. As the others pass him by on their way out, they drop soft pats over Sirius' shoulder and back, requesting to know whenever Remus wakes. James trails over to Regulus, Sirius averting his eyes and giving them as much privacy as he can. When they're finished, their quiet murmurs dying away, James wanders back to Sirius. He grips the sides of his face in two hands and plants a wet, sloppy kiss to his forehead, Sirius releasing a mild noise of protest that's little more than an act.

"I'll be back round in the morning," he promises, squeezing Sirius' face between his fingers gently before he disappears from the ward with Lily and Peter.

Silence falls around them then, Regulus and Sirius not speaking, both watching Remus. As Sirius' eyes rake over his friend, his notebook forgotten for the time being, pen held loosely in his hand, his gaze comes to rest on the crescent scar, only just visible above the collar of the hospital shirt Remus is dressed in. He doesn't talk about it much and never has, but Sirius can still remember a small boy returning from Christmas holidays in their second year, quieter than usual, huddled behind the drapes on his own bed, Sirius invading and lingering, a silent, watchful force.

Remus had let it slip out eventually, his father's blame, the stilted way in which he spoke to his son about an accident that had occurred when he'd been so young and innocent. It hadn't been his fault, just a boy behaving as boys do, upset with his father over something he couldn't even remember, a camping trip turned sour and gloomy. His mother had taken Remus for a small hike near the edge of a ravine, Remus walking too closely to the edge, the ground giving way with another step, falling and landing on some sort of scrap metal that had been dumped illegally, slicing his body in various places, gouging marks that would never completely fade.

What had happened to his mother on that day hadn't been his fault, something Sirius has tried to convince his friend of for years, but the guilt always wells up in Remus at the oddest of times. Hope Lupin had been broken that fateful afternoon, and Remus would never stop blaming himself, probably because Lyall would always hold him accountable for leading to his wife's weakened state and eventual death.

Sirius swallows around the rising lump in his throat, his eyes shifting to Regulus, quiet and stoic where he sits near the end of Remus' bed. He wonders to himself how long his brother will blame himself for this, what happened today, how many sleepless nights he'll lay awake thinking over how he could have done better, fought harder.

"This wasn't your fault," murmurs Sirius, speaking for the first time since the other had departed. Regulus stiffens a little but says nothing in return, not even glancing in Sirius' direction. "You tried."

"You never should have got on that stage," states Regulus, a fact offered to unrelenting, merciless gods who bestow no favors on wrongdoers. "I never should have let any of you go to begin with. I knew. I knew their security was too limited, their barriers too weak. I knew, and I let it happen anyhow."

Sirius' gaze drops to his notebook, plucking at the metal ring. "You tried, Reg," he reiterates. "You're not to blame for them holding you up, keeping you from us. We should have waited for you. James wanted to. I talked him out of it."

"You're right, you should have," snaps Regulus suddenly, his hands balling into fists over his lap, emotion welling in his voice, choking his words a little. "You knew what I was doing so why didn't you wait, Sirius? Why are you always so impatient and ready to dismiss everything I do like it means nothing and matters so little?" His head jerks up then, grey eyes electrified by grief and rage fixing on Sirius and holding him in place. "Why do you insist on disregarding everything I try to do to keep you safe and protected?"

Sirius' mouth works for a moment, temporarily rendered speechless. "I – I don't," he stutters.

"You do!" cries Regulus, all his coldness and his typical aloof mask vanishing. "No matter what I say or do, it counts for nothing with you. You only listen to who you want to hear and no one else. You only hear what you want, do whatever you want whenever you want."

Sirius' expression hardens, his eyes turning to steel as they level with his brother's. "Do I?" he questions, acid on his tongue. "Is that why I keep hiding who I am, because I never listen to you?"

Regulus looks away, back over at Remus, his mouth twitching, pulling oddly as his jaw clenches. "I don't want to talk about this now," he mutters, and Sirius feels something sharp dig into his chest, a white-hot burn, denial and refusal thick in the air around them. Regulus remains quiet for a little while before he finally whispers, "None of it matters because I still could have done more. We're wizards, Sirius. We have ways to communicate, but I was too – " He cuts off abruptly, his mouth wobbling as he stops. "I should have done more."

Sirius stares at Remus, peaceful in his bed, unaware of what's happening around him. He thinks about Lyall Lupin, about Hope, the way it had all crushed Remus his entire life and so much more once she'd been gone. He thinks about where it's led, where Remus is now, barely speaking to his father at all, that same lingering resentment stretching between them, always widening the gap, never shrinking it, filling it in with time or the effort that comes with forgiveness.

"I will never blame you for this," he says quietly, and he can feel Regulus' eyes settle back on him, "no matter what you ever think or say, or how much you fault yourself. Accidents happen, Reggie. Life is cruel and unfair, but that doesn't mean everything lands on your shoulders."

Regulus remains quiet, staring across the space at Sirius as he continues to watch Remus breathe. It's another few hours before anything changes, Sirius eventually resuming his scribbling on the pages spread over his lap, eyes still observant of his friend resting in the terrifyingly white bed. When he spies movement and hears a faint sigh followed by a slightly louder grunt, Sirius tosses his things to the side and is at the edge of Remus' mattress in less than three seconds. Brown eyes slowly flutter open when Remus feels the dip beside him, and Sirius breathes his first easy breath in half a day.

"Moony," he says, bent forward a little, studying his friend's face.

As soon as Remus hears his voice, his eyes are wide and panicked. He lurches halfway up in the bed, his hands flying up, darting around Sirius and holding. Sirius applies pressure to his shoulders, attempting to ease him back down but Remus clings to him, expression wild and fearful. His gaze rakes over Sirius before settling at the side of his head where the blood from his wound had previously been matted and sticky.

"Sirius," he rasps, his mouth working furiously, chest beginning to heave. Something grips around Sirius' heart and refuses to relent in its crushing grasp as Sirius shushes him, trying to calm, one hand moving to the side of the other man's face in comfort.

"I'm okay," affirms Sirius, gently easing Remus back down as his fingers unclamp from Sirius' back. "I'm okay, Moony. You're okay. We're all okay. James and Peter are fine. They went home but they'll be back first thing in the morning. We're okay."

Remus' eyes are locked on Sirius', not blinking or shifting away, watching him fastidiously, like Sirius will disappear if he dares to try. He finally nods, a small motion, barely existent but still present.

"We're okay," repeats Remus softly, nearly a whisper, but his fingers dig into the skin of Sirius' arms and don't release for a long time.

--------------------

Sirius refuses to leave St Mungo's until they release Remus, which happens roughly halfway through the following day. The others begin to trickle in early the next morning, delighted to see Remus awake and sitting up in his bed, looking tired but alert.

James and Peter settle on either side of him, taking up the post of retelling the story from their view in exaggerated detail, making Remus laugh at their dramatics. It's something Sirius would normally be part of, but no one pushes him as he sits back and watches, Peter and James seeming to understand his need for silence in the moment. Remus' eyes flicker to him periodically as they all chatter around the small section of the ward, a growing sort of concern invading the brown of his irises and darkening them until they're nearly black, but he never speaks or urges Sirius to any sort of action.

When they finally return home, Remus is fine, he is, but Sirius still stays close to his side as they leave the hospital, offering support that's not necessarily needed but taken all the same. James and Peter camp out that first night, refusing to go home, though neither Remus nor Sirius say one word about them leaving. They don't linger out of worry, something Sirius can sense in the air surrounding them all. It's that brotherhood, a return to how they started, all of them squashed within their dorm room, never unhappy with one another's company, a sort of home and belonging that at least half of them had always needed and never had.

They only depart midway through the following day, planning to pop in to see James' parents before returning to their own homes. Regulus had canceled their next month, freeing up their schedules, no interviews or fittings or performances pending. He'd said it was to keep an air of truth around the stories that had leaked about their apparent injuries, James having been reported to have a sprained arm that would take several weeks to heal well enough to play again, Peter's fingers having been spied as broken, but Sirius knows without asking that there's more to it than that. Regulus is giving them the time they all need now to recover and cope, none of them anxious to stand in front of a crowd again and act as though everything is fine, though none of them will admit to it out loud.

Sirius keeps a close eye on Remus as they wander around their home through the days, knowing he's fine but still somehow doubtful. He's quiet, more so than usual, especially when they're not within the public eye or when there's more than Sirius around. Remus is always more talkative when it's just the pair of them, something Sirius has always found fascinating, like by eliminating the exposure to more eyes, something unlocks within his friend, tugging out the parts of him that are succinctly Remus only where privacy can provide.

He's worried about the other man, worried about himself, but Sirius pours the feelings into new songs, filling his once nearly empty notebook quickly and moving on to another. Remus watches him at times, settled on their sofa, eyes glancing over Sirius' fingers as he scribbles, buried inside his own mind or while he plucks at the strings of guitars. There are a few of the songs that Sirius shares with Remus from the beginning, his friend always rising and venturing to a drum set, taking up his sticks and working through melodies with Sirius, constructing them as they go, a joint effort, a merging of souls choired through instruments.

A few days after the festival, Sirius finds himself in his room, redressing after a long shower where he'd spent most of his time staring at the tiled wall surrounding him, notes writing themselves out with imaginary ink, his chest tight as his thoughts spiraled. He pauses as he moves around the room, searching for something comfortable to pull over his pants, his skin already chilled in the cooler air beginning to invade the house.

Sirius' eyes snag on the dark purple blossoms littering his flesh like starbursts in the night sky, a terrible painting of darkness swirling into beauty. He stands at the full-length mirror hanging from his wall, marking out each one, something wrapping tightly around his lungs again as he feels those fingers clawing at him, leaving behind scratches that are still present but fading. A few of the bruises have begun to yellow around their edges, remnants of stomping feet and jabbing elbows, people crashing into his body and trying to take it as their own when it hadn't belonged to them.

There are many of them that blend and bleed into ink stains that had once been so vibrant, red-dotted lines and small bulbs of dark splotches morphing the neck of the guitar over his ribs into something tainted. The runes wrapping around his other side, following the path of bones, are nearly unrecognizable beneath the shadows. There's a handprint over one of his upper arms, a mimic of James, that brotherly grip right where he's always grabbed to gain Sirius' attention, pulling him along down corridors all throughout their school days, one of the most important additions Sirius had ever made to his body.

Trailing around the side of one hip are the lyrics to one of his songs, an early one, something he's always been proud of, a testament to the family he'd found when he'd needed one the most. He stares at the words now – break the chains but hold the bonds – the slant of them dipping with the fall of his bone. Unknown to him at the time, Remus had tattooed the same words on his own body, traveling down the length of one side from ribs to hip, unplanned but a curious, elated sort of discovery. He'd said he'd done it to hide away one of his scars, to make it blend better and detract attention from it, but Sirius thinks there'd been a miniscule lie hidden within the truth of his friend's claim.

His body is covered in them, blossoms of artwork and injuries alike, the only one somehow untouched at all is the stag that's placed just above his heart. It's a swirling thing, pretty and meaningful, calligraphy of the word Prongs and more song lyrics that matter in Marathi, a tribute to James and all that he means, shape forming in an echoing call of his Patronus. James has a similar one of a dog for the same reasons, having seen Sirius' and what he'd done and disappeared for half a day without a word or comment on the subject. Sirius thinks his friend had cried while he'd been gone, but he'd never admitted to it.

Sirius stares at himself, his hands curling up at his sides. Every place his gaze lands is a memory of insistent hands he hadn't wanted, calling forward remembrances of his childhood, sharp, piercing nails gripping around the back of his neck, gouging into his arms, pressing firmly against his back as he'd been dragged to wherever someone else had wanted him, a lifeless puppet on strings he couldn't sever. Sirius closes his eyes tightly, his heart hammering incessantly, things pulling at him, memories ricocheting through his mind like shrapnel.

"Sirius?"

He startles when he hears Remus voice from behind him, having not been aware of his friend entering his room. Sirius' eyes fly open again, spying the other man standing a few steps away from his back through the mirror, his own eyes wide and horrified as he takes in Sirius' splotchy, battered skin.

"What the fuck, Sirius?" he demands, his voice tight as it emerges, his feet sending him forward like it's an unconscious action. Remus' hand lifts, hovering in the space between them, reaching for bruises but not touching as his gaze latches with Sirius'. "Why do you still have these?"

Sirius swallows, something thick gathering in his throat as he stares back at his friend, recalling his desperation and belligerence to get away from the mediwitch as she'd tried to heal him, his only thought on Remus, corridors and lifetimes away. He can't even feel shame for his actions, still so relieved to have the other man up and moving, walking and talking again, no matter how enraged those brown eyes are now.

"I didn't care about them," admits Sirius in a strangled sort of grievance. "I was worried about you. I let her heal the worst of it, but I told her not to worry with these. They're just scrapes and bruises, Moony. They'll heal on their own."

Something in Remus' expression softens, though he still looks upset. His hand settles over Sirius' shoulder, finding an unmarred section of skin. He nudges gently, urging Sirius to turn towards him. His gaze drifts down the length of Sirius' front, taking in the blemishes, his mouth pulled tightly, a thin line, eyes pained.

"You shouldn't have to wait that long," he says quietly, tugging his wand from his pocket. "I know they hurt."

Sirius shrugs, Remus' hand still resting on his shoulder moving with the motion. "They're fine. I barely feel them," he mumbles, but his friend's irate gaze quells his denials, his words dying in his throat.

Remus remains silent as he heals what he can, some of the marks not disappearing completely but fading to a hideously pale yellow over Sirius' skin. Sirius watches the other man's face, his eyes dropping periodically to the scar on his neck, pulled taut from the strain of Remus clenching his jaw in an effort to hold whatever thoughts are in his head at bay. Sirius wants to fidget, shift about, but he stays still, rooted like a statue where he stands, the tingle of magic over his flesh almost tickling where it lands.

"You scared the shit out of me," bursts Sirius suddenly, a whisper filling the small space between them. Remus freezes, his eyes lifting to Sirius' face, all his previous irritation gone in the wake of the emotion contained in Sirius' admittance. "I couldn't do anything, Remus. I just stood there, trapped, people pulling at me from all directions, hands hauling me off that stage while they dragged you down and buried you, and I – " He chokes over his words, a half-sob leaving him that forces him to turn his head, the shame of it rearing up now and overtaking him.

Remus is quiet for a minute, still not moving, his wand positioned between them but no longer healing, a useless stick. "You scared me, too," he says softly, his voice shaking a little. "Pete and James…I was worried, but they were safe. Regulus and Dorcas had them, but you – Sirius, I saw them tackle you, and you didn't come back up for so long." Remus' fingers tighten around his wand, the object dropping to his side as his arm seems to give out, the strength leaving him. "I thought – I thought they'd crushed you or they'd – "

Sirius doesn't let him finish, lurching forward before he can think about it. His arms wrap around Remus' back like a shawl, a shield, Sirius draped over him, the two of them pressed together, there and as whole as they can be. He clings and then Remus is gripping him in return, holding tightly, refusing to release, but Sirius doesn't complain. Sirius' jaw trembles, his hands shaking, so he digs them in harder, Remus grunting a little but remaining silent otherwise, tugging Sirius closer against his chest.

They stay that way for a long while, just breathing together, feeling one another, convincing themselves that they're both intact and safe. It's only when Sirius comes back to himself, emerging from his dazed state of hazy fear he'd sunk back within, that he realizes just what they're doing and he separates from Remus, his fingers lingering at his friend's side, slow to slip away, not wanting to lose that grounding, reinforcing touch.

"We're okay," he says, glancing up to meet Remus' eyes, the brown of them intense and bright, shining with something that nearly pulls Sirius back in. He's thrust back to that night beneath the sky again, the stars reflected from those same eyes, skin washed silver and glowing, every part of him opening up and pouring out. It's happening again as they stare at one another, and Sirius' sight drops to Remus' mouth briefly before he catches himself and looks away.

"We're okay," echoes Remus, sounding distant, his voice hollow when it reaches Sirius' ears. He clears his throat and his wand lifts again. "Now let me get rid of these. You don't need them as a reminder."

Sirius only nods, unable to look at his friend anymore. His heart is pounding again, but the terror is gone, a different sort of fear welling up inside him, that overwhelming need to pull Remus back into his arms nearly crushing in its strength and weight.

--------------------

Sirius spends a lot of time away from the house after that afternoon in his room. Every time he looks at Remus now, it's like a magnet pulling at him, invisible lines wrapped around his insides and drawing him closer, urging him to actions he can't follow through with because he knows it would be devastating in a plethora of ways.

Instead, he finds himself barging into James' home, not knocking or announcing himself, but his friend never seems surprised. Regulus is out most days, still working even if they're not, and Sirius thinks maybe James is lonely, though he always finds ways to keep himself busy when no one is around to harass him. Sirius lounges across their sofa on most occasions, his head pillowed in James' lap, his friend's fingers idly working through his hair as he writes and James watches the television he'd convinced Regulus was a worthwhile investment when Lily had shown them what it did. Other times he chatters to Sirius about random topics, bringing up stories from their younger days, talking about people they all know but have mostly lost contact with, only keeping tabs because Regulus knows them better, his fingers tucked into every aspect of both words almost seamlessly. Sometimes, during James' calmer moments, he simply stares over Sirius' head, watching his hand move across the page, reading his words, humming out tunes to go along with them that Sirius picks up quickly and matches.

"You've really dived back into it, haven't you?" broaches James one afternoon after Sirius has once again run from his own home in avoidance of the other man and the confusing feelings that exist there. "Just sort of hit you out of nowhere."

There's a question in his friend's voice, a soft one, not exactly prying, but curious. Sirius can feel his eyes on him, but he keeps writing. He's running out of pages in his book, already with a request out to Lily for a new one, something he thinks he should keep a stock of now and probably should have for years, but he's never written this fast before, never compiled so many new songs in such a short period of time.

Sirius grunts when James says nothing further, his friend clearly waiting for something. James releases a small sigh, shifting under Sirius' head, jolting him a little, making his words go awry against the crisp lines of the book.

"Padfoot," he says, and Sirius' hand finally pauses, half a letter formed and hanging unfinished in front of him, "talk to me, mate."

"There's nothing to talk about," mumbles Sirius, picking the word back up, completing the line and moving to the next. This isn't strictly true, and it's not like him to keep things from James, but Sirius isn't sure what to say or how to phrase it, songs so much easier than speaking any of it into existence. He thinks maybe James can sense it, the heaviness of what he's holding in, his hazel eyes searching, delving, like he can find it and drag it out with enough patience.

"You're lying," states James, but he doesn't sound angry or put out. Sirius glances up, meeting his gaze. His fingers slip through Sirius' hair again, tugging gently, making certain Sirius doesn't look away. "You're flooding yourself onto paper. There are clearly things you're not saying, and that's fine, Sirius. I'm not going to push you unless you start scaring me. There are worse things than writing songs to cope with whatever it is, but I'm always right here if that ever becomes less than what you need."

Sirius nods, holding James' eyes. His fingers twitch around his pen, but he lets it fall to his stomach, relaxing for a few minutes. James eases with him, his grip in Sirius' hair relenting, the solemn moment passing them by and leaving them as they've always been, trekking back to when they were just two boys who had nothing but each other in their earliest days, slipping behind bed hangings in the dark of night for comfort or holing up in unused classrooms where they could plan and plot undisturbed.

James pulls faintly at a black strand again, urging Sirius to look up at him once more, his hazel eyes open but bemused as he asks, "Are you dodging Remus?"

Sirius lowers his gaze back to his raised knees. "A little," he mumbles, picking the biro up and spinning it between his fingertips. "I keep seeing it, him disappearing and I can't – "

James only hums in understanding when Sirius' words break. His free hand slips across his chest, palm pressed over the tattoo that bears his name above Sirius' heart, a silent message, and Sirius closes his eyes. His movements fall still and they sit there for a while until James' hand shifts again, Sirius looking up when he feels the easy tug on the notebook.

"Can I?" questions James, and Sirius releases his hold, allowing James to take the book from him. He flips through it for a few minutes, pausing periodically, his eyes sweeping the lyrics and notes jotted down in the margins on some of them. "You've got a lot here," he comments, his gaze dropping back to Sirius. "Are they good enough?"

Sirius looks at the book spread open in James' hands, considering what it contains, the words nearly tattooed around his heart now. He nods, slowly at first, the motion building as he moves his gaze back to his friend.

"They are, yeah."

James' mouth quirks up into a special sort of smile, something typically only reserved for Sirius alone. "Ready to start that album?"

Sirius huffs out a breathy laugh, beaming up at his friend in answer.

Chapter Text

The first step to creating a new album, other than Sirius' songwriting, is a slow one, yet something that passes them by more quickly than any of them would prefer, over and gone in a matter of a few simple blinks of their eyes. They start by gathering in Remus' and Sirius' sitting room every time, Sirius passing out copies of the songs he's comfortable using and even a few he's not certain about, his friends' words of encouragement sometimes all he needs to crest that impossible peak and round to the other side.

They pour over the words on the pages, reading them aloud, searching out anything that doesn't flow as it should, altering what's needed. Then they start selecting, narrowing down their options to a more manageable number, forming a story through Sirius' heart. Not one of them has more influence or power than the others, not even Sirius himself because he's never wanted it that way. They discuss their feelings on each song when there isn't a unanimous decision from the beginning, listening to each side before settling on a choice.

On rare occasions they ask Sirius the meaning behind what he's written, but mostly they seem to understand without explanation, chattering animatedly about particular lyrics, lining up the parallels. This time is a little different. They're quiet as they read, words soft when spoken. They watch Sirius where he's curled up in his chair, staring out the window at the Potters' house in the distance, knowing everything he's written through memory, scalded into his brain like a cattle brand. They still don't question him much, though he knows there are several that should be confusing to everyone in the room but him, but nothing ever comes of it, like they can sense that he won't have the answers they want.

Once they've made their selections with a few saved back in case they change their minds or decide to add in more, that's when they really start working. They begin building melodies, Sirius playing and singing what he's already figured out himself, James making tweaks in places so the chords flow better, Remus catching on quickly and joining in with a rhythm on his drums, Peter slowly rounding out the sound as they all fall together as they always do.

They work for weeks, making use of their free time as much and often as they can, crammed into that same sitting room, maneuvering around one another with ease and familiarity. Marlene is thrilled when they tell her what they've been doing, coming around one day and catching them in the middle of working out the kinks in a song. Regulus also seems relieved that they're back on track, making certain to keep their schedules light and open as he always does during these times, providing them the freedom to craft it all together. No one pushes or prods them to go faster, not really understanding their process after all these years but respecting it.

And the process is a grueling one, something not any of them ever complain about. It's long, leaking into months upon months before everything comes together and they can call it all complete. Even once they've got the songs assembled, they've still barely started, so much more coming after, recording sessions and alterations they make as they go, sometimes leaving them paused for days before they figure it out. There are photoshoots to come and so many interviews the thought of them makes their heads spin. There are promotions to run, shows to perform to build anticipation, Ministry haggling and threats to overcome, signings to attend, a dizzying array of endless days that's nearly suffocating by the end of it all.

But the music of it all, the way the foursome gravitates together, fitting so seamlessly, slotting into their roles, that's the part they all cling to for as long as they can make it last. Completing an album is like breathing again, something unlatching from around their lungs, but it's also crushing, a sort of devastation, like raising a child and then sending them off into the world alone. An ache settles into their hearts and souls, and they go quiet, a stillness settling for a few weeks even amidst the chaos of everything still surrounding them.

Sirius hates that part, so he clutches to the beginning, holds it tightly, savors every moment. He watches his friends as they pick and drum and chatter around him, discussing the next part, the forward step, that march into oblivion and wonderment they know is coming for them. They're fire, all of them, a blinding blaze of pure light, shining like the sun, too bold to look at with bared eyes, coming alive as they sort it all out, piece by piece, note by trilling note.

When they're ready, they summon their other friends to the house, everyone gathering in the plush and comfortable area outside of the booth over the course of a few selected days. The band plays their newest songs, Marlene recording their first takes so that they can hear it for themselves later while the others listen. The point is to gain feedback, those special opinions and suggestions that just make them better, the honesty and care their friends provide them cherished and welcome. They don't stop for fumbles as they play, don't make corrections or worry about being perfect. They play like they always have in these moments, for themselves and those that matter most.

Then it's back to the sitting room, looking over the negative, scouring for ways to improve and make it better, whatever it is. They throw themselves into it with their whole hearts, long, sleepless nights stretching into days until someone shows up (typically Regulus or Dorcas) to drag them apart and force them to eat and rest, making certain their fingers aren't overworked and raw (Sirius' are, but that's nothing new) and that their brains have the chance to power down for a while.

It's on one of these nights, after Regulus had flown through the front door, sending Peter off to his home and telling him not to return for at least twenty-four hours and dragging James back home with him, that Sirius finds himself settled on the piano bench, legs drawn up and crossed in front of him. His notebook is open across one knee, Sirius leaning over it, pen scratching, crossing out words, adding new ones, working on the song that had begun forming as he'd sat in the hospital staring at Remus' sleeping figure. Images of dark bruises spring up in his vision, blocking out his surroundings temporarily, slipping away as he pushes at them only to be replaced by the other man's head disappearing beneath the sea of people bearing down on top of him.

Sirius squeezes his eyes closed against it all, his fingers tightening around his pen, pulling a hiss from between his gritted teeth. He looks down, hand opening, the biro resting in his palm, his fingertips red and swollen from so many hours spent with his guitar in the passing days and weeks. He'll have new callouses layered over old scars once they're finished, a thought that sends an odd sort of delight rippling through him.

His eyes skim the new words he's written, adding them to the old, cycling them through his head repeatedly until he's sure they fit. This isn't a song anyone else can help him with or add their own input. This one is his, more so than any of the others. It's his heart ripped from his chest and smattered across the page like stars filling the night sky, bids for freedom from a quiet voice in the darkness. It's light cast on shadows.

Stars up above, dancing pretenders
Diamonds Jewels of majesty in the night
But comparisons stop stagger, surrender
Shine lost from sight
Can't match your light

"What are you doing?"

Sirius snaps the book closed quickly on reflex when Remus' voice comes from above him. He glances up, meeting critical brown eyes, Sirius shifting a bit on the bench, smiling up at his friend sheepishly.

"Nothing?" he attempts, but Remus frowns at him, seemingly a little disappointed.

"You're meant to be resting," he accuses lightly, releasing a small sigh as he seats himself on the bench in front of Sirius' crossed legs. "That includes your hands. Let me see them." Remus reaches out between them, palm held up in the air, waiting for Sirius to acquiesce to his instruction.

"I'm fine, Moons," he mumbles, pulling back a bit, but Remus only pins him with a hard glare, clearly not accepting any arguments, and Sirius sighs as he relents, dropping his hand into his friend's.

Remus rolls it over, spreading Sirius' fingers out as he holds it gently in his grasp. His own fingers sweep across Sirius' skin as he examines the red and swollen flesh with calculating eyes, Sirius shuddering against his volition at the careful touch, gooseflesh springing to life and chasing down his spine. Remus glances up at him briefly when he feels the movement, gaze curious but he doesn't question it, looking down again.

"You shouldn't be writing right now," he murmurs even as he pulls his wand and taps it over each of Sirius' fingertips. It doesn't remove the damage, something Remus knows better than to do by now, Sirius liking the marks his work leaves behind, but it does alleviate some of the pain. "You should be sleeping. We both should."

Sirius hums noncommittally because they both know they won't. They never sleep much when they're working on a new album, their veins electrified and buzzing almost constantly, keeping them restless and moving, like the music they're creating is migrating into their bones and becoming a part of them with each note struck.

Remus drops Sirius' hand and begins to shift away, but Sirius reaches out and grips around his wrist, stopping his movements, forcing Remus to freeze. He stares at where Sirius' fingers have landed, tucking around the protruding bones, something Sirius is trying not to focus on, his stomach flipping nervously in his abdomen, a fluttering sensation taking him over as the pad of his middle finger presses against the sharp point.

Remus' hands are blistered, painful looking marks marring a few places on his palms from the drumsticks and the insides of a couple of fingers from his grip. Sirius repeats Remus' earlier process, gently splaying the digits outwards, skin moving over skin like a breeze blowing, faint and hardly there, but still touching. Remus remains still, watching, Sirius unable to see his eyes fully from the dip of his head. He tugs his own wand free from his pocket, skimming it over Remus' palms, healing the blisters, fading them to callouses, matching the others that litter his roughened flesh from years of the same routine.

Sirius keeps hold of one hand once he's finished and stows his wand away from sight again, glancing up and meeting Remus' eyes when the other finally lifts his head. Sirius stares at him, trying to pin the look down that he finds there, an ineffable sort of thing, deep and hollowed, but roiling at its edges. Sirius swallows and clears his throat.

"There," he states, "we're both better now. Even. Can I keep writing without you yelling at me?" He smirks at Remus, the other man huffing a little, his eyes shifting away, releasing Sirius from their trap, his stilted breath returning and coming a bit easier.

"I never yell," murmurs Remus, only half-amused, something weighted in his voice.

"You yelled at Regulus after we went out on our own," supplies Sirius, and then he's kicking himself not only for the words and the way Remus' head snaps around to look at him again, but for the reverent tone his voice contains as he says it.

"Those were things Regulus needed to hear," snaps Remus, anger flashing in his eyes, though it's not aimed at Sirius. "He doesn't understand and he needs to. Someone has to make him see it."

Sirius squeezes his friend's hand that's still held in his own, and Remus calms a little with the action, the faint pressure subtly relaxing him where he sits. "Why is it so important to you?" he asks genuinely.

He knows his agreement with Regulus is a mild point of contention with all his friends, something they've made their stances on clear in the past, James typically the most vocal about it, both with Regulus and away from him, but it's not their life, not them that's living it. Sirius never says much about it, learning over the years to sneak around when he becomes too restless, his loneliness mounting too high to crawl his way down without help, but it's a rare occurrence anymore.

The media pegs him as a slag, moving from one woman to the next, making radical claims of his excursions in various nightclubs with little proof that's always fake. Sirius never goes to places like that because he's too recognizable now, though in his younger days, when they'd first been poking their heads into the Muggle world, he'd had his fun until it had become too trying to hide away from the camera flashes and people groping at him as their success had risen skyward. Now he's more careful about what he does and who it's with, finding men to trust not to jabber their exploits for a bit of cash a challenge he doesn't always have the energy for anymore.

Remus' eyes sweep his face, something filling them that looks almost like remorse. Sirius wants to shy away from it, but he's stuck, trapped in place on the bench with his friend, that same unnamable thing hovering between them that Sirius wants desperately to poke at but is terrified of what will come if he does.

"Everyone deserves happiness, Sirius," says Remus somberly, "even you. Especially you. And no one deserves having to lie about who they are when it's not hurting anyone but themselves. That's what Reg is doing. He's hurting you, whether you see it or are willing to admit it or not. He's hurting you, hindering your life, and he's been doing it for years. I'll never be okay with that, and I'm not staying quiet about it any longer. You've earned the right not to spend your life alone."

Sirius stares at Remus, his mouth parted a little, eyes narrowed in thought. He shakes his head after a moment, his lips pressing closed again, gaze dropping to their combined hands stretched between them.

"I'm not alone," he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to meet with Remus'. "I've got you, don't I?"

Remus seems to jolt a little with the words. "Always," he rushes to say, sounding a bit breathless. "You'll always have me, Pads, but…" Remus looks at him sadly, that same confusing emotion taking him over again that Sirius can't pinpoint. "That's not what I mean. I'm not enough."

"Oi!" snaps Sirius, heat lacing his voice. "Yes, you are. You're more than enough, Remus. You always have been. That's not changing."

Remus doesn't look entirely convinced, though Sirius can see his expression softening at the testament. He turns away then, no longer meeting Sirius' eyes, his gaze landing on the piano as they lapse into silence. Sirius picks his pen back up, slowly flipping his book open again, beginning to scratch across the smooth paper once more, but he stops when he hears a trilling note fill the air around them. He looks up, finding the fingers of Remus' free hand pressing down on a few keys of the piano, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

Sirius studies him for a while, remaining quiet, a previous conversation filtering through his mind as he watches. "Still want me to teach you?" he asks in offering. Remus jerks his hand away from the piano as though he's only just realized what he's done, like the keys have burned him with their impressive beauty. "I don't mind," presses Sirius when his friend refuses to look at him, bowing his head in something resembling shame or nervousness.

Remus doesn't immediately respond, and Sirius only waits a few seconds before he moves his notebook and pen to the floor as he shifts around on the bench. He pulls the other man's hand with him, still clutched in his own, something Sirius had mostly forgotten about until he'd begun altering his position. Remus watches him silently, Sirius settling his fingers over the keys at their starting places and then reaches to grab his friend's other hand, mimicking the position of the first.

Sirius leans forward, motioning to the keys, explaining what each one is in relation to the notes. His own fingers press down on Remus' with each one, allowing him to hear them play out around them, then Sirius is repeating the actions on the opposite end, allowing Remus to listen to the lower keys. Remus pushes over the keys a bit, his movements slow and cautious, though his arms loosen up a bit as they go, his eyes flickering to Sirius periodically, like he's checking or simply watching for some sort of cue for something.

When he seems comfortable, Sirius grabs up his notebook and creates a quick and simple stave between the lines, placing it in front of Remus. He points to the notes he's drawn on the page.

"It's only the basics for this one," he explains. "No need to move around or use both sides. Just a repeating pattern." Sirius demonstrates on his own side a few times, Remus remaining quiet and studious before attempting to repeat the actions, though he stumbles, his confidence clearly thin.

Sirius reaches over, one arm wrapping around Remus' back, his hands encircling his friend's forearms and slipping down, feeling the muscles twitch beneath his touch.

"You're too tense," he murmurs, squeezing a little, encouraging Remus to relax. "People always think piano players are rigid because of their posture, but that's not true. It's just like any other instrument. You've got to be loose enough to feel what it's doing. Pianos are more pliant than people assume they are, which means you need to be as well. Play like you do the harp."

Remus' head turns, his eyes settling on Sirius' face, something curious within them. He licks over his lips as he looks back down, but he doesn't begin moving until Sirius' hands slip over his own, fingers merging together, layered with one another, a seamless melding into one person, a single being. Remus presses down and Sirius follows, not applying pressure but there to guide, keeping him loose, head hovering over the other man's shoulder, his citrus scent strong as it floods Sirius' nose.

Sirius glances at him from the corner of his eye, watching as Remus works the keys, gaining confidence as he goes. Sirius swallows, his throat dry, attempting to keep his breathing controlled and normal. It wouldn't take much, his mind whispers to him, just a small nudge to gain Remus' attention, a slight turn of their heads, a tiny push forward and then –

Sirius stops the thought in its track, his chest hitching as his breath catches. Remus falters and stops, looking over at him, honey-colored eyebrows knitting together in question. Sirius slowly pulls back, plastering a bright smile on his face, easing the expression from his friend's face.

"That was great," he compliments, fighting to keep his shaking voice under control, hoping Remus can't pick it out. "Want to try for something more challenging?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," murmurs Remus, his eyes dropping to the keys again, one finger brushing over several at once. "Thanks, Pads."

"Anytime, Moons," responds Sirius, begging his suddenly dry mouth to refill with saliva.

--------------------

"Reg, you must be joking," snarls Sirius even as Dorcas tugs him through the building with a small amount of force. "You said you weren't letting this happen for a while."

Regulus stares straight ahead as they all walk down the corridor, everyone else going mostly willingly except for Sirius, though there's a heaviness in James', Remus', and Peter's steps that can't be ignored. Sirius sees it like a lighthouse beckoning from the edge of a harsh sea. None of them are ready for this, not yet, knowing what's coming.

"It was already scheduled and they refused to cancel," gives Regulus, sounding flippant and dismissive, but the corners of his eyes are strained. "There wasn't a choice, Sirius."

"Of course there's a bloody choice!" shouts Sirius. "We don't go, that's our fucking choice!"

Regulus stops and rounds on him suddenly, his gaze livid. "If we do that, they'll never book you again, regardless of the circumstances surrounding your skiving," growls Regulus. "And if that happens, word spreads quickly. All these things are connected, Sirius. Don't you see that? One wrong word from the right person and everything falls apart. We can't support that. You need these interviews, no matter how much you hate them. They keep you prominent, the center of focus, part of the public view and on everyone's mind so they keep buying albums and shirts and tickets. You need them, but don't think for one second I'm any happier about this than you are."

Sirius glares at his brother, but his ire fades quickly when he spies some sort of pleading desperation in his grey gaze. His shoulders drop as he pulls his arm free from Dorcas' grip with a jerking motion, his face sour but accepting.

They continue down the corridor in silence, immediately ushered to the mock stage and told to make themselves comfortable. Sirius settles on the large sofa between James and Peter, all of them stiff in their seats, not speaking, an odd occurrence for them, the foursome typically vocal while they wait for these things to start, exuberant and lively, causing small scenes that make the crew chuckle around them with their teasing jabs at one another and, on occasion, mild rough-housing.

James clears his throat as the lights begin to adjust, the host of their coming interview able to be seen off to the side, speaking animatedly with someone. "C'mon, mates," he prompts, sitting up straighter but also somehow slouching in his seat, adopting an easy, effortless air of casualness, as though everything is fine. "We can do this, can't we? Let's give them a show and then we can go back and keep working like we want."

They all fall in line around him after that because James is right. It's only one interview, something they've done a thousand times. Peter leans against the arm of the sofa beside him, Remus pulling up one leg and balancing his ankle over his knee, fingers tapping out an idle rhythm over his calf. Sirius slumps beside James, leaning backwards, pressing their shoulders together, James pushing into him in return, a steadying thing that makes Sirius' breathing come easier.

The interview starts out as most of them do, with mild introductions that aren't needed in the form of the host speaking to them each individually. She asks them what they're currently doing, making a brief comment about them not being spotted around much lately. James nudges Sirius with his elbow, giving him the floor, allowing him to tell if he wants, the others leaving the decision to him, so he does, talking about them plotting out their next album. The host's eyes light up with excitement, rapid fire questions coming then that they all answer as vaguely as they always do.

It goes smoothly for the most part, Sirius beginning to relax between his friends, but then the woman's expression alters, turning grave, solemn, her blue eyes darkening, and Sirius tenses automatically. A lump rises in his throat that he can't swallow down, his palms slicking with sweat, Sirius pressing them flat against his thighs.

"Let's turn to a more serious side of things for a moment, if you'll allow me that?" she says to them, but none of them respond, everyone silent as they stare back at her, their expressions turning dark. "We've all seen stories and videos of what happened during Sziget six weeks ago. It was a terrifying thing, and I can only imagine what it must have felt like to be trapped in the middle of an ordeal like that. Your fans are incredibly worried. They've been waiting for you to speak out on the matter, but you've all remained remarkably silent. No one has seen anything other than a tweet from your representatives."

James' eyes twitch as he says, "We've all been taking some time, staying out of spotlight. We're allowed that courtesy."

"Of course you are," agrees the host, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them in a different position, "but that hasn't alleviated the concern and questions circulating around what happened."

"What questions?" snaps Sirius before he can stop himself. "People rushed the stage, they trampled us. What questions are there in that?"

"Several things come to mind," picks up the woman without faltering under Sirius' sharp tone. "The security of the festival for one, and why your people didn't make certain you were completely safe before sending you out onto that stage if things were so lacking and flimsy." James' fingers curl into fists at his sides, Sirius able to feel the flex. He presses more firmly against his friend. "There's also the incident that happened not long before the festival with you, Sirius. Your fans and people all over the world are on your side."

"Funny," scoffs Sirius. "They weren't after it happened."

"Their eyes have been opened since the near travesty Sziget. They finally see that what you said and did on that street was a cry for help." Sirius balks, his mouth parting, eyes widening, as he stares at her. "New videos have been released since the festival from your outburst on the street with your fans, showing how they were grabbing at you. Several people have been comparing those to the ones from Sziget and how the crowd clamored around each one of you, but specifically you."

Sirius' remains quiet, biting his tongue. His face is twisting and contorting into something horrendous, a shadowed specter of who he truly is. He has no control left over it, his usual plastered smile gone, ripped away from him as he begins to sink back into memories, the panic taking him over again as he'd searched for his friends, as fingers had shredded over his skin in an effort to drag him down, make him theirs, pull him to a place he didn't belong.

"It's incredibly funny how that works, isn't it?" speaks up Remus, surprising Sirius, forcing his head to turn in his friend's direction. The other man's face is a carefully controlled storm of barely disguised rage. "People lash out and throw accusations at the first sign of anything negative without all the basic facts around them. Half of them wanted Sirius' head mounted to a stake, his body hung and stretched out on a pole like an ominous warning of some dystopian future where the world has burned and turned to ash, but then they see the truth and suddenly they're on his side, pretending as though that's where they've been the entire time. It's really very charming."

The host blinks at Remus a few times, seemingly thrown off balance by his unexpected words. "Yes, well – "

"That's a fair point," interjects Peter, sitting up straighter beside Sirius, leaning forward around him like he's attempting to block Sirius from some harsh thing bearing down on them. "Remus is right. People are too quick to judge and make accusations, even our fans who are supposed to support us, the ones we give our entire selves to religiously. We don't hold back, we never shy away, but at the first hint of trouble or something that looks worse than it is, they're attacking with their claws out. Where's the objectivity in that? Doesn't seem as though it exists, does it?"

Next to Sirius, James is practically beaming, his expression not outwardly showing it, but Sirius can see it in the faint curve of his mouth and the bright pride contained within his hazel eyes. The host stares at each of them in turn, appearing a bit nervous now, but she shakes it off, her head tilting as she pins Remus with her suddenly hungry blue eyes.

"I understand you got the worst of the onslaught from the rush, Remus," she states, posing it like question with only one clear answer, her voice coated with a mocking sort of kindness. "There were photos released of you being pulled off the stage, unconscious and incredibly battered. We've heard you spent several days in hospital before being released."

All of Sirius' swelling gratitude vanishes in an instant with the reminder, his breath leaving him like it's been punched from his chest. He finds himself thrust back into the middle of that day, standing on that stage, surrounded by the pouring, clamoring bodies trying to pull him down, staring helplessly as Remus disappeared from his sight even as Sirius struggled to get to him, to grip his hands around him and pull him away from the fray and destruction, to keep the damage from taking him.

James grabs around Sirius’ wrist with a quick movement, like he can feel it happening, hear his thoughts, but Sirius can't focus on it, his mind stuck in a viscous swirl of rage and hopelessness and desolation. He's back at St Mungo's, staring forlornly at a bruised and beaten Remus as he'd slept, song lyrics pouring out of him that well up inside him now. He's under the crushing impact of those stampeding feet as they'd trampled him, Sirius helpless to do anything but protect his head as much as possible. He's watching Regulus tug James off the stage and out of the chaos, seeing his arm held in such an awkward way, broken, the bone shattered, so the mediwitch had stated. Peter's mangled fingers, his limp as he'd walked on broken toes, the blood around his nose –

"I did," confirms Remus, his tone unaffected, head held high. "I'm fine now."

The host hums, her eyebrows raising, looking like a cat ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. "Are you, though?" she prods, leaning forward a bit. "That must have been very traumatic for all of you, but you in particular. Your friends left you behind, left you trapped there under all those people, no one else to turn on but you because they were gone – "

Sirius is pushing himself to his feet, anger already threatening to burst out of him like a whiplash, when Regulus is storming onto the set. "We're done here," he says, voice a low hiss. His face is smooth and calm, but his eyes betray his wrath, a simmering sort of burn within them that sends ice rippling down Sirius' spine even as he locks his gaze on his brother and doesn't look away.

Regulus turns to them as the host gapes up at him, sputtering and outraged. "You can't do that," she snaps, losing her composure.

He motions for them to stand, Lily and Dorcas already at the edges of the set waiting for them. As they trail away, Regulus angles himself back towards the woman who cowers under his steely expression.

"I can and I am," he says flatly, rage boiling just beneath the surface. "You attacking them for something outside of their control is never part of the deal. These interviews are a privilege and one that I will happily revoke whenever I see fit."

He spins on his heel then, marching from the set and joining them at the edges. His hands press against Sirius' and James' backs as he plants himself between them, the entire group steering themselves out of the building without another word.

--------------------

Later that night, Sirius finds himself in the booth. He stares at the large, specially designed microphone studiously, something they all prefer using because they've found it sounds truer than recording with magic, a curiosity none of them can figure out.

James and Peter had returned home after the interview, Regulus accompanying James after turning his voice hoarse from shouting at the executives where their interview had been held, Sirius watching his brother with a crushing amount of gratefulness. Remus had disappeared with Lily for some excursion, something to shift his mind away from the events of the passing months, but Sirius had quietly refused, wanting to remain at home on his own.

His fingers skim over the strings of the guitar balanced over one thigh, propped up from where it rests on the rung of the stool beneath him. He glances at the stand under the microphone, supporting his open notebook, something that's not needed or necessary, but there out of a sense of comfort that it doesn't provide where it usually does. Sirius tugs his wand from his pocket, aiming it at Remus' drum set behind him, setting a rhythm and then stopping it, settling the charm in place that will start it up once it's needed.

It's not perfect, not like it would be if Remus was the one playing, but it's enough for Sirius' purposes. He just needs to get it out, release it into the open and then never think about it again, that horrible weight of crushing bodies living within words inside his head, the fear that had gripped him and still does during almost every waking moment. The others would likely call him ridiculous if he spoke any of it out loud, but he knows he'd come very close to losing one of the most important people in his life that day, and it's something Sirius can't hold onto any longer.

His pick catches a string, the chords starting, rolling out from his fingers with the same ease as they always do. And then he sings, his voice rough, a little jagged, but firm, resolute, releasing the feelings clutching like digging fingers around his lungs.

"The feeling is crawling up my skin, and I don’t know how to win when all we do is fight and yell." The words come like the rolls of thunderclaps from a quickly approaching storm, soft and measured. "But when I fell, all I could think of was you because we are one and the same, playing against each other in this twisted game.

"'Love you' doesn’t cover much and I don’t tell you half enough. No matter the pain, your blood flows through my veins." The drums kick in then, adding a steady beat, a thumping Sirius can feel through the floor beneath him, and his voice gains a bit of power. "It seeps into my mind and I try to find a way to leave it behind."

Sirius strikes over the strings of his guitar with force, his body lifting from the stool, the microphone charmed to rise with him, adjusting to the height. The guitar cries, screams in a way Sirius can't, combines with the drums behind him, a melding of souls without souls. He sings out the chorus again, those first opening words, hitting them hard, waves crashing against cliffs, prickles behind his eyelids, tingles racing across his skin, heat settling in his chest, a burning he can't diffuse.

"You think you know me, but I don’t know who to be, or how to make sure you’ll like me." His voice fades out, turning to a whisper, the drums ceasing, the chords of the guitar twanging, vibrating, then dying away, sounds fluttering into oblivion with the wind. "Can you hear me now?"

Sirius stands still in the silence that surrounds him, his jaw trembling, fingers spasming. He sets his guitar down, propping it against the stool and leaves the booth, shoulders still, chest tight, throat collapsing and burning with things he refuses to release. He jabs his wand at the equipment outside, ending the recording, a disc flying towards him, a rendering for him and his ears alone, not belonging to anyone else, never to be heard.

--------------------

It's a few days before they reassemble, Sirius itching under his skin, things he can't seem to scratch away until they're back together. No one else is there this time, only the four of them, left alone to do what they want and need, which is perfect, because there's an idea in Sirius' head, and he's ready to offer it out.

He turns his notebook over to the others. There are no copies of this, just his own handwriting where he'd rewritten the lyrics once they were finalized. The other three clamor together, leaning against one another across from him, Sirius staying silent as they read and look over the notes he's already compiled, the way it needs to be to work, emotions turned to pure music, heard through bass thrums and drumbeats, through guitars crying into the night.

When they're finished, Peter and James slowly look up at him, but Remus is still staring down at the book, his expression unreadable.

"That's good, Pads," hedges Peter. "Bit different from your usual stuff." Sirius only shrugs in response, looking between them all. "It's great. It'll be a fantastic song."

"Wormtail's right," agrees James, skimming over the written notes again, "but I'm not sure my voice can carry some of this." He frowns a little, glancing at Sirius again in curiosity, a question in his eyes he doesn't need to voice.

"It's not for you," informs Sirius, and James' frown deepens, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement. Sirius looks directly at Remus. "I think you should sing it."

Remus' head raises slowly, his dark brown gaze shifting up the length of Sirius' body from his feet to his face before coming to rest. His expression is a strange one, half of it guarded, the other half more open than Sirius thinks he's ever seen it before, his eyes holding something resembling an odd combination of clarity and bemusement. He's quiet for a while, studying Sirius, debating, and when he speaks, his voice is soft, smooth like butter melting on a hot pavement, dripping between cracks and invading spaces nothing else can reach.

"Why me?"

Because it's for you springs onto Sirius' tongue before he can think about it, but he manages to bite it back, settling for a half-truth.

"Because you're the reason it exists at all," he murmurs, not looking away from Remus' eyes, watching as they flicker with something indefinable. "You're the reason any of these exist now, Moony. You made it happen again. This one should be yours."

Remus continues to stare at him for a while, thoughtful and considerate before his gaze finally drops down to the notebook again. His fingers drift over the words, hovering in one section that Sirius can't make out from where he sits.

"Okay," says Remus eventually, head lifting again, nodding his agreement. "If that's what you want, I'll do it."

Sirius smiles, the expression muted, tamed. Only for Remus. 

Chapter Text

Remus and Sirius are messing about with the instruments left behind in the booth, waiting for the other two to arrive, tuning them, cleaning, keeping themselves occupied. Sirius keeps watching Remus surreptitiously as the other man moves around his drum set, polishing the chrome molding in with the blue and streaks of silver. He's got his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, crouched on his knees over the floor, the veins in his arms standing out prominently, twitching with each motion he makes, causing the tattoo of two crossed drumsticks that if you look closely enough are actually wands to flex distractingly.

Sirius' grip slackens around Peter's bass as he stares, his mouth parted, heart beating out a special sort of rhythm in his chest. The instrument begins to slip, nearly falling to the floor from its balance over his legs before Sirius comes back to himself and scrambles to catch it, the stool clattering to the ground behind him in his haste. Remus looks up quickly, his brow furrowed, but then he's smirking faintly when he spies Sirius grasping the bass and panting lightly in dulling panic.

"Did we drift, Pads?" he quips, his tone teasing.

"Shut up," mumbles Sirius, his neck flaring with heat.

Remus chuckles and returns to his drums, Sirius forcing himself to look away. They're quiet for a while before Remus speaks again.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks, a gentle curiosity filling his voice. Sirius doesn't answer immediately, and Remus falls still, his eyes shifting but not quite settling on Sirius. "Your songs have been interesting lately."

Sirius picks at one of the bass strings, testing it, or creating the appearance of doing so to give him the excuse of not looking up. "Is interesting a bad thing?" he queries, hesitance in his tone. "You said you liked them."

"I love them," says Remus without pause, "and no, it's not a bad thing. They're just different from what you usually write, that's all." He finally turns his eyes to Sirius' face, Sirius able to feel them burning over his skin. "I'm just curious. You keep things in sometimes, only let it out through songs because you don't know how else to go about it, which is fine. It's how you cope. I understand that. Everyone has their things, and I know you talk to James more than Peter and me, but I don't think you've done that this time. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Sirius clears his throat, his eyes flickering up before falling again. "I'm fine, Moony. It's like you said, just things that won't come out any other way," he brushes off, shifting his shoulders a bit with the words.

Remus is quiet for a moment, still studying Sirius pensively, but when he speaks again, Sirius' hands freeze. "No one wants to force you, Sirius, least of all me, but…can you?" There's something in Remus' voice that causes Sirius to look up slowly, his gaze shifting over his friend until it lands on the other's face. "Force it," he elaborates, though it's not necessary, "because if you can…maybe you should."

Sirius stares across the space at him, a statue of stone where he stands, fingers gripping around the neck of the bass hard enough to nearly crack it. Even his breathing has stopped again as he tries to decipher whatever Remus is leaving hidden between the lines and syllables of his words. He doesn't know what to say, can't form anything to articulate it, terrified of ruining everything if he does, frozen in place as he watches it all crash down around him, flickering flames destroying everything with a blaze of beautiful destruction, ravaging the land, leaving it barren and wasted.

His jaw is just beginning to crack open wider, things forming on his tongue, coming unbidden, Sirius struggling against them but losing the battle. His tongue presses to the back of his bottom teeth.

"I'm – "

A shining stag interrupts him, bursting into the room and coming to a halt between them, silvery wisps of light fluttering around it, a dazzling sight. Sirius startles, steps back in shock, Remus releasing a half-grunt of sound, sounding more frustrated than surprised.

"For fuck's sake," Sirius hears him mumble from the other side of the animal even as its mouth opens and James' voice emerges.

"Come to Regulus' office. Now."

His tone is sharp, words formed from barbed wire, a deep strain in his voice as the anger swells with every spoken syllable. Sirius stares through the flutters of light at Remus, the stag quickly evaporating, leaving only the two of them.

"S'pose there's no chance of this being good news," he comments, lowering the bass back to Peter's case as Remus stands and swipes over the front of his jeans.

"Doubtful," he mutters darkly, his eyes meeting Sirius'. Something passes between them, Remus hesitating, seemingly teetering for a moment before it's gone. "C'mon, Pads. Let's go find out what's happening."

--------------------

They blow past the wide-eyed secretary when they reach the building where Regulus had set himself up years earlier. As they approach his office door, a high-pitched voice reaches their ears, one neither of them recognize, simpering as the woman speaks, turning Sirius' stomach automatically.

"Oh, this is going to be brilliant," he utters to Remus, pushing through the door without knocking.

James is standing behind a plush, lavish armchair on one side of the room with Peter, arms crossed over his chest and his expression dark, soured, like he's smelled curdled milk and can't get the scent out of his nose. Nearby, on the opposite side of the collected furniture, is Regulus, his posture straight and rigid, shoulders pulled back, head held high, chin tilting upwards. Sirius recognizes the stance, something ground into them from a young age, affecting that Black superiority, making certain it's held above all others, a pose that's guaranteed to make a person look like the most important within any room.

His grey eyes are roiling clouds, the only thing betraying his sculpted mask of calm aloofness. He's staring at a small, squat woman, dressed in all pink, frills falling over her shoulders and around her waist from her ridiculous jacket. Her face resembles that of a squashed toad, unattractive, but mostly because of the expression she holds in place as she regards Regulus, a strong sort of disapproval and distaste in every line of her body.

"You cannot expect us to allow this mockery to continue," she says to Regulus as Sirius and Remus approach. "After the events – "

"The event where no magic was used to rectify the situation, you mean?" counters Regulus coldly, inhaling with a sniff of derisive sound.

"What's all this then?" interjects Sirius, drawing the others' eyes to him and Remus. His gaze flickers over the hideously pink woman. "Who are you?"

"I am Dolores Umbridge," announces the woman, a smug sense of pride filling out her voice that sounds far too close to that of a small girl's. Her head lifts higher into the air, as though her very name should make them marvel at her importance.

"Mhm, yeah," hums Sirius, nodding. "Is that supposed to mean anything to us?"

Umbridge releases a strangled, irate sort of noise from the back of her throat, her own shoulders pulling back. "I am part of the Muggle liaison department, directly attached to the Minister for Magic's office." Sirius blinks at her blankly which only seems to enrage her further. She turns away from him, pinning Regulus with hostile eyes once more. "Either you do as you've been told or – "

Regulus angles himself away from her, bestowing Sirius and Remus with a chilling smile that turns the blood flowing through Sirius' veins to ice. "There seems to be some disagreement within the Ministry currently," he informs them, speaking over the woman's words, stopping her short. She makes a disturbing sound, something Sirius thinks is meant to be her throat clearing, a form of interruption, but Regulus ignores her, unfazed by her presence. "They're under the assumption that we should cease all involvement in the Muggle world after what happened during Sziget."

Sirius' heart beats harder in his chest even as he scoffs, feeling Remus stiffen beside him, his expression turning to hardened lines as his brown eyes glare at Umbridge, watching them all with a look of disgust.

"How does what happened there affect the Ministry or threaten the wizarding world and our secrecy at all?" he launches at the woman. She glowers at him in turn and Sirius forces a smirk. "Regulus is right. We didn't use magic. If we had, none of us would have ended up with half of our bodies crushed and inside the walls of St Mungo's." Sirius feels Remus brush up against his side and his hand seeks out the other man's wrist without thinking, fingertips skimming his skin, just for the certainty that he's there, upright and breathing, not buried out of sight somewhere Sirius can't reach him.

"It doesn't," says Peter, speaking for the first time since they'd entered, him and James remaining silent, "which leads to the question of what this is really about."

Five sets of eyes swivel to Umbridge, the woman glaring at them each in turn. "Level whatever accusations you wish, but that is exactly what this matter regards," she states authoritatively. "We've been very patient with you – " James hisses under his breath as Sirius barks out an affronted laugh. " – and we've extended courtesies to help you on your way. The Ministry wants the two worlds synced together as much as you clearly do, but this is not – "

"Bullshit," snaps James, his dark brows pulled down over his eyes, casting them in shadow. He steps out from behind the chair, approaching her slowly, Umbridge moving backwards as though protecting herself from something that won't ever come. "That is bullshit. We have fought against you and your Ministry lot for years now. We've done everything you've asked, leaped over mountains to meet your demands, hiring buses to drive empty and alone around the country, created decoys, traversed through crowded airports, all for the sake of protection and making ourselves appear legitimate. No one has ever questioned who we are or where we've come from. Regulus has handled all the paperwork, developed trackable backstories for each of us. We've done it all, so this, your claims of cooperation and attempts for amnesty are bullshit."

Umbridge gapes at him, her hand lifting to the base of her throat theatrically. "I'll ask you to watch your language, Mr Potter," she nearly shrieks at him. "This is a meeting to discuss business. There is no need – "

"No, I don't think I will," says James pompously, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down on her from beneath his glasses, his eyes studying her calculatingly. "You're heading this whole thing, aren't you? You're the one that's been after us for so long, throwing out all these ridiculous rules and mandates for us to follow and adhere to?" Umbridge doesn't respond, but her lips purse, and that seems to be answer enough for James. "Right, thought so. I want to know why. Why do you care so much?"

"You have threatened and endangered the Statute of – "

"Wrong." He cuts her off with a barked word, shocking her to silence, making her glare, but then James' voice turns into a near chirp as he tilts his head, a hard glint in his hazel eyes. "Try again."

Umbridge's mouth works for a long expanse of time before she's able to form words again. "You keep drawing attention to yourselves and eventually someone is going to notice that you're – "

"Ah," scolds James, lifting a finger to silence her again. "Also wrong. Tell the truth, Dolores." He leans in close, towering over her. James Potter, for all his merits, isn't an intimidating person to anyone who knows him and most that don't, but in moments like this when his ire and morality are peaked high, he possesses the ability to paint himself as a daunting, formidable figure. Sirius nearly laughs before he manages to bite the inside of his cheek to contain it.

The woman sputters beneath James' form, glaring into his face, her own expression enraged and wrathful. Her chest heaves with violent force, her jaw clenching, but she can't seem to control herself as it all comes pouring from her mouth in an abysmal outcry of truths so wretched it leaves Sirius teetering, thrust back into their later school days when the world was a tumultuous place to exist, never knowing what side someone landed on or if they'd tear you apart as soon as you turned your back.

"You should not be associating with them!" rages Umbridge, pulling herself up taller, her face contorting, twisting into a hideous sight of abhorrence. "Muggles don't understand us and they never will. The things you all could have done once you left school when the war ended! And even if you didn't want any of that, you should have stayed with us and played your part exactly where you belonged, but instead you're gallivanting around the world, allowing them to fawn over you and drawing attention to yourselves like you're kings on a mountaintop."

Umbridge continues through her rant, unaware of anything happening surrounding her except James standing at her front, but Sirius notices the way Regulus stiffens at their sides. His eyes flash with a livid light as she speaks and hurls accusations in James' face, and something about his posture, the rigid hold of his back, tells Sirius that it has nothing to do with James and everything involving the words slipping from her acidic tongue like dirty oil.

"Muggles and their technologies," she spits, "making do without magic, with what they lack and will never have. And here you are conforming to it all like it means nothing, like you aren't more than they are or will ever be, like they deserve anything we ever deign to give them. They make mockeries of us with their holidays, try to burn us at the stake out of a sense of righteousness for what they don't understand, and still you pander to them and give them things they will never deserve."

Remus laughs from beside Sirius then, a choking sort of sound, like he'd tried to hold it back but failed. "It's only music," he says, awestruck, mouth hanging open in amazement. "How foolish are you?" Sirius can't stifle his snort this time.

"Foolish!" shrieks Umbridge, rounding on Remus, but she doesn't get the chance to continue as Regulus easily slots himself between the woman and James.

"He's right, you're incredibly foolish," he says in an even tone, fire licking over his words. It pulls Umbridge's attention back to him, her entire body clearly seething with rage, but Regulus seems unaffected. "To think that you can come in here and speak to not one pureblood, but four – two of them part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – is a foolish act on its own, but let's ignore that for now and focus on more important matters."

Regulus steps forward, and he's liquid flowing smoothly through a constricting crack, meeting no resistance. All his careful breeding is on full display, his face smooth, nothing in his expression betraying the rage Sirius can feel seeping out of him in waves, his eyes slabs of pure slate, ready to slam together and crush the sickeningly pink woman until her bones shatter and grind to dust.

"Do you think yourself clever to stand in the same room as the heir to the Noble House of Black and talk about playing a part? Do you find it amusing and a smart, calculating action to so much as raise your voice in the vicinity of that same son of Black?" Umbridge shifts her eyes down Regulus' form, beginning to appear shaken. "I wouldn't," says Regulus in a clipped tone, every syllable cutting to the quick and emboweling.

"You know nothing of that which you speak," continues Regulus, but he pauses, straightening a little, turning away from her. His hands are clasped behind his back in a ball of fingers and sharp wrists, his shoulders appearing relaxed, but Sirius can see the rigid hold that's fallen over them. "These words of yours are harmful, did you know that? Playing our parts…saying that we could have done more." His eyes slash back in her direction. "We were going to, all of us. There was a war, in case you've forgotten, which you likely have since I'm certain you cowered away behind your locked doors and pretended you were perfectly safe while people died in your name and so many others'.

"We were going to fight, take sides, whether we wanted them or not. We were going to die, upend relationships, shatter our very lives in the name of pleasing others or making things better or worse. We were prepared to accept our parts." Regulus begins to walk around her in a slow circle, his shoes snapping over the floor with sharp sounds that rattle through Sirius' ears. "Yet, none of that came to pass. Thankfully. Graciously, or so the Ministry would have us believe, though I'm aware of how insignificant their role was in the entire affair. We were saved, the Muggles no wiser than they'd ever been. Hooray."

He stops behind Umbridge, the woman pulling herself up taller as she begins to fidget but forces herself to cease. "My family was on the wrong side, did you know that?" questions Regulus airily. "Of course you do. Everyone does, though they never speak of it where their voices might travel to the wrong ears. Those despicable Blacks, so easily slipping out from beneath the Ministry's thumb, thwarting justice." Regulus hums as though amused. "They're all right, and I was meant to be one of them, likely would be dead or locked away with cousin Bellatrix in Azkaban if it had all played out the way we'd once thought it would. Or, possibly worse than both options, confined to my childhood home with a mother who will barely deign to look at me even if I do dutifully visit her twice a month to this day.

"Instead," hisses Regulus, rounding back to her front with quick steps, causing Umbridge to stumble backwards in surprise, "I am here, looking into your face as you not only shout yourself hoarse into the face of the man that shares my bed, but have the audacity to claim yourself as any sort of higher caliber or holding any type of worthy regard above Muggles. We're meant to be moving past all that, Dolores." Her name on his tongue is a spit of sound, a brittle, cracking thing that he lobs at the ground as though it's not fit to pass between his teeth.

"You are a hypocrite. You cry outrage when terrible things happen, call for justice no matter how it's achieved and yet turn around and hold your head high as you cause those very injustices by your words and actions alone," sneers Regulus, hanging over her again until her back is nearly bending in half to continue meeting his eyes. "You send me owls, summon me to the Ministry, come into my office, making a mockery of it all, telling me I could have done more after I've built up everything I have from nothing as nearly my entire family looks down their noses at me for the life I've chosen to live. But that's fine, because I have what's most important, and we no longer need your validation or anyone else's.

"So this ends now," he says, voice low, a timbre foreboding that causes Umbridge to shrink into herself. "No more money that goes directly into your pocket, no more pandering or half-pleas. The Ministry and you no longer have any say in what we do until something happens that actively threatens the Statute of Secrecy. You will cease all prying or communication. If you attempt it again, it will be ignored but you will not. I will make you regret the day you ever laid eyes on a quill or witnessed flames dancing beyond a hearth. Have I made myself clear?"

Umbridge produces that irritating sound again from the back of her throat, causing Sirius to cringe outwardly. "The Minister will hear – "

"Tell him, then," challenges Regulus crisply, "and let him try in your stead. Stand back and witness what comes of it."

Umbridge huffs in indignation, appearing affronted, but she twists around quickly and bolts across the room, placing as much distance between herself and Regulus as possible, her eyes wide with terror when he can no longer see her face. Sirius watches her go, making a point to lean towards her as she passes him by.

"You look like candy floss threw up," he informs happily. Remus snorts from beside him, turning his head in the opposite direction. Sirius beams brightly as the woman retreats through the door without another word, and then he's turning towards his brother, shining with pride. "Reggie!" he cries, moving forward towards the other man, his face still thunderous. "I could pinch you! Actually…"

Sirius pauses in thought before shrugging to himself. He reaches up, two fingers pinching over one of Regulus' cheeks, his brother grunting and scowling at him in disapproval. Before he can say anything in chastisement, Sirius is throwing his arms around Regulus' middle and lifting his feet from the floor, swinging him around exuberantly.

"Sirius," squawks Regulus in exasperation. "Put me down. We are not children."

"Really? Who says?" asks Sirius a little breathlessly, wondering when his brother had become so heavy. He finally relents when he sees the flash of murder flare in Regulus' eyes, dropping him back to his feet and rounding on James. "Fuck, Prongs. What have you been feeding him? That used to be easier."

James observes Regulus thoughtfully for a moment as the other man grumbles under his breath before James shrugs. "Sushi and pork pies?"

Sirius twists his nose in disgust. "Gross. Raw fish," he disparages. "Who wants that?"

"I do," bites out Regulus, but Sirius waves him off, no longer listening, his mind on other matters.

"Who's for a few pints in celebration? I say we find a good pub."

"I'll ring the girls," chimes in Remus, already tugging the phone from his pocket.

"Good man," praises Sirius brightly.

"I am working," says Regulus, attempting to relocate himself away from Sirius, but Sirius only drapes an easy arm around over his brother's shoulders, beginning to tug him in the direction of the door.

"Not anymore," he singsongs, his smile blinding.

--------------------

"Padfoot."

Sirius stares down at his open notebook, eyes raking over the words scratched out in his own handwriting. His fingers pluck idly at the strings of the guitar resting in his lap, his pick forgotten momentarily, skin digging into the biting metal, Sirius not even paying attention.

"Pads?"

He still hasn't made a true copy of the song like he usually does with all the others they ever plan to use, something about it feeling wrong somehow. Sirius' gaze drifts over each letter, tracing their paths across the stark whiteness, examining every detail. It's too intimate for that, too personal to be shared even if he is doing exactly that, giving another piece of himself to the entire world. The words, his handwriting, his heart splattered across paper like ink over flesh, stays with him and the only person he's choosing to share it with, the person it belongs to even if Sirius is too cowardly to say as much.

"Sirius!"

His head whips up at the sound of his name, finding Remus staring at him quizzically, his face mildly amused. Sirius smiles at him a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry," he mumbles, realizing his fingers are still plucking idly over his strings, beginning to burn a little. He forces them to stop, one hand hanging over the base, drumming lightly on the wood, a hollow echo ricocheting around them.

"All right?" asks Remus, his own head tilting a little in curiosity, but Sirius waves him off.

"Fine, yeah. Ready?"

Remus hums in response, still gazing at him with unreadable eyes, teeth gnawing over the inside of his lip. Sirius tries not to stare as he scoops the discarded pick up again and drags it across the strings once before settling in place. He begins strumming the melody, building up to it as he nudges the book in Remus' direction for him to see better, Sirius not needing it, and then he joins in, no drums right now, just his voice.

"Take me under, pull me out. Free these chains that bind. Crack my chest and shred my doubt. Open my eyes, I'm moon-blind."

Sirius watches him as Remus sings, his eyes closing, focused. He studies the way his mouth moves, the subtle way his lips purse and morph, how his tongue presses to his teeth and the fleshy roof as the lyrics form. His expression is sober, a grave thing, everything about him harnessed and digging, trying to feel it, like he's sinking into his very bones, melding with Sirius' mind.

They don't do things like this, not in this way. Sirius has his own ideas when he writes a song, but the others take their freedoms with it, something Sirius has never minded because they always make it better than it was at the start. But Remus, watching him now, listening to the way he crafts the notes, is mimicking Sirius the first time he'd played it for them, not straying, staying true, like he can feel the importance of it, bringing it alive the way Sirius has heard it from the beginning, unable to properly express it himself, having to rely on someone else to do it for him. Remus is taking that trust and holding it close, tucking it inside him, being certain not to disappoint.

As Sirius remains fixated on his friend, he has the overwhelming urge to join in, but he doesn't, biting it back, teeth pinching at the inside of his cheek as he refrains. His fingers move over the strings with more insistence, the sultry twang of the guitar pouring out, the music swelling and wrapping around them like warm cloaks, pulling them together. Sirius closes his eyes as Remus sings, losing himself in it, and before he realizes what he's doing, his own mouth is moving.

"Support me in luminance. Burst forth like dayglow. Assuage my provenance. Lay by my side and scatter the shadows."

When the chorus finishes out, Sirius hears it, the silence that shouldn't be there, the sound of his own voice standing alone, invading the space, accompanied only by the fading notes of the guitar. His eyes open, finding Remus' gaze locked on him, his expression a mystifying thing, slightly slack-jawed and marveling, something haunting at its edges, brown eyes fathomless and devouring. Sirius' chest tightens as he stares back until he finally looks away, heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as he clears his throat, breaking Remus loose from his stupor.

They remain in silence for a stretch of time, neither speaking, the air thick surrounding them. Sirius plucks at the strings again, trying to fill the quiet with something, take the stickiness of that building shame away from him, feeling as though he should apologize but not sure why or the reasons behind the urge.

"Why is it so important to you?"

Sirius' eyes lift again, settling on Remus, the other man still fixated on him, not blinking. Sirius looks down at his guitar, licking over his lips and swallowing against what's trying to coat his throat like hardening cement draining into his stomach.

"They're all important to me," he says, words a mumble, a half-truth that he knows Remus sees to its center.

"Not like this," whispers Remus, leaning forward on the sofa facing the booth, staring at Sirius where he's perched on a stool. "You've had songs that you've been particular about, but this is different."

"I'm not particular about this one."

"You are."

"I've never said anything about it."

"You don't have to, Sirius," presses Remus. "I see it. You're treating this one like it's precious, like it might break with the wrong word or note. You're going about it in the opposite direction of what you usually do, not making copies, asking me to sing it. You've never done that before."

Sirius huffs, standing and resting the guitar in his vacated place. "I just think your voice is better suited for it," he says in denial, wandering over to the edge of the closed booth, fingers fidgeting with some of the controls Marlene had decided to keep, claiming they worked better than magic. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just a song."

"We're not even working with Peter and James on it, Pads," continues Remus as though Sirius hadn't spoken. "We never do that, not seriously. They're always with us, even if it's only us working, they're here, lounging around, adding input."

"That's because James sings every bloody song," bites out Sirius a bit harshly. Remus goes quiet as Sirius glares down at his fingers resting on a switch. "It's just a song, Remus. It's a fucking song, and I like it. I'm proud of it. It's the first one I started writing after you – " Sirius cuts himself off, the words dying in his throat. "That's the only reason it's special. There's no grand mystery here, no puzzle for you to solve."

"All right," murmurs Remus after a moment, his voice soft, drowning in something.

Sirius chances a glance over his shoulder, finding Remus standing now, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. He's staring at Sirius' feet, his expression nearly closed off, mouth pinched, like he's waiting for something. Sirius turns away, looking down at the board again, photos tacked to it for Marlene to see while she works. Dorcas and her wave up at him now, counter opposites of one another, Marlene fair and small, a glitter in her blue eyes that promises mischief, Dorcas taller, darker, a sturdy protection against all that threatens what she holds most dear, her own eyes fierce and bright.

Her words ring through his head now, adamant things spoken in the privacy of his own bedroom as they'd studied over a battered instrument, an outpouring of what he deserved making him dizzy, Dorcas questioning his happiness. Sirius squeezes his eyes closed against it and the dazzling faces staring up at him, because she'd been wrong. He's fine how he is, doesn't need to be tied to someone to have what he needs, his family with him always. He's happy with what he has, but even as he thinks it, Sirius knows it's a lie. What he has isn't enough anymore, hasn't been for a long time, but there's only one other thing he wants that could make any sort of difference and he can't ever have it, turning it into a mockery, like reaching into the eye of a hurricane for the peace and calm only for the devastation to come crashing down around him immediately after grasping it in his hold.  

Sirius is only forcefully jerked from his thoughts and returned to the present when he hears an echoing twang of sound behind him. He turns slowly, his eyes settling on Remus where the other man is resting on Sirius' abandoned stool. The guitar is balanced on one propped up leg, strap slung securely around his neck and shoulder, like he's fearful of dropping it. His fingers twitch over the strings, creating notes without structure, no chords swirling together, simply a random assortment of beginning melodies without homes.

He watches Remus for a few silent minutes before he takes a careful step forward, the room still heavy and stagnant with those lingering things Sirius had refused earlier, but he forces his way past it all.

"Want me to show you?" he offers, prodding his way into Remus' own thoughts. The other man stops, looking up at Sirius in surprise, as though he's only just realized what he's doing, his hands falling nearly slack over the instrument. Sirius shrugs, shifting from one foot to the other. "I've never really thought about it. We taught Lily. I even tried with Regulus, but he refused. I never thought you'd have an interest. I'm not sure why."

Remus studies his face for a moment, silently considering, before he says, "Would you?"

Sirius smiles in response, a small thing, moving across the room. He grabs the ottoman near the sofa and pushes it in front of Remus, Sirius straddling over the seat. It's shorter than the stool, lowering Sirius a bit in comparison to his friend's position, his head level with Remus' shoulder, placing him at the perfect height for the strings of the guitar.

He informs Remus of the corresponding notes relating to each string, explaining how to use the neck and his fingers to control the sounds and vibrations. "You can pluck over them without a pick," says Sirius, watching as Remus does so. "Doing it for too long is murder until the callouses build themselves up, and even then, it can hurt like a bitch. Makes you raw. You've seen it. Sometimes it's easier without one. The pick is nice when you'll be playing for a while or at a faster pace, when you've got your rhythm, but you can't feel it as well, which is important while you're learning. And sometimes…I dunno. It's just better. Nicer. Using your fingers if you're going slowly."

Remus stares down at him, listening adamantly, Sirius glancing at him briefly before his gaze drops back to the guitar. He clears his throat and begins explaining the different chords, Remus picking it up quickly just as Sirius had known he would, music just as much a part of Remus' soul as it is Sirius', deeply embedded within them, thrumming through their veins with each beat of their hearts, rhythm in everything they do.

Sirius guides his fingers at times, pressing down on the strings at the neck, showing him how the sounds alter depending on where the pressure rests. He gently pushes Remus' hands away and plucks out a simple but half-sloppy tune, the positioning awkward but enough for Remus to see how to mimic it, and then he's playing it himself. Sirius watches him, praising him, especially when he stumbles, begins to falter, Remus gaining confidence as they go, Sirius' smile growing until Remus stops, his eyes shifting to the open notebook beside them.

"What chords do you use for that?" he asks, his eyes drifting back to Sirius and not moving again. "Show me?"

Sirius chews the inside of his lip for a moment before he nods, Remus removing his hands again as Sirius plucks them out slowly. Brown eyes study his movements, memorizing them, cataloging them away inside himself, always the perfect student. Sirius repeats the baseline of the song three times before Remus' fingers ghost over his own, replacing them, beginning to copy their motions. He does it for a while, Sirius' own hands finally falling away, gaze moving with the other man's fingers, swirling in front of him like a dizzying ripple through water, a surface broken, waves erupting and flowing outwards, lapping at edges and pushing forth a flood of something breathtaking, a ruination of imperfection made perfect.

And then, when Sirius thinks he's as lost as he can possibly be down that rabbit hole of dark, mesmerizing enchantment, Remus begins to sing, stringing the lyrics along with his newly formed melody. Sirius' eyes snap up to his face, breathing halting and ceasing to matter in his chest, heart stuttering to a halt. The words emerge slowly, pauses between them, Remus' hands faltering before picking back up, the lyrics joining him.

"Stars up above…dancing pretenders, jewels of…majesty in the night. But comparisons stagger…surrender," he croons, words becoming more spoken than sung, a whisper, a breath when all else is breathless and void, vacant of life in everything but them and nothing else. "Can't match your light…Sirius."

Even his name falling from Remus' tongue is soft, an airless sort of plea, somehow sucking what remains in the room down with it, ripping the remaining breath from Sirius' lungs. His mouth is parted as he stares up, blinded again but not by the vastness of a sprawling sky, seeing nothing but that silver-painted skin once more, flooding his vision with it, casting them both in a hollowness, a cold trench that's inescapable, only warmed again by the heat from flesh too close, hovering in a cave of glowing light brighter than any sun could ever hope to be, trapped together and flaring the word in bursting colors, hearts beating loud enough to hear through the spreading silence as the guitar strings vibrate to their ends and fade away.

And Sirius can't stop it, that train hurdling towards him, no chance of calling it back now, running away, out of control. It crashes into him, sending him falling over the side of a cliff, his hands lifting, one wrapping around the back of Remus' neck as the other winds into the collar of his jumper, tugging him down, lips colliding like a meteor striking earth, debris raining, shrapnel flying, piercing skin, stinging, aching, hot, his mind screaming yesyesyes as his body is pulled with heatheatheat.

Remus exhales in surprise, a small sound escaping from his throat, his breath refilling Sirius' desperate lungs, giving them new life as they swell in his chest. The kiss lingers, Sirius slow to retreat, fear settling in, panic bouncing uncontrollably, terrified to relent and see the look of mortification on the other man's face, but he finally does, his oxygen running away in small pants between them as he lowers himself back to the cushioned ottoman, eyes flickering to the floor and then up to Remus' face.

When Sirius settles his gaze on him, swallowing the terror down to take root in the pit of his stomach, he jolts when he realizes Remus is staring at him with a look of awe, a hint of smugness glinting in his brown eyes. Everything inside him is screaming to stand up, walk away, make a joke, pass it off as a lousy prank, a way to diffuse the earlier tension, but he can't make himself, something deep within him crying out for more.

He licks over his lips, tasting Remus there, the knowledge like an electric shock racing through his nerves, causing his heart to jump and stutter inside his chest. Sirius tries to force his eyes away, but they refuse to move, locked on Remus still gaping down at him.

"If I teach you to play an entire song," he breathes out, tone serious, no sense of jesting within it, a nervousness settling in that he can't shake, lining up with the want he can't push away anymore, "will you let me do that again?"

Remus blinks and his mouth works silently for a few seconds, but then his hands fall away from where they still hold the guitar, fingers brushing the strings, a soft sound that should be harsh. It tumbles from his lap, only the strap keeping it from clattering to the floor as Remus stands suddenly, fingers gripping into the shirt covering Sirius' shoulders, hauling him up, spreading up the sides of his neck to his jaw, splaying out, holding him firmly, touch still somehow gentle as he pulls them together and kisses Sirius again without hesitation.

Something in Sirius erupts, a choir of voices exploding rooftops, licking through his veins like holy fire, burning away the bad, the evil, the corrupt, leaving only light behind, shining and effervescent. His own hands skate around to Remus' back, fingers clawing through the fabric of his jumper into his shoulder blades, the guitar keeping them separated, Sirius wanting nothing more than to mold himself to Remus, feel every part of him, the desire to claw the strap free from his neck overwhelming, instrument and damage caused to it be damned.

A tongue flicks questioningly at his lips and Sirius parts them willingly, and then he tastes him, something he's only ever allowed himself to imagine once, no comparison held to his roaming thoughts and hopes. Remus tastes like the earth, like the brittle smells filling out the autumn air, a forest damp from fresh rain, sweetness and milk in the center from his earlier tea, a sort of perfection in the combination, leaving Sirius' head spinning, body reeling as his clings harder, trying to draw him nearer.

But then they're breaking apart, the need to breathe overtaking all else. They stare at one another, a small space created between them, both panting, chests heaving, the only sounds flooding the silence now spiraling around them, crashing over their minds and bodies like the loudest of deafening thunderclaps. 

Chapter Text

"Are you avoiding me?"

He startles where he's sitting on the floor in the corner of the booth, just on the other side of the door, hidden from view, or so he'd thought. Sirius lifts his head, looking up into Remus' soft features, holding no anger or resentment, only a heavy sort of patience typically just reserved for Sirius and James on occasion.

"No," says Sirius quickly, looking away when he sees the other man's lips twitch faintly. His palms are sweating and he covertly wipes them over the sides of his thighs, Remus watching his movements. "I'm just…writing." The realization of his poor excuse hits him before Remus calls him out on it.

Remus hums, his eyebrows lifting to his forehead. "Writing without a notebook or pen," he murmurs teasingly. "That's impressive." Sirius winces as his friend continues to study him. "And not avoiding me at all. That's why you're hiding in the booth of all places, why you've been stashed away in your bedroom? That's why you ran away from me the other night and went to James but never actually told him why you were there?" At Sirius' frown, Remus smiles, a gentle expression. "He was worried. You were quiet. You're never quiet, not like that, or so he said."

Sirius scowls, pulling one knee up towards his chest as he leans his head against the wall behind him. "Potter needs to learn that not everything I do has to be dissected," he grumbles foully. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"So why haven't you talked to me?"

The question stops Sirius short, the sour expression slipping from his face, his body tensing. The answer is a heavy thing, weighted in the potential to be disastrous, something Sirius has been avoiding because Remus is his friend, first and always, but –

"You kissed me," he states, words invading Sirius' thoughts, everything coming to a screeching halt inside him. Sirius stares up at him, his eyes widening against his volition.

"You kissed me, too," he manages around the clot of something filling the back of his throat.

Remus hums again as he drops down to the floor beside Sirius, pressing against the wall, his legs crossing in front of him. He seems relaxed, nothing stiff lingering in the muscles of his body, shoulders loose, his back curving as he lounges easily. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and Sirius can't help the quick glance he takes of his exposed skin, eyes dragging over those prominent veins before he forces himself to look away.

"I did. So why won't you talk to me about it?"

Sirius plucks at the strings lacing his boot around his ankle, keeping it held to his foot as he purposefully focuses his attention on the thick leather. Eyes burn into the skin at the side of his face, heating him from the outside in, melting the flesh covering his bones, making him feel raw and exposed, like he's gone too long, played too hard, worn his fingertips down to aching nubs that no time can ever hope to heal.

Remus finally sighs when he clearly tires of waiting, his body shifting a little, angling to face Sirius a bit more. "You like me," he supplies, no question in his tone, only a gentle sort of acceptance, mild pressure lining the edges of the words, causing Sirius to cringe.

"That sounds silly," mumbles Sirius in return. "Like is such a weak word. It's for children."

Remus huffs out a small, mirthful laugh, shaking his head slightly, Sirius watching from the corner of his eye. "It's not, though. Like is a very good word."

"Of course I like you," gives Sirius, something about it easier to say than any of the other things that spring to mind, "and I have since we were eleven." Remus stares at him in amusement, his eyebrows arching, and Sirius balks. "See? Like is all-encompassing of everything. It's…problematic."

Remus hums for the third time, studying Sirius with a critiquing eye. "All right, then," he says, his levity clear in the sparkle of his irises. "What word would you use?"

Sirius' breath catches in his chest, but he backs away from the question, retreats from that initial swelling answer. "Infatuation," he says instead, a sly sort of smile spreading over his face as something in him begins to loosen and unbind under the other man's casual grace for the situation. Remus' head falls backwards as he releases a loud burst of laughter, leaning against the wall behind him a bit more, his eyes still fixed on Sirius and dancing.

"That's the songwriter in you coming out to play," he remarks in humor, but he sobers quickly, his mirth fading to something softer, brown gaze pinning Sirius in place. "But okay. Infatuation. You're infatuated with me." Sirius swallows roughly, but his head nods as his body tingles, the sensation scattering, spreading outwards to his fingertips and toes, settling over his scalp. "And I’m infatuated with you."

Sirius blinks, the admission surprising him. "You are?" he breathes, and he feels suddenly winded as Remus stares at him openly, nothing blocking out parts of his expression, his eyes heavy-lidded but clear. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Remus makes a small noise in the back of his throat, a rumble of sound escaping his chest, lodged somewhere between a muted laugh and a groan. "I didn't think I was hiding it," he says plainly. His neck is elongated and exposed from the way his head is tilting back to meet the smooth expanse of wall behind him, the knot under his skin moving as he speaks, Sirius unable to stop himself from tracking it with his gaze, feeling ridiculously hungry and somehow like a child in the same moment, having fallen from a great height, skin cracked open, something frightening bleeding out of him as he lays paralyzed.

"I live with you, spend my days with you," he murmurs, voice lazy but still heavy with a gathering emotion. "I eat my meals with you, lounge about with you, play with you, read with you. I go out with you more than anyone else, I look for you before I even think about the others, an automatic thing. I talk to you before I do anyone else, about everything."

"Even Lily?" asks Sirius, quiet and fragile, and Remus smiles.

"Even Lily," echoes Remus. "You're more important. Your opinion matters most. It always has, even when we were kids and too stupid to know anything."

Sirius remains silent for a while, eyes sweeping over Remus but not daring to look at him fully, considering his words. He mulls over some of the things the other man has said in the past, the expressions he's seen flickering across his face before they're gone as quickly as they appear, and it makes a shocking sort of sense to him now.

"Did you know?" he finally asks, gaze dropping to Remus' hands, splayed over his thighs. "About me, did you know?"

Remus releases another small hum. "Not until recently," he admits slowly. Sirius isn't sure if that makes him feel better or worse. "There were times when I thought that maybe…hoped. I hoped that's what I was seeing, but I wasn't certain, and I kept thinking it was possibly my own misplaced hubris and wishful heart." His face turns solemn then, more serious as his neck straightens, his chin tucking down towards his chest, staring intently at Sirius. "But it was the song that did it. Scatter the Shadows. I read it that first time and I knew.

"'Bruises staining skin, silver markings on a brass moon,'" he speaks, no melody to the words, only softness. "'But comparisons stagger, surrender.' You tucked it in well. James and Pete never realized, but I remembered. It's what you wrote on my cymbal."

"And you still never said anything," says Sirius, the bite of accusation in his voice lifting it higher even as he tries to tame it down. "You just let me keep going on, dancing around you, pretending. Aching."

Remus looks at him remorsefully. "I suppose I was trying to give you time. I thought you needed that. I didn't want to push." He exhales a forceful breath then, like he's releasing something, his body shifting. Remus pulls away from the wall, his back curving as his shoulders hunch, leaning forward over his crossed legs, eyes fixed on Sirius, unblinking, holding. "You don't have to be scared, Sirius, not when I'm telling you I want it, too."

"I'm not scared," denies Sirius bitingly, turning away, his face scrunching against his will, his upper lip spasming, causing his nose to twitch with it as his eyebrows pinch together in an effort keep some modicum of composure that slips away far too quickly, the fight leaving him as quickly as it had surfaced. "I'm not allowed to have this," he whispers, his voice half-choked, words garbled.

"Who says? Regulus?" Remus' own voice is suddenly harsh in the once peaceful silence surrounding them. "This isn't his choice to make, Sirius. It's yours. It's always been yours. At some point you've got to see that. None of this is necessary. You can have what you want. You can be happy." The ire fades from him then, the deeply etched lines of his face retreating, his eyes nearly pleading as he stares across the small space at Sirius. "You can have me," he says, his offer a whisper but still loud, sticks striking cymbals, ringing through the air, causing Sirius' head to finally whip in his direction as though shocked with something stinging, electrifying.

Sirius struggles with himself, all the reasons it's not a good idea clanging through his head, cracked bells knocking together, echoing thuds of dull sounds clattering. It's a terrible proposition, something Sirius has been fighting against for longer than he's even realized until now, but that doesn't stop the insatiable want from licking through his chest, twisting his stomach into knots, his fingers tingling to their tips with the need to reach out and touch skin, feel the heat of Remus beneath his hands.

His mouth opens to speak but the only sound that emerges is something choked and half-formed as Remus continues to stare at him openly. Then Sirius is twisting, crawling across the space between them, fingers clawing into shirt fabric and clinging with a sort of desperation he doesn't think he's ever felt before, but he stops as his front presses against Remus side, their faces close, mouths parted and hovering just out of reach. Panting breaths escape him, forcing his chest to move rapidly, feeling the air Remus releases breezing over his skin. Remus watches him as Sirius' gaze fixes on brown eyes, the other man's hand lifting slowly, pushing into Sirius' hair with a firm yet somehow still gentle touch.

"It's okay, Pads," he murmurs, and his lips skip over Sirius' briefly, static sparking between them, causing his fingers to tighten in the material still clutched in his grasp, grip unrelenting. "You're okay. You can have it. You're allowed that choice. You're always allowed a choice."

Sirius closes the gap then, no more hesitation within him, their mouths connecting, Remus' lips parting just a little as he sucks in a small, short gasp of breath. The kiss is different from the first two, softer, less force and overwhelming need behind it. It's a gentle brush of skin, a sigh breathed between them, a relaxation that slips from Remus' body and into Sirius' own. His bones melt under his flesh, coating his muscles in warmth, a heat that laces, kicking and punching in places that leaves him twitching. Remus' hand remains wound into his hair, tugging on the locks a little before pressing them closer together, molding them to one another.

There's a crying symphony inside him, a melding of horns and percussions, the sweet, sinful drag of strings that whine and sing the most perfect of notes. It's a powerful opera invading his veins, flooding him with that overwhelming emotion, tragedies screamed into darkness, ears bleeding and waiting to be healed by its majesty. And Sirius is, feels himself stitching back together the longer it lingers and stretches outwards, filling the passing minutes, hours turning to days, months into centuries, time ceasing to matter at all with his hands still gripping at Remus like he'll float away if he doesn't.

But Sirius can't control the spiking need that begins to overtake him. He deepens the kiss for a moment and then he's moving, clambering up and over Remus' lap, his knees slotting perfectly at the sides of thighs, the other man moving with him automatically, his legs extending outwards in front of him, making the position easier and more comfortable. Remus' hand drops from Sirius' hair, creeping down his back, fingers pushing up under the fabric of Sirius' shirt, hot skin against always cooler flesh. It pulls a hiss from between Sirius' teeth, his own hands dropping to Remus' waist, the kiss insistent now, nipping at lips, tugging them away from gums, panting breaths returning and turning the air between them humid.

Sirius rocks his body down out of instinct more than true decision, Remus matching his movements, eliciting a gasp from him that filters into a low groan, filling the other man's mouth with it. His fingers grip around the hem of Remus' shirt, shoving it upwards, nails finding the hot flesh beneath, dragging over it, skipping a little as they go, his mouth moving to the corner of spit-wet lips, seeking out the stubbled line of his jaw, eyes staring at that scar on Remus' neck, his intentioned goal.

Remus grunts as Sirius mouths over to the soft section of skin beneath his ear, beginning to suck a mark there as his body grinds down again, but Remus' hands settle around his waist, forcing him still, halting his actions. Sirius pulls back, staring at him in delirious question, Remus' brown eyes darker than he's ever seen them, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the color until it's nearly nonexistent. Their chests are moving together rapidly, crashing into one another, and all Sirius wants to do is fall again, sink, settle his mouth over those delicate places, trace his tongue along the crescent shape permanently emblazoned on his neck, but something in Remus' gaze and touch keeps him frozen.

"We should stop," he murmurs, just as breathless as Sirius feels.

Sirius wants to scream at him, throw his words back in his face, Remus telling him he could have this, have him, and now trying to take it away, but he manages to restrain the accusation from his voice, his question emerging as more of a desperate plea than anything else.

"Why?"

Remus stares up at him with the smallest glimpse of remorse, his middle finger still skimming the skin that lines the waistband of Sirius' jeans, an idle thing, like he's doing it without thinking.

"Because you're still sorting things out, Sirius," he says, a touch of gentleness in his voice though his words are firm, "and that's okay. You have that right and there's nothing wrong with it, but we should take this slow until you're more grounded with it." There's a glint of something invading Remus' eyes as Sirius watches him speak, something he thinks the other man is trying to hide away. It's a festering wariness, reservation swimming in the brown of his irises as they slowly fill back out. "There's a lot riding on this, Pads. And we're friends, before anything else. Right?"

Sirius stares at him, searching his face, marking the lines that are slowly etching into his skin, worry settling into place where Sirius doesn't want it to exist. His eyelids flutter closed as he inhales deeply, but Sirius nods, his hands slipping out from beneath Remus' shirt to settle back over the fabric, claiming safer territory. When his eyes open again, the other man seems relieved, his expression more relaxed than before.

"Right," agrees Sirius, nodding again, his body drooping a bit, settling over Remus' in a better way. "Right, yeah," he reinforces, stronger this time, "but fucking hell, Remus."

Remus smiles up at him, two fingers now slipping over his skin, sending bursts of warming chills chasing up his spine, causing him to shudder slightly. "We've got time," he assures, hands latching around Sirius' waist more firmly and tugging him closer, Sirius going willingly. "We've got all the time we want."

Sirius is just ducking his head, their lips nearly connecting again, when the door to the outer room bangs open forcefully.

"Oi!" comes James' loud voice, audible even through the closed booth. "Where are you two wankers? We've got work to do in case you've managed to forget."

Sirius groans quietly, slumping forward, face pressing into Remus' shoulder, the other man chuckling, his form vibrating beneath Sirius. "We do not," hisses Sirius tetchily. Remus hums as Sirius lifts himself again, a scowl working itself across his features, but the other man grins up at him, snagging a quick kiss that melts it away.

"Later," promises Remus, beginning to nudge Sirius from his lap, coaxing him to shift to the side again, looking reluctant and regretful.

"I'm holding you to that, Moony."

"Looking forward to it, Padfoot," murmurs Remus, his tone coy, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"D'you think they went somewhere?" they hear Peter question curiously from beyond the door. "S'weird they're not here."

"Where would they go? Dorcas and Lily both are busy with other things. They're not moronic enough to risk sneaking off on their own again. Sirius might have the inclination but there's no way Moony would cave to it after last time," voices James, his tone a little mean but mostly thoughtful.

"Well, I dunno where they are, then," says Peter, the sounds of the sofa squashing as he drops onto it invading their ears. "We've searched the whole house. It's not that big." There's silence for a span of time before Peter speaks again. "Could they be with your parents?"

Sirius can hear James shifting, knowing his friend well enough to visualize the shrug he offers. "Worth a try," he agrees. "Or we could just send them a patronus."

"Or call them. I'm not sure why we didn't already think of that."

"Because we hate these things," grumbles James, the sounds of rustling fabric filling the air as he digs through his pocket for his phone. "I'm not sure why Lily insisted they were a good idea."

"But you love TikTok," states Peter, sounding smug. "I see you watching those videos."

"That's because it's entertaining and people are incredibly dumb, Wormtail. Voice of the masses, or so Evans claims." He pauses for a second before adding, "Reg hates it. He locks this thing away once we're home together. Caught me in the loo with it one day. Said I'd been there for nearly an hour. I was just sitting on the side of the bath staring at it. Can't say I argued much."

Peter snorts and there's a clatter, likely from the collision of James throwing some harmless object at his friend's head. They're quiet after that, and Remus glances at Sirius, his eyes sweeping over him as though checking to make sure he doesn't look too rumpled, a smile filling out his features. Sirius' stomach flutters pleasantly, causing his neck and chest to flush with heat again.

"You've got yourself distracted. Are you on Tumblr now?"

"Shut up, Pete," mutters James, continuing to grumble under his breath. "S'not my fault it's so addictive. People are mad."

"Yes, well," says Peter lazily, "are you calling them, or should I? We do have things to do, like you said."

"I've got it, I'm doing it," mumbles James, tone irritated.

Remus snorts from beside him, lifting his head and licking over his lips, Sirius helpless against tracking the movement, calling out, "We're in here, lads."

There's a flurry of commotion from outside the booth, the sounds muffled but still there, and then the door is flinging open, James' irate face glaring down at them. Peter's follows soon after, and he smiles at them easily.

"Ah," he says, "there they are."

"Yeah, thanks, Wormy," grunts out James. "I've got eyes." He glowers at them for another moment before his expression shifts, smoothing out and opening up, curiosity taking over, one eyebrow cocking upwards above his glasses. "Why are you both in here? Door shut, all on your own. Bit suspicious, innit?"

Sirius rolls his eyes, pushing himself up from the floor, his muscles protesting a bit. "It's our house. We can do what we want," he responds snidely. James pokes his tongue out like a five-year-old and Sirius doesn't hesitate to return the gesture, his own waggling.

"Bleh," comments Peter from where he's leaning against the doorframe.

"All right, boys," interjects Remus, beginning to shove James back out of the booth, followed by Sirius, one hand pressing firmly to the small of his back, licking heat up Sirius' spine again. "C'mon. Let's get to work."

--------------------

Several hours later finds Sirius sprawled over the sofa, his shoulders draped across the arm and head tilting backwards in thought. James sits on the other end, his legs stretched out over Sirius', guitar in his lap as he cleans it, shining up the glossy finish, the pair waiting for Remus and Peter to return with takeaway.

Sirius' notebook is back in his lap, pen temporarily abandoned. Things swirl through his head, a jumbled, tangled knot of words that are trying to push themselves free but won't settle in the right order yet, Remus' earlier admission about Sirius needing to sort things out ringing in his ears, caterwauling loudly.

He grunts and lifts his head, plucking up the biro and beginning to scrawl out a few lines. He crosses things out and starts again, but it doesn't feel right, pulling a frustrated huff of breath from him.

"Giving you trouble again?" questions James lightly as his fingers graze a string, sending a note trilling through the air around them.

"Just this one," mutters Sirius. "S'pose it's not ready to come out yet."

James hums consideringly, his hand still moving over the guitar's base slowly. "Is anything else ready to come out?" he asks, voice having not shifted though his words are measured and cautious. When Sirius doesn't respond, simply staring at him in puzzlement, James levels him with knowing expression. "Want to tell me about Remus?"

It hits him like a lorry filled with stone, slamming into his side and sending him reeling. His fingers spasm around his pen, clenching and then going slack, his mouth parting a little in surprise as guilt wells inside him at the mild hurt he can see flashing across his friend's face.

"How do you – ?" starts Sirius, his words tapering off as James' hazel eyes pin him down, his expression sober and a little closed off.

"I'm not blind, Pads," he says, his tone even and controlled, something bubbling beneath its surface, "or as oblivious as everyone seems to think I am."

Sirius winces at the accusation, hating himself a little more. "I don't think that, James," he says truthfully. "I've never thought that, not about what counts. I know you see the things that matter, you always have."

"You're fucking right I do," snaps James, anger flooding him abruptly, pushing Sirius back into the arm of the overused sofa with its force. "I see you. I see what makes you tick, when something's not right with you. You are my brother, Sirius. I see the important things, and this was important." James looks away then, Sirius staring down at his notebook, his words screaming up at him, slicing like razors even as they begin to fall into place. When James speaks again, his voice is quiet, the bitterness gone, leaving behind a hollowness that hurts worse than any shouting or hostility he could possibly cast in Sirius' direction. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sirius plucks at the corner of the slightly crumpled page in front of him until it tears and separates. "I didn't know how to say it," he mumbles to his legs, balling the bit of paper up between his fingers. "I couldn't even admit it to myself, not for a while." Sirius finally risks a glance up at his friend, finding hazel eyes fixed on him, guarded and distrustful, an expression Sirius doesn't think he's ever seen since that first train ride to Hogwarts. "I didn't do it on purpose, James."

James suddenly sags, like all the air has left him. "Fuck," he grunts, his eyes falling closed. "I know, Padfoot. I know how your head works, remember?" He looks at Sirius again then, harsh lines still etched across his face, the corners of his mouth pulling down deeply. "I could have helped you. We could have talked about it, sorted through it. We could have figured it out for you together instead of you stumbling around blindly on your own, suffering and confused and beating yourself to pieces."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you talk to me?" shouts James, lurching up straighter. Sirius flinches, can't help himself, James' ire and hurt smothering and crippling, his own guilt swallowing. "For fuck's sake, Sirius, since when have you ever kept anything from me that was important? I didn't hide Regulus from you, not for one second, so why would you hide Remus from me? Did you think I was going to judge you for it? You should know better than that!"

Sirius' head flies up, his eyes landing on James, hardened now, glinting with barely repressed anguish and rage at himself. "He is our best friend," he hisses, seemingly knocking James down a peg. "Our best friend, James. He's our bandmate, my housemate. Pete's got his life, so do the girls. You ran off with Regulus and got your happily ever after, content where you are, pleased and all fluttery and in love, and that's fine, I've never held it against either of you, not even him, though everyone seems to be under the impression that I should. But where has that left me all these years? Alone. I've been alone, James, for years. I can't go out and find someone because I made an agreement to help us and I've stuck to it, but it's been fucking miserable whenever I've allowed myself the space to think about it at all, which is becoming more and more often.

"All I have – all I've ever had since we branched out – is Remus. He's been here, right by my side. He won't even stay in his own fucking flat because of me," snarls Sirius, James creeping backwards, sinking into the cushions again, watching him with wide eyes. "He won't say it, won't ever admit to it, but I know that's why he's been here all this time. I won't go home because I don't want to be alone, and at least here, I have your mum and dad nearby, but Remus, he – sometimes he's my entire world, James. So no, I didn't tell you, and I couldn't let myself admit to it because doing that meant threatening everything I had left. And that threat, that hovering fucking guillotine hanging over my neck, risking losing that last shred of anything that's still entirely mine is – "

Sirius cuts himself off, his breathing heavy, labored inside his chest. There's heat swimming at the edges of his eyelids and he swipes a vicious hand across his face roughly, knocking it away but only serving to make his cheeks wet, looking away in shame as James stares at him, all his former irritation and wrath now gone. Sirius sniffs in a deep breath through his nose, sharp in the sudden silence as he glares pointedly at the floor beside him.

"Hey," says James after a moment, but Sirius can't look at him, doesn't even try to force himself. He feels the cushions shift and dip in front of him, his legs being pushed to the side as James moves closer, settling in front of him, his hands coming up to cup around Sirius' face, turning his head back in his direction. "Hey, don't. Don't do that. Don't hide."

Sirius' face scrunches, pinches, his brows pulling together and falling deeply over his eyes as they squint, trying to hold his emotions back, but the floodgates are cracking under the pressure. James' soothing fingers pressing over his jaw and cheeks aren't helping, causing his chest to spasm as his breaths catch under his ribs. James watches him, no judgment in his hazel gaze, waiting, ready, always there, right where Sirius needs him, and when it comes, he doesn't say anything, only gathering Sirius into his arms like it's the easiest thing he's ever done in his life.

He's suddenly thrust back into his youth, showing up on his friend's doorstep in the middle of the night, cold for once, shivering in the violent, freezing air swirling around him, only a hastily, half-filled trunk by his feet and nothing else to his name. His family gone, his brother with it, only his friends remaining, his true family, James and his parents welcoming him with open arms and hearts just as they always had, James gathering him up directly where he stood, uncaring of the cold and biting wind, his only concern Sirius and making certain he knew he was loved.

Sirius muffles his sounds into the fabric covering James' shoulder, the other man making no comment about the dampness staining his shirt and wetting his skin. He doesn't move, never tries, staying where he is, not speaking, only breathing with Sirius, silently urging him to match it, calming him slowly, a steadiness in him that Sirius isn't sure if his friend is even aware he possesses.

When it's over, the deluge of things Sirius can't bring himself to examine too closely yet, James carefully separates from him, but he stays close, hand still pressed to the center of Sirius' upper back, like a support, a solid structure of never wavering strength that Sirius draws his very breath from when it's needed. He allows Sirius the space to drop his eyes, to drag his sleeve roughly over his face, saying nothing as he sniffs several times, the sounds sharp and loud, echoing around them like dreadful, embarrassing reminders.

"I'm sorry I yelled," murmurs James finally, gazing at the side of Sirius' face until Sirius feels brave enough to look at him again. "You didn't deserve that."

"Yes, I did," mumbles Sirius. "I should have talked to you. I had a lot of chances."

James shakes his head. "Not if you couldn't," he states resolutely, his words firm. "I've never blamed you for staying quiet when you couldn't talk about what was in your head. I'm not starting now. I just…I didn't realize." Sirius says nothing, staring at the top of James' ear, half-hidden behind his mop of shaggy hair, unable to meet his eyes again. "This really fucked you up, didn't it?"

Sirius snorts despite himself and James smiles, but it fades quickly, shrinking into something smaller.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" offers James gently, no longer prying or pushing, his voice open, accepting of whatever Sirius decides he needs, but Sirius shrugs one shoulder, James' arm moving with him.

"S'pose so."

"Have you really talked to him yet?" he questions curiously, a tinge of worry flashing through his hazel irises.

Sirius clears his throat, shifting over the cushions beneath him, James readjusting with him, fluid flowing with fluid. "A little. Earlier, before you and Wormy showed up," mumbles Sirius, his voice still thick and coated with a disgusting film he can't dissolve. "That's what we were doing in the booth. Sort of."

"That's a long time to wait to have a conversation," muses James, mostly to himself, biting at his lower lip.

Sirius frowns at him in bemusement, some of his heavier emotions finally lifting and clearing away. "What are you talking about? It's been two days."

James' mouth falls open, his eyebrows raising high on his forehead, eyes widening behind his spectacles, causing him to look very much like his patronus trapped by light. "Oh," he breathes out, as though connecting a missing puzzle piece. "Right, yeah. That – that makes more sense."

"You thought it had been longer," states Sirius, his own jigsaw forming into place. James shrugs half-heartedly.

"Did, yeah," he says slowly, his gaze trickling over Sirius' face. "I thought – I'm not really sure what I thought. I couldn't pinpoint it, and maybe that's is why. But that song you wrote, the way you've been acting, getting your muse back…" James trails off, pausing briefly, his head tilting a little to the side. "Or maybe finding him to begin with."

Sirius drops his eyes, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, well," he mumbles, leaving it at that. He looks back up at his friend after a moment, studying him pensively. "But nothing Remus did tipped you off at all? It was all me? Him shouting at Reg, sneaking me off for a day out…" James raises his gaze to the ceiling, his mouth pursing suspiciously, one eye squinting a little. "Prongs," prompts Sirius.

James sighs in resignation. "Sirius…Moony's been arse over elbow for you for years now," he pushes out. "Took me a while to figure that one out, but I finally did."

"Years?" says Sirius in surprise, a faint stutter evident in the word as it emerges. He blinks, does it again, struggling to wrap his head around it. "Years."

"What? You think he just recently discovered his feelings like you have?" James snorts in amusement. "You're hilarious, and incredibly thick. And they call me the oblivious one. Our Moony's been mooning after you forever, Padfoot. Completely sunk. Buried at the bottom of the deep blue sea. Scavengers picking over the wreckage – "

"All right, I get it," grumbles Sirius in irritation, and James smirks at him even as Sirius shakes his head. "I don't buy it."

"Really?" gives James, perking up a bit, leaning backwards as he observes Sirius, obviously humored by the turn in their discussion. "Tell me how he's any different now than he has been in…well, years."

"The Regulus thing – "

"He's always gone after Reg when it comes to you. Over all of us, honestly, but you especially. He's always tried to make you feel better when you've been down on yourself, always been there to pull you back, even when I couldn't. He watches every move you make, ready to sweep in at a moment's notice. He's not any different now than he ever has been, Sirius. You're the one that's different, and it seems new to you because you're only just now seeing it for what it is, through eyes that view him the same way. That's the crucial part in all this."

"All right," says Sirius slowly, turning accusing eyes on James, "so why didn't you tell me?"

James blanches, leaning back further away from Sirius. "You must be joking?" he launches. When Sirius doesn't falter in his expression, James scoffs. "I would never. Talk about burning it all down to the ground, mate. There was no indication that you felt the same. You've always been a bit…different with him than with the rest of us, but that wasn't enough. And besides, it was Remus' place to decide what to do with it. If he wanted to keep it to himself, that's his business. I was there if he wanted to talk about it, but I wasn't going to blab his secrets to anyone else. Shame on you."

Sirius shrinks a bit, chastised. "S'pose I can't fault you for that," he admits grudgingly.

"You're bloody right you can't," huffs out James. He stares at Sirius for another span of time before asking, "But things are good, yeah? Even with it being new or whatever? Steady."

Sirius leans backwards against the arm of the sofa again, his own eyes lifting to the ceiling this time. "Maybe. I think so." Sirius stumbles for a second. "I dunno, Prongs. It is new. We've talked once, and not for that long. There's a lot here to navigate through, isn't there?" James hums in understanding, watching him as he speaks, Sirius picking at the skin around his nails. "He said slow. We take it slow, which makes sense. He says I've got things I need to sort out."

"Well," voices James carefully, "he's not wrong, is he?" Sirius looks at his friend again but remains silent, still digging at his fingers until James makes him stop, stilling his movements with a gentle hand. "Are you going to tell Reg?"

Sirius' scowl returns, but it fades into a frown, something sad festering inside him. "No," he mutters. "Not yet. He'll just – he doesn't need to know yet."

James doesn't look entirely pleased with his answer, his expression unsettled, but before he can say anything more on the matter, the door opens, Peter and Remus entering with two boxes of food in their arms.

"Dinner, mates," chirps Peter, handing his box over to James and Sirius to sort out their meals as he and Remus settle on the rug covering the floor and begin picking through their own box.

Sirius keeps glancing at Remus periodically as his and James' hands pull out cartons from their box, the other man finally meeting his eyes once he leans backwards and begins eating. His gaze is curious, mouth pulling oddly to one side, like he can see the remnants of Sirius' conversation tattooed over his skin, telling a disjointed story, gaps missing he can't fill in just yet, but he doesn't question it, staying silent and observant, Sirius’ eyes eventually dropping back to his discarded notebook as his thoughts shift to his brother. 

Chapter Text

He'd lasted longer than he'd initially thought, three days passing with the swirling memories of what had occurred within the studio and the sorrowful conversation pressing against his ears like constricting hands before James breaks and barrels into Regulus' office. The other man's gaze flickers up briefly from where he's sitting at his desk, dropping again an instant later, somehow not looking surprised, though James figures that's a fair enough thing considering he does this same thing rather often when he's bored and Sirius is busy.

"You can't keep doing this to him," says James without preamble, tone a bit testy but mostly filled with a deep concern

"Doing what to who?" responds Regulus in half-distraction, not even looking up from the papers spread out in front of him.

James grunts. "Sirius. Your brother." Regulus' eyes flutter towards him now before dropping again. "He's miserable, Reg."

"What's he got to be miserable about?" scoffs Regulus as he crumples up one of the various papers and tosses it to the bin nearby. "He's a famous musician in not one, but two worlds. He's wealthy, attractive, can have pretty much anything he wants with nearly a snap of his fingers."

"Except getting to be who he really is."

Regulus releases a small groan of frustration, finally pulling his attention away from the paperwork and focusing completely on James as he rolls his eyes. "This again, really?" he says, tone perturbed, his mouth pinching into a tight line. "Sirius agreed to this. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is that he's having to hide who he really is," argues James, a harsher edge entering his voice, but Regulus doesn't look impressed.

"Hmm, yes. Such a shame isn't it, especially considering we're all doing exactly that," he drawls, and James scowls at him.

"You know what I mean, Regulus. Stop playing dense."

Regulus sighs and tips his head backwards, exhaustion flashing across his features. "Sirius agreed to this, James. It was part of the deal when you lot wanted to move further into the Muggle world with the band. Sex sells, and Sirius, for all his downfalls, is exactly that in the eyes of so many. Sex on legs. He sells. He's the cash cow." Regulus' mouth twists in mild disgust, as though he's hating talking about this as much as James is. "You may be the lead of the band, the face, but Sirius is the one that grabs attention. He sends the albums flying off the shelves, has people clamoring for those vinyls we mass produce and charge a first born and an entire arm for the ability to own. He's the reason all your live performances sell out overnight, people just waiting to drool over him directly in front of their faces, the reason they preorder your newest releases.

"You're all talented in your own rights. You're all amazing, if I'm being honest. Your voice and charisma combined with Sirius' songwriting ability and natural talent for anything that makes noise is a dynamic that couldn't have been designed better if I'd tried. Place that alongside Remus' fire with the drums and his own voice and Peter's penchant for charming literally anyone, this band idea that I told Sirius all those years ago was a terrible notion is probably one of the best things you four could have ever done.

"But," continues Regulus, the word clipped and sharp, "none of that matters as much as someone the masses can drool over and wet their knickers for. Sirius has the face and the proper breeding to make those hearts skip beats and knees turn to puddles beneath them."

James frowns deeply, his eyebrows knitting together on his forehead. "He's your brother," he says flatly.

"And my brother is what sells." James scowls at the words and Regulus stands, stepping around his desk until he's in front of James, his hand lifting, fingers dancing along the length of James' jaw until they stop and settle just before reaching his chin. "Are you jealous of that? You're very pretty, and they love you just as much as Sirius, but you don't have the attitude like he does. You don't flaunt it without even trying, which is honestly for the best and the safety of your fans. You'd not have half of them anymore if I caught more of them drooling over and pawing at you than I already do. That makes me jealous."

James' expression softens a little as Regulus speaks, his fingers beginning to graze skin again, James becoming a bit powerless against it as he always has done. Regulus smiles up at him, a sight typically only ever reserved for James, his cool, aloof mask of disinterest nearly permanently in place when it's not only the two of them in a room, though it's something that James has learned with time to see through under most circumstances.

"I think you're prettier than all of them," says Regulus, his head tilting just a little to one side, lips quirking into the faintest of smirks, grey eyes flashing with enough heat to cause James' knees to go a bit weak and shaky beneath him, "especially over Sirius."

At the mention of Sirius, James snaps back into the present and the reason he'd come to Regulus' office in the first place. His eyes narrow again, the lines of his face etching more deeply as he tugs himself out of the other man's grip. Regulus exhales an exasperated sigh of frustration.

"This isn't about family, James," states Regulus as he straightens, his expression slipping backwards, masking over again. "This is business. It's about keeping the finances flowing, money coming into everyone's pockets, making certain things keep progressing forwards and that your success continues to rise."

"If that's what you really think then you've missed the entire point of why we decided to do this in the first place," mutters James irately. "And our success doesn't have to depend on Sirius offering himself up like a piece of meat from the masses to feast on like a Sunday roast."

"Is your mother still having us over this weekend?" questions Regulus, turning away from James and lowering himself onto the sofa beside them, both arms stretching over the length of its back as he reclines into the cushions. "Her roast is marvelous."

"Regulus," utters James in warning.

Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he says snidely, gaze fixing on James sharply. "Why is this so important to you now? You've always been vocal about it, but mainly to Sirius. It's rare you've said anything to me, and never this adamantly, leaving it to him. What's different now?"

James bites back on his initial answer, nearly telling Regulus that Remus is the difference. Instead, he reasons, "Sirius doesn't deserve this, Reg. He is miserable, we can all see it even if he won't admit to it. He's lonely when he doesn't have to be."

"Sirius is free to find someone and do whatever he likes with them. He can date. I've never stopped him from doing that because I do not care about his love life. One man in monogamy or twenty in a week – or all at once if he's feeling heroic – it makes no difference to me. He can do as he pleases." Regulus pauses, plucking a piece of lint away from his dark trousers before his eyes lift to meet James' again. "He simply can't do it in public."

"Do you even hear yourself?" demands James, angry now. "You sound like the world's largest hypocrite."

"Why?" levels Regulus, one dark eyebrow arching regally. "Because I have you?"

"Yes!" cries James, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Yes, because you have me. We go out, we're photographed. It's no secret we live together. The fans know. The entire world knows, both sides of it. We've never hidden for a second, so of course it's easy for you to tell Sirius to do exactly that because you've no idea what it's like to withhold such a large part of yourself for so long. He's nearly thirty and he's never even had a relationship, Reg, all because of your stupid rules that don't matter."

"Sirius has no desire for a relationship," scoffs Regulus, his eyelids fluttering in disinterest. "Find another excuse, James. This one is beginning to skip as it repeats."

James had felt his anger rise earlier, but now it shifts, becoming darker, his eyes narrowing as his body buzzes with a muted sense of wrath. "Drop the entitled pureblood act with me," he says flatly, all emotion draining from his voice, and Regulus blinks as he seems to falter, his gaze raking over James in near surprise. "When's the last time you talked to your own brother, Regulus? And I mean really talked to him, not just tried to order him around and push him to where you need him to be, into doing what you think is best?"

Everything inside him has taken on an ominous feeling of peace before a mounting storm, devastation licking at his veins. His normally fidgeting fingers have fallen still at his sides, his body tensed, muscles rigid. James rarely becomes so enraged that his feelings are potent and tangible, but now it's like poison seeping into the air, a noxious gas curling around them and invading their lungs until they're useless, hardened to stone, ineffectual and lifeless.

"You talk about loving him, about wanting him to be happy, and I know you only ever say those things to me, but fuck, Regulus," snaps James, "have you ever thought that maybe Sirius needs to hear them, too? He has spent his entire life being controlled. It's why he left your family in the first place, back when you were still too blind to see it for what it was. I know that's a point of contention between the two of you, but I'm not wrong. Your parents pushed him until he broke and left him with no other option but to turn and hide.

"And after all that, all the shite that came with it, all the self-hatred and burying his head in the sand only to finally work himself out and become exactly who he was meant to be, you're doing it to him again!" James is shouting now, can't make himself stop, Regulus staring at him with wide eyes, an expression so out of place on his normally collected face that it's almost laughable, or would be if James had the inclination for humor at all right now. "He navigated his way out of that mess and then you directly pulled him into it again. He doesn't deserve this, Reg. He should be happy, not wallowing in his own guilt that shouldn't exist in the first place, so terrified of hurting us and you that he feels trapped with no possible means of escape.

"Maybe he had no desire for a relationship years ago, but he was young! People change, they age and mature. We have, so why can't he? Because he's Sirius? Because he's sex on legs? Even sex symbols have hearts, Black!"

Something that looks a bit like hurt flashes across Regulus' face briefly before he's turning his head and the emotion is gone, his expression shifting back to its perpetual coolness. His throat spasms as he swallows and then he's looking up at James, his eyes hard, crystalline at their depths.

"Sirius is a big boy, James," he says resolutely, nearly uncaring. "He's capable of speaking up for himself if he has a problem. If he wants something, he can come to me about it and we'll talk like adults, but my good graces evaporate when he begins throwing tantrums like a child. It's no different with you."

James reels back as though slapped, the ice in his boyfriend's voice shocking, earth-rattling, never aimed at James because of James, always over someone else. His mouth tugs outwards, lips pressing together firmly as he sneers in disapproval.

"Piss off, Regulus," he nearly spits. "Take a look in the mirror before you begin accusing others of behaving childishly." James rounds on his heels then, stalking across the room. "And talk to your fucking brother like you actually give a shit about him before it's too late."

He slams the door behind him, causing it to shudder on his hinges, James missing Regulus' flinch as it swings closed.

--------------------

When they finally tell Marlene they're ready to start recording, she's at their front door in less than two minutes wearing a beaming smile and determined blue eyes that shine with eagerness. They get to work quickly, diving in headfirst without ever really coming up for air, starting with simply playing the music, mumbling along with the lyrics, something that will come later.

It isn't a fast thing, recording an entire album, no matter how much work they put into it beforehand. Each song requires several sessions to get everything as desired, the band and Marlene working tirelessly to get them just right, sometimes encroaching into double digits for how many times they stand within the booth replaying and rehashing notes. James and Remus both have to take their own turns within the glass block, laying their individual voices over one another, sometimes choosing to try it together, just to see how it'll sound as one and done.

Marlene picks out each of their instruments alone, the others sitting crowded on the sofa or spread over the floor, catcalling and whistling, cheering and whooping, offering jabs and encouragements, suggestions spilling from their tongues with an ease of knowing one another far too well, any and all constructive criticism welcome and discussed, everyone only trying to make it the best it can possibly be.

They'd keep going endlessly, but Marlene eventually forces them to stop, bodily pushing them from the room, telling them she has to go home to Dorcas and their cat lest she murder them all by choking them with guitar strings. They grumble and complain, but they know it's for the best after so many years of the same routine, needing time to rest and approach what they're doing with clearer heads, soothed voices, healed fingers and palms.

James stays with Sirius and Remus for a few nights, stating he's too tired and depleted to go home. He collapses in one of the spare rooms, not even the one he and Regulus typically use when they're there, instead taking a random bed and claiming it as his own temporarily. Yet, for all his posturing about being exhausted, Sirius doesn't think his friend sleeps that first night, shadows darkening the skin beneath his eyes the following morning, James more restless than usual, fingers picking at things, toes tapping over the flooring, his focus drifting so much that the others eventually call it early, Peter and Marlene disappearing to their homes with odd glances cast in James' direction.

On his second night with them, Sirius isn't surprised when his bedroom door creaks open and the other man shuffles his way inside. He climbs into Sirius' bed, curling up beside him. They don't speak, Sirius staring up at his dark ceiling as James' breath huffs warm and humid against the side of his neck. Sirius never asks what's wrong and James doesn't offer any information, but Sirius thinks he knows. This isn't the first time James has run to them, his and Regulus' relationship not always a steady thing, two sides of the moon, one blindingly bright while the other is dark. They clash at times, ram heads, argue and fight, but it isn't lost on Sirius that this particular instance comes immediately after his emotional conversation with James inside the walls of the studio. Sirius isn't sure what to say about it or how to possibly make it better for his friend, so he stays silent, remaining the sort of presence that James has always been for him.

James does finally cave and return home after his third night, and Sirius isn't sure what happens when he does, but the next day, he's a bit more like his normal self, lighter and warm, but Sirius keeps one eye trained on him, searching for any signs that things might be slowly imploding because of him.

Having James around, while never a hindrance and something Sirius will ever deny even at the worst of times, does have its downfalls. Not much changes between him and Remus in the interim, Sirius' eyes still tracking the other man's movements when he finds he can do nothing else but stare with James within the same room as them, Sirius still feeling a bit on edge about the whole thing. He thinks that once he's gone, that's when things will shift, alter in their course, and while they do, they also don't.

They're exactly the same as they've always been, moving around one another with such a practiced ease it's as simple as breathing on most occasions. They eat together, Remus reads, idle chatter passing between them in random bursts throughout each day, but it's the moments that happen in the middle of all the others that keeps Sirius lying awake until well into the morning hours each night, tossing and turning alone within his bed.

There are small touches exchanged, things they've always done throughout their years as friends that mean more now, jumping Sirius' heart inside his chest and causing his breath to falter in his lungs. Remus moves around him when they work in the kitchen together, the pressure of a hand settling over Sirius' hip that causes his body to fall still, fire flaring through his veins. They somehow always find themselves in the bathroom together in the mornings like a favored routine, Sirius staring over Remus' shoulder as they brush their teeth, ducking their heads down to the basin to rinse, but Sirius becomes enraptured by the sight of those brown eyes meeting his in the reflection of the mirror, his heart thumping out an unsteady pace.

Nothing changes, except everything has changed. Sirius no longer feels the need to hide that hunger he feels spiking inside himself, doesn't have the constant urge to restrain whatever feelings take him over at the oddest of times, never pushing them down when they're alone, pretending they don't exist. He catches Remus coming out of the shower one evening, the other not even bothering with dressing, towel slung loosely around his hips, water droplets still rolling free from his hair, cascading in rivulets down the length of his neck and charting pathways over his bared chest. Sirius barely contains his growl at the sight, cutting off Remus' progression down the hall to his room and pressing him up against the wall as he licks across his lips, the other man smirking at him.

The kiss that comes is heated, electrified, hands roving skin with a desperate sort of need, clawing, sensual. Sirius can't help himself from slotting a knee between Remus' thighs, a low, guttural sort of groan pushing into his mouth and filling his lungs with the sound until Remus seems to return to himself, urging Sirius away gently.

It doesn't stop there, their days and weeks passing when they're inside the house with the same type of borderline, dangerous, wonderful situations. They sprawl over their sofa together, arms and legs tangled, one or the other becoming pinned against the cupboards or the fridge in the kitchen, sometimes even within their own beds, mapping and exploring whatever bits of flesh they can find through clothing that remains irritatingly in place, seeking out pleasurable places and weak points, Sirius loving the sounds he manages to elicit from Remus' parted lips whenever his mouth attacks that soft section of skin just beneath the other's ear, his collarbone, the small, delicate bones of his wrist. Sirius worships it all with his tongue and teeth, Remus doing the same with him in the places he finds during his own explorations, but Remus always halts it before it goes too far, Sirius becoming increasingly frustrated as the time passes.

A few weeks after that first fateful night in their studio finds Sirius in his room, applying the finishing touches to Lily's guitar, having finally refinished it and painted most of its base, now adding the details he'd plotted out early on. It looks good, or so he thinks, better than he'd initially planned, and Sirius thinks Lily will appreciate it for what it is and is meant to be. He's admittedly been using the instrument as a form of distraction when home, a way to separate himself from Remus when he needs it most, his control quickly slipping from his grasp like water through a widening crack in a dam.

Living with Remus likely isn't ideal right now, Sirius lying awake at night and thinking nearly constantly about how easy it would be to slip down the hall like a shadow, climb into that bed, cold and half-empty, and allow them both to cave to those baser desires plaguing Sirius' mind at almost all hours of the day. So far, they've managed to hide it from everyone except James and Lily, the two of them like radars that can detect all but the smallest of blips with their friends. Lily hadn't said much about it, at least not to Sirius, though he'd caught the glitter in her bright, happy green eyes more than once.

Sirius only becomes aware of another presence in the room when his bed dips behind him, warm, firm arms wrapping around his middle. A face presses into the side of his neck, hot breath bursting across his skin, causing Sirius to shudder.

"That looks brilliant." Remus' voice is low in Sirius' ear, a rumble of sound able to be felt vibrating through his chest where it's molded to Sirius' back. It chases licks of flames down his spine, the heat burning to his fingertips. "Lils will love it."

"That's the hope," comments Sirius, trying to act unaffected, but the amused lilt to Remus' words informs Sirius that he's very much aware of the effect he's causing.  

"I don't think you need to have hope for this one," murmurs Remus, reaching out one hand to trail a finger along the dried paint on one side, tracing a leaf idly. "She might cry. Are you prepared for that?"

Sirius glances around at Remus with widening eyes. "Fuck," he utters, staring down at the guitar again. "I hadn't thought about that. I hate it when girls cry. What am I meant to do for them? Hugs? Pats on the head? Piss off. I won't even do that for Prongs."

Remus is quiet behind him, which is curious. Sirius is just about to round to look at him again when he feels the other's chest shake against his back. Sirius spins half his body quickly, finding Remus locked in a losing battle of laughter, his brown eyes a bit misty with tears of mirth, lips pressed firmly together, face flushed a deep red. When he catches sight of Sirius' indignant expression, Remus collapses against him, his chuckles pouring out vocally beside Sirius' head.

"Think that's funny, do you? Sirius Black, terrified of women and their emotions. Fuck you, too, Moony," he mutters without any heat in his words, but Remus' laughter dampens a bit as his eyes fix on Sirius' own with a sudden flash of intensity.

"Maybe you will one day."

Sirius can't help his body from falling still with the half-promise, Remus' voice enticing, drawing him in. He licks over his bottom teeth, shifting a little, lowering the guitar to the floor at his feet, and then he's turning on the bed, pushing the other man backwards until he's lying flat and Sirius is stretched over top of him. Remus grunts faintly from Sirius' sudden weight, but he doesn't complain, warm fingers automatically searching out the bottom line of Sirius' shirt and seeking the flesh beneath, pressing firmly, gripping and holding, like he thinks Sirius might leave if he doesn't.

Sirius' mouth finds Remus' without trying, lips slipping together with an almost practiced ease now, the once prevalent tentativeness to it long gone, whatever nervousness had once existed evaporating between them. He shifts, his own hands pushing the thick fabric of Remus' jumper upwards, fingertips dancing over the hills and valleys of ribs, pulling a perfect sigh from between the other man's parted lips that fills Sirius full of heat.

His mouth drops down, following the path of Remus' jaw, teeth nipping at the hinge before he's moving further down to the other man's neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake, causing Remus to grip harder around his sides, pulling him closer. Sirius grins against flesh, his tongue emerging when he reaches the scar that's slightly raised and like a magnet drawing him in. He traces its length and shape, exploring it just as he's already done too many times to count in the passing weeks, never enough time spent with it, the noises Remus always makes when Sirius connects with the long-healed tissue driving him deeper into his worship.

"Fuck," moans Remus breathlessly as Sirius latches his lips to the center of the arc and sucks the skin between his teeth, rolling it past his tongue. His hands creep down, moving over Sirius' hips, light and brushing, coming to settling over the curve of his arse, fingers digging in as he squeezes.

Sirius groans at the contact, his mind short-circuiting, something inside him erupting with fire like a dormant volcano bursting back to life, ash flying outwards, magma burning away everything in its path. His hips rock downwards, sliding across the hard bulge Sirius can feel prodding at him insistently, Sirius sliding them together, static flooding his vision from the friction created between them. He does it again and again, his movements increasing in their speed, veins throbbing with need, a glorious ache building in the pit of his stomach and slowly trickling downwards, Remus not stopping him, his hold tightening, spurring him on as he hisses out half-formed pleas.

"Maybe today is that day," rumbles Sirius from deep in his chest through breaths that are beginning to become irregular. "Fuck, please," he breathes, all ideas or thoughts of seduction leaving him as he begins to tumble down, falling and sinking, his head spinning from the heat mounting inside him.

The words seem to bring Remus back to himself, the man tensing beneath Sirius, his hands lifting and grasping at his waist again, forcing him still. Sirius reels even as he groans in frustration, trying to continue moving, a little too lost in it now to make himself stop, but Remus keeps him held firmly in place, not allowing it.

"No, Sirius," he murmurs, breaking through his heavy lust, pulling Sirius back to him, his eyes refocusing on the other man's face. There's a gentleness in Remus' voice, a kind understanding that Sirius hates even as he leans into the fingers that raise to brush over his temple, pushing his hair from his eyes.

Sirius stops struggling for movement, letting his head fall to Remus' chest for a moment before he's groaning deeply and rolling sideways, flopping over the mattress beside the other man, breathing still labored. He stares at his boring ceiling, eyes mapping the pockmarks in the paint as he tries to regain control of himself.

"Fucking hell, Remus," he says, words mostly a sigh more than anything disparaging, "you're trying to kill me, aren't you? You do realize it's been months, don't you? I have needs. I can't go like this forever."

Remus hums, a quick glance at his face revealing that he's smirking a little. "Really, months?" he asks conversationally, fingers twining together over the base of his ribs. "How many?"

Sirius balks a bit, scowling, but it fades faster than he'd intended as he mumbles, "Six. Seven? Bloody hell, seven months." He shakes his head, looking at the opposite wall. "We were still on tour. Brazil, I think. Not as many people recognize us there, but you know that. It was…easier. He had no idea who I was, so I didn't have to worry."

They're quiet for a minute before Remus makes a small sound and says, "People have survived longer than seven months, Padfoot. You'll be fine," but his tone is carefully controlled, words measured and weighed as though he's being cautious.

Sirius looks over at him slowly. "Really? How long's it been for you, then?"

Remus' eyes flicker to Sirius briefly before he glances away again, staring up at the ceiling intently. He clears his throat, his fingers twitching over his torso.

"A few months," he responds, clearly attempting to sound light and breezy about it but failing for some reason Sirius can't pinpoint. "Right at the end before we came home."

The knowledge stirs something in Sirius, barbed wire springing up, sharp and stabbing, an inherent sense of jealousy trying to overtake him, but Sirius squashes it down because he doesn't have that right, not about the past. Remus is silent again for a while, laying still, unmoving, nearly a statue at Sirius' side, all hard edges that he can't figure out where they've come from so abruptly.

"I didn't know that was your last time," he says eventually, "but I did wonder. It's not that difficult to guess with the way you…" Remus' words falter and die away as though he has no more life to give them. He shifts, his shoulders tensing against the pillow resting under his head. "I heard you. That night, the one you're talking about. The walls of that hotel were ridiculously thin."

Sirius startles a bit, his head turning to watch Remus as he speaks, unable to help himself. Remus never looks at him, his gaze planted firmly on the ceiling, like he can't say what's coming without it there to ground him.

"You're loud, did you know that?" he says, the words easy, effortless, nearly conversational, but there's a tightness in Remus' tone that Sirius can pick out like plucking a ripe apple from a still growing tree. "I heard everything, every word, every moan, every gasp. Your headboard kept banging against the wall and that was…it was torture, listening, but I couldn't make myself stop because I – " His voice tapers out, dies, something thick choking around his throat by the way it sounds. "As bad as it was for me, I needed to know. And I wondered, as I made it increasingly worse on myself, what that bloke was doing to pull those noises from you. I wanted it to be me. I wanted to tear through your door and rip him away from you, shove him over the balcony or send him down the laundry chute, whichever was easiest because I wanted to make those sounds shred your throat until it was so raw you could barely speak the next day."

Sirius stares up at his ceiling, unsure what to say in response to that just yet. He finds himself wishing he'd taken Mary up on her offer to paint it with a design years ago, thinking it would provide a level of distraction right now that he desperately needs but knows isn't fair to Remus. Sirius rolls his words around inside his head, trying to place himself within the other man's torment, and it makes his stomach twist harshly, tying itself into an impossible knot.

He finally rolls to his side, propping his head in the palm of his hand, supported by his elbow. Sirius stares down at Remus, the other man refusing to meet his eyes until Sirius speaks.

"You can, you know," he says with easy encouragement, not pushing but simply stating a fact. "I'm here, Remus. You said I could have you. You can have me, too. I'm offering it. You just have to take it."

Remus' eyes skim his face, open but still a little guarded. A smile works its way onto his face, but it's a small thing, barely existent, fleeting and gone in the blink of an eye. He reaches up, the outside of one curved finger trailing down the line of Sirius' jaw from ear to chin.

"I know," he murmurs. "I know, Sirius, but I'm still saying no." As Sirius' face begins to close off and he tries to retreat, Remus grips his chin between two fingers, silently asking him to stay. "I'm not saying forever, but you've…Sirius, there are things you need to work your way through. You've got to open your eyes and see more clearly before we – you're important to me. I'm not risking losing you because we were stupid and rushed into something that's only going to erupt later and leave us wasted and drowned. I refuse to let you go because I was too weak to say no when it mattered most. I've lost too much to my own foolishness. I won't do it again."

There's a heavy, poignant pain that's flooded Remus' eyes as he's spoken, gaze fixed on Sirius with an overwhelming shadow covering his brown irises as he tries to hide the worst of his fear away. Sirius can hardly bear to see it, his fingers slipping along the side of Remus' neck, splaying over smooth skin, the small scars there so fine and old that they can no longer be felt.

"Okay," whispers Sirius, placing a kiss to the corner of Remus' mouth, soft and lingering for only a second. "Okay, I understand. I won't – I'll try not to push."

Remus' arm quickly works its way around his back as he pulls Sirius down to him, the pair settling against one another, warmth spreading, Sirius nuzzling in under his jaw, eyes watching Remus' face. They lay still and quiet for a long time, Sirius' thoughts drifting outwards but remaining closer to home than he's willing to admit immediately.

"I need Reg to see it," he finally says, mostly to himself.

Remus takes a while to speak, but when he does, there's a weight in his voice, an edge of steel that cuts Sirius deeply. "It's not only Regulus, Sirius," he states, tone flat and almost cold in its clarity.

Sirius stiffens in his hold, but Remus says nothing about it, the two remaining there until they hear Marlene shouting at them from the front room.

--------------------

Much later that night finds Sirius tucked into the armchair in the corner of his room. His notebook is open across his knees again, pen scribbling furiously, his conversation with Remus earlier filling his head, contorting his thoughts, turning them nearly rabid and spiteful. His hand stops abruptly at the end of a word, eyes glancing over the lines he's written out in different pieces over the passing weeks, certain ones standing out amidst the others.

As I struggle to breathe
And crawl my way back to get above
To be with the one I love

You say you care
But all I do is fight and break

Will this lie ever end?
My image is yours to mend

It's all a jumble that flows together nearly seamlessly, stealing Sirius' breath as his gaze continues to fall on random words that strike things within him.

Antagonist

Fan

Pianist

Feel like myself

Strife

Bind my wrists

Who am I?

Sirius stutters where he sits, pen fumbling in his grasp before tumbling from his numb fingers, realization settling in like the sickening snap of a bone breaking, unmendable, forever shattered, shards entering the bloodstream, death on a motorway traveling at high speeds.

He stands, the biro clattering to the floor, Sirius stepping on it as he stalks across his room. He jerks open a drawer, spying the copy of the song he'd created on his own laying undisturbed and mocking. Sirius' face twists into a terrible sneer, his hand shoving the notebook inside and slamming the drawer closed with enough force to cause the furniture to quiver dangerously. He turns his back on it and vows not to think about it again.

Chapter Text

"Are you ready for this?"

Sirius looks up from tuning his guitar, his eyes skimming over James beside him, watching his fingers pluck nervously at his own strings. He knows the other man will never admit to it, putting on a strong façade because he thinks it's needed, James the grounding rod in the middle of a lightning storm for them all. He's always been that way, taking care of them, guiding and shielding, like a protective mother hen with a blunt mouth and pinching fingers.

"S'pose we don't have much of a choice," comments Sirius, keeping his tone light, but James sees through it just as well as Sirius is able to view his friend's thoughts, masks pulled into perfect place with the smallest cracks, just large enough for them to slip through and search out the most important things.

James grunts and drops his guitar, letting it hang from the strap around his shoulder, his hands shaking at his sides, fingers flicking like he's freeing them of dampness. He sucks in an audible breath, his eyes settling on Sirius soberly.

"Last time it didn't – "

"This isn't like last time," interrupts Sirius, twitching his head over his neck.

"Sirius," says James softly, and his fidgeting has ceased, his focus fully on Sirius, "you were scared."

Sirius' gaze drops to his own guitar again, keeping his hands busy, twisting the pegs and plucking idly, though the thing is already as close to perfect as it can get. "We were all scared," he mutters. "Don't single me out because – "

"Because Remus got hurt."

The words crash into Sirius, causing his hand to spasm, the guitar slipping away from his grip. His face contorts as he closes his eyes against the reminder, his lungs feeling pressurized and hindered, throat constricting.

"We all got hurt, James," he whispers, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd beyond the back of the enclosed stage where they stand.

James shifts until he's in front of Sirius, his eyes soft and concerned as they rest on his downturned head. He reaches out, but Sirius senses it coming, jerking away before he can stop himself, too deeply rooted in memories to think about what he's doing. James freezes, hand hovering in the air between them, his hazel eyes grave, brows knitting closely together.

"Not like Remus," he returns quietly, needlessly, because Sirius knows that. It hasn't stopped plaguing his nightmares, infesting his good dreams and turning them dark, watching in a constant loop as Remus disappears and doesn't return no matter how much or loudly Sirius screams, ripping his throat raw and bloody until no sound emerges, screaming so desperately it invades the waking world, Remus having woken him more than a handful of times, looming over him with a face free of bruises as Sirius always quickly swipes the wetness from his cheeks.

"It's not going to happen again," mumbles Sirius. "Reg has…he's got it sorted. I know he felt guilty after last time. He won't let it happen ever again."

"You're right, he won't, but that – " James stops as some of the arena's hired security wanders past them, only starting again once they're out of earshot. "That doesn't make it any easier, does it? You were scared. We all got hurt, Remus the worst of all, and you…care about him."

The pause is subtle, barely noticeable, but Sirius picks it out, his eyes shifting to the exit that leads to the front of the stage where they'll make their entrance, James watching him closely. Sirius doesn't want to talk about this anymore, his heart beginning to beat too rapidly in his chest for the wrong reasons. He's meant to be exciting himself, riling himself up for what's coming, but instead his palms are sweating more than they should be, his ears ringing.

Regulus had done everything he could to leave them alone over the passing two months, canceling most of their appearances after the disastrous interview he'd interrupted. He'd said the less publicity right now, the better they would be. He'd been building hype over their coming album in the interim, stating it was for the best, them all but disappearing, causing people to speculate, their names in the public's mouths constantly. In addition, he'd told them it was so they could focus on completing the album, but they all knew better, some sort of unspoken understanding in Regulus giving them a small reprieve to navigate away from the incident that had occurred during the festival.

James seems to sense Sirius' withdrawal and alters the conversation a little. "Album's almost finished," he remarks, returning to his guitar again, fingers more fidgeting than actually doing anything with purpose. "Means another tour soon enough."

Sirius grunts, not offering any other sort of response. He can hear the dull roar as the crowd of people prepare for them, something that's usually an encouraging, exciting thing, thrumming through Sirius' veins like drumbeats, vibrating him to his core, invigorating him, but now it only causes his throat to dry up like a dehydrated piece of fruit.

"It won't happen again," mumbles James, his hands falling still in front of him.

"It won't happen again," echoes Sirius, the pair standing side by side as they stare towards the entrance to the stage, a heaviness lingering around them. Sirius turns slightly, searching Remus out, finding him talking to Peter and Lily along the edge of the area. He must feel Sirius' eyes on him because he looks up after a moment, meeting his gaze and smiling a little, just enough to make Sirius relax a bit with the expression. "It's not going to happen again."

James leaves it alone, saying nothing in return. Sirius isn't sure if that makes any of it better or worse. He looks down at his guitar again, fingertips grazing one of the strings. James has also begun messing with his own instrument once more, though Sirius can tell his movements are more idle fiddling than true work from necessity.

He takes a moment to surreptitiously study his friend from the corner of his eye, watching him closely. James rarely lets his worries show on the outside, keeping them held back, his head high, a bright smile plastered on his face during most occasions. James is the only reason Sirius had survived through the height of the war, knowing what his family was part of, aware that in less than a year's time, he'd likely be meeting many of them in duels for their lives. It had soured him more than anything else.

James had told him not to fight, to stay out of it when the time came. He'd made hints about it for a while until he'd finally shoved Sirius into an empty classroom and let the words spill out between them. James had said none of it was worth what Sirius would be losing in the process, but for once, Sirius hadn't agreed with him. Fighting had felt branded into his blood, puttered along with every beat of his heart, like a calling to something he'd been meant to do since birth. He was already looked down upon for his last name and where he'd come from, sideways glances thrown his way as the war mounted higher and reached a fever pitch of terror, other people's doubts of him and his loyalties clear in the way they looked at him or spoke in hushed tones about the other side whenever he was around.

Peter had agreed with James as he mostly did, but he'd had his reasons. Only Remus had told Sirius to do what he thought was best for himself, not for his family or James or anyone else. And Sirius had struggled though he'd known from the beginning he'd be on that front line, join whatever he could, fight against the ones that were meant to matter most. He'd known he'd likely die for it. He thinks James had known, too, and the fear had been palpable in his friend turned brother, sending him rigid nearly constantly like a steel beam that only Sirius could see as James had continued to put forth that easy-going front of nonchalance.

Sirius licks across his lips now, reaching out to press over his friend's hands before he turns his fingertips bloody from the harsh metal of the strings. "How are things with Reg?" he asks quietly, aware that his brother is somewhere in the vicinity. Regulus typically doesn't attend their performances anymore unless there's a specific purpose, having figured out a few years earlier that his jealousy raged too high as he'd watched their fans scream and weep and fawn at James' feet, holding up signs filled with marriage proposals and throwing things onto the stage around him. They did it to all of them, something they'd grown used to in their beginning days, but Regulus, for all his carefully held detachment, has a jealous streak that's difficult for him to taper down or hide away in the worst of times.

"Fine," says James quickly, faster than Sirius knows is natural. His body tenses a bit, hazel eyes still not meeting Sirius' own. "We're fine. Same as ever."

Sirius frowns as he observes the side of the other man's face. "Are you?" he questions, and James shifts his head to the side, hiding away under the disguise of looking for something else. "Seems like you maybe had a bump a while back. You don't usually stay with us like you did for so long – "

"We're fine, Sirius," snaps James, rounding on him, his eyes flashing with warning. Sirius doesn't flinch from it or back down, leveling his friend with a knowing look, and James deflates quickly, one corner of his mouth tugging into a wry line. "We are," he assures. "Now. Took a bit of time, but we – we talked. Things are fine, for the most part. Don't worry about it, Pads."

"I always worry, James," says Sirius softly, his eyes narrowing earnestly. James' expression softens, the smallest of true smiles gracing his features.

"I know you do, mate," he responds, arm draping easily around Sirius' shoulders and pulling him closer, side pressed to side, molding just as well as they always have, two sections of the same piece, "but you don't have to, not about this. Let me worry with Reggie. It's not like we fight often, is it, but when we do, we work through it. We're adults, or so he keeps saying. I'm not sure who decided twenty-eight constitutes being mature, but I'd like a word with them about it. I still feel like a stupid teenager half the time."

Sirius laughs despite himself, his own arm slotting around James' waist. "Remus says the same thing, but I'm with you. I don't want to be an adult. It's fucking torment."

"The worst of the worst," agrees James lightly. "Take me back to the days of the Map. That was fun. It's still too bad Filch managed to nick it from us."

Sirius shrugs. "Maybe, but what would we have done with it now?" he muses. "It's better where it is. Let the worthy find it and make use of it the way it deserves."

James hums, his eyebrows lifting high as though he hadn't considered that idea. He grins at Sirius, white teeth flashing under brown skin, blinding and brilliant, like beams of sunlight bouncing off water. Sirius can't help returning the expression as they jostle one another playfully, their guitars and earlier concerns forgotten in the moment, however briefly.

They fumble and meander around for a while longer until they're ushered up towards the stage. Sirius settles in his chosen corner, perfectly wedged between James and Remus in the open space. This stage is smaller than the ones they erect for their tours, already built and a permanent fixture. It's just a one-off performance, something to keep the interest up and a way to reveal new songs when they're in the midst of creating an album. Their sets are also a bit freer, pulling from their entire collection instead of mostly limiting it to newer material, something that always seems to be a large crowd pleaser.

They play through several, Sirius sinking into it, eventually forgetting about the crowd in front of them and his stress over what had happened during the festival. Things are different here. Regulus had seen to it, triple checked everything, hired more security to keep the barrier guarded at all times, made sure the stage was well off the floor, no easy access for anyone to stampeded them again. The people sing along with James and Remus, swaying together like a large wave beneath them, their voices crying out with the lyrics, cheers erupting like thunder, quaking the ground where they stand along with the music flooding out of them.

It's like a cataclysmic event swelling around them, sucking them in, a bomb cyclone forming over their heads, whipping them within its winds. Sirius comes alive, they all do, his eyes darting to Remus periodically, watching him blaze like breathing fire, rising and flickering, brown eyes closing as he tumbles down that opening hole that swallows him up with a perfect embrace of powerful beats, a thrumming toxicity, like the sweetest of poisons lulling a peaceful death of complacency.

James cries out to the crowd, putting on a show between the songs, Sirius joining in, striking over the strings of his guitar in a scream of sound to punctuate his friend's words, riling the people further, awakening the remaining sleeping parts within them. They talk about their new album, share small anecdotes and tidbits of information, all of it building to something that slowly begins to twist Sirius' stomach into knots.

The song they'd chosen to play is finished, completed in its entirety, and it's not the first Sirius has been nervous about sharing, but it's one he's still not certain about, diving deep, cutting to the quick of his heart, digging like razor blades into his very soul. He'd written it right after Remus had been released from the hospital after the festival, his emotions strong, nearly overwhelming. He'd hesitated in even sharing it with the others, but eventually had, his friends ultimately leaving the decision up to him but finally talking him around to the idea of adding it to the album, calling it one of his best, something Sirius still isn't completely convinced.

James introduces the song, his voice softening to a low hum of sound, eyes flickering back to Sirius as though checking. Sirius gnaws on the inside of his cheek but nods imperceptibly in response, kicking in with the beginning chords, Remus joining along with him, the drumbeats a quiet thing within the arena, gentle and embracing. His gaze remains fixed on Sirius as the words start, watching him closely, the music staying soft for a while, the patter of a heart beating under ribs, rain on a metal roof, soothing, spreading, infecting the crowd as they simmer down, lights flickering to life everywhere they look.

"Disappointment, terrorization. Layers thick with condemnation. Can't sway the words, never change the heart, always the failure from the start."

Sirius' fingers stiffen against his will over his strings, his chest feeling tight, something thick and burning rising in his throat, overtaking his air, cutting it off. He tries to swallow around it, feels a bit faint for a moment before it passes, Remus' eyes still locked on him, Sirius seeking them out and nodding again as the other man smiles in his encouraging way that sends ripples of gratefulness rolling down the length of his spine.

"Say you want me, tell those lies. Lead me by the hand to the cliffside." James hits the first chorus and the music intensifies a little but also remains soft like a gritty lullaby. It rumbles through Sirius, ricochets inside his head and seeps through his body to his fingertips and toes, overtaking him, somehow maybe releasing him. "Build me up, tear me down, push me beneath the water until I drown."

James keeps singing, words pouring out of him just as they'd spilled from Sirius months ago, filling a page with his uncaring handwriting, messy and sloppy and simply there, existing and mattering more than he'd been willing to admit. He sings about the gravitation around acceptance, that found love that had always been lacking, family assembling sturdy walls to keep out the most terrible of things with gates that always allowed the good safe passage.

As he reaches the second chorus, the music picks up, a crescendo attacking their ears and hearts, thrumming through Sirius. He takes one more fleeting glance at Remus before he's stepping up beside James, the other looking at him expectantly. James stops playing, only his voice carrying out around them, Remus' crying out with it, harmonies layering, stars dancing in the night sky, beautiful and rewarding and so magical it hurts. A warm arm wraps its way around Sirius' shoulders, careful not to hinder his own movements as his fingers attempt to shred apart to the bone, flying over his strings, eyes fixed on James and not the crowd ahead, not able to look at them as the words soar around them, towering like colossal skyscrapers, stretching towards the brightest of suns.

"Say you want me, tell those truths. Lead me by the hand through this youth. Build me up, keep me whole, absolve my past, shield the foxhole."

The song keeps going, but Sirius is forced to tune it out then, focusing on the music instead, filling himself with it and the flood encircling him, care and love bleeding into him. He still doesn't know if the song had been a good idea, isn't sure if he'll ever feel like it was, but for now, with the crowd swaying in front of them, James' arm a solid weight around him, Peter moving in closer like a steady force of devotion, and Remus' eyes planted on Sirius' back, trickling droplets of warmth down his spine, Sirius can let it go for just a while, long enough to savor the moment, his heart crashing under his ribs in rhythm with Remus' own music.

They finish their performance on a high note, having chosen a fan favorite, a sort of anthem, one of their largest successes to date. The people scream at their feet, arms raised high, clamoring for them, singing along, a cacophony of sound filling the space and surrounding them like sweet molasses. The crowd begins throwing things as they draw to a close, something that isn't out of the ordinary. Some of the items they've even kept over the years, but only the more innocuous of what they're given. Bears, some shirts, Remus hanging onto a few sets of special drumsticks, even using them from time to time and gathering excitement from their crowds.

Just as they're turning to leave the stage with large waves of their arms and hands, something soars over the stage, landing squarely on James' head. He stops and blinks in surprise, glancing up in bafflement as Sirius barks out a loud burst of laughter, reaching up to pluck the lacy pink knickers from his friend's head as they continue to exit the stage, muffling the worst of the sound behind them.

Sirius waves them in front of James' face enticingly. "A gift, Jamesie," he announces sweetly. "Aren't you so lucky? Want me to frame them and have them hung from your wall, or would you rather just keep them to fondle?"

James laughs along with him, but he abruptly stops when they run into Regulus, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and face a roiling mess of dark, ominous clouds gathering on a grave horizon. Sirius eyes his brother for a moment before a smirk spreads into place over his features.

"Or maybe Reg would like them instead." Sirius waves the lace around tantalizingly, but the other man only deepens his disapproving look. Sirius scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You're no fun."

He turns to Remus at his side as James sidles up next to Regulus sweetly, smiling at his boyfriend innocently. "It's not like I asked for them, Reggie," Sirius hears him mumble before he tunes them out.

"Reeeeemus," coos Sirius, beaming at him beatifically, dangling the knickers in front of Remus' face, mischief taking over every line. "Any interest?" he teases.

Remus eyes Sirius silently before his gaze drops to the pink fabric pinched between his fingers. His expression remains stoic as he reaches out and grabs them, stuffing them deeply into his pocket. Sirius nearly balks and squawks in indignation, barely restraining both, aware of the others around them. Remus stares at him, eyebrows twitching as though daring Sirius to say one word, his brown eyes glittering fiendishly, promises contained within them that heats Sirius from his center and pushes outwards.

"All right," remarks Sirius, voice a bit petulant as he tries to ignore the small twinge of jealousy rising inside him, gaze dropping to Remus' pocket briefly, "get me out of this shit. I need food."

Mary is on him in an instant, hands and fingers plucking at each of them, her mouth already running about how good they looked but she thinks she needs to make a few tweaks to their wardrobes. Sirius stifles a groan, because Mary always wants to make alterations to what they wear and how they look.

When they're all changed out of their stage garb, they trail through the corridors of the arena and out the back, Lily at the head and Dorcas following behind, eyes watchful as they push through the double metal doors. There's a crowd that's gathered on either side of iron blockades, something that happens periodically, fans waiting to hopefully speak with them, gain photos, or get autographs. Sirius tenses a bit when their voices reach him, noticing the other three doing the same, something that had never happened before this moment, but he relaxes soon enough. People would be fools to try much of anything with Dorcas and Lily around.

They'd been laughed at in the beginning when they'd first started to gain success in the Muggle world, the media attempting to make a mockery of them when they'd only ever emerged with a two-woman team as their security, but they'd known better. Soon enough, the world had as well, squashing the doubt that had spiraled outwards, the laughter fading into awe as everyone watched Lily and Dorcas run circles around them, a heavy force of subtle intimidation, the pair never hesitating to step in and twist arms when necessary or threaten other injuries, things Sirius and the others could no longer do themselves without drawing the wrong sort of attention. The fans had learned, mostly, to steer clear of the two women, though there were still incidents on random occasions.

"I'm starved," moans out Peter as they navigate through the long strip of barriers, ducking and dodging reaching hands with practiced ease. They wave and smile a bit as they venture towards the waiting bus, something that won't be used as more than a shield to hide their Apparition but a necessary evil after most performances. "Where should we eat? Pan-Asian sounds good."

James twists his nose in distaste. "I don't think I want to be so…noticeable right now," he mutters, plastering on another smile as he continues waving and nodding his head at the people clamoring for them along the sides. "The Grinning Kneazle?"

"But their food is terrible!" protests Peter.

"Yeah, but it's still food," interjects Sirius. "Just take me somewhere I can bloody eat. I don't care and you shouldn't either." As Peter opens his mouth to retort, Sirius pins him with a glare. "Food, Wormtail. Let me have it or it'll be all your heads. Yours will be the first to go."

Peter scowls at him but says nothing else, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at Sirius moodily. Sirius sticks his tongue out at his friend, only stopping when Remus clears his throat.

"We could just go back to ours," he suggests almost serenely. "Effie brought down an entire cottage pie. Should be enough for all of us unless Padfoot's eaten through it already."

Sirius stops and turns to Remus, mouth falling open indignantly. "She brought it this morning!" he cries, staring at Remus as the other man stifles a laugh against his wrist. "It's an entire dish. Do you think I'm some sort of monstrous disposal?"

"It is your favorite," remarks Remus casually, tilting his head slightly. "She only makes it for you because you refuse to eat shepherd's pie."

"It's the lamb, Moony. You know I can't stomach it after it was forced on me so often in my defenseless childhood." Remus snorts as the others shake their heads and continue forward. Sirius frowns at the other man but eventually concedes. "All right, you may have a small point, but it's all still there. We should – agh!"

Something grabs at his jacket unexpectedly, yanking Sirius backwards. He forgets to struggle for a moment, too surprised by what's happening, and it's only when he realizes it's the hands of a fan, having reached far over the barrier and snagged him with insistent fingers, that he reacts at all. Sirius attempts to pull away, but the hands hold fast, more grabbing for him, tugging at the leather, grasping onto locks of hair, someone gripping his wrist with more force than necessary.

Sirius begins to fight then, attempting to jab his elbow back into one of the people to gain his freedom, but even that is being held tightly, restraining his movements. He grunts and thrashes a bit, trying to knock them loose, a feat that proves useless, more hands clamoring over him, yanking sharply at his hair until it smarts pain over his scalp like a blistering burn.

"Fuck, gerroff me!" he shouts, words muffled as someone tries to paw over the front of his face, Sirius doing everything he can to dodge it.

Dorcas is there now, a blur of fury, her face dark and shadowed with rage as she attempts to separate Sirius from the people grabbing at him. Fingers find the skin beneath his shirt somehow and Sirius growls deeply, his body lurching, trying to run away from the unwanted contact, Dorcas still struggling and failing despite her best efforts. Lily is approaching quickly, Sirius able to see her from the corner of his eye, an inferno of blazing red as she advances and lashes out, the others following close behind, all of them prying clawing fingers away, everything useless as Sirius is forced further backwards until he's wedged against the cold iron of the barrier, the crowd attempting to drag him over.

His hands are beginning to contort into fists at his sides, ready to swing as his breathing falters, stuttering in his chest, throat constricting. Panic is overtaking every part of him, but Sirius refuses to let it stake a claim this time. One fist is lifting, preparing to strike, when a sturdy arm wraps firmly around his waist, pulling him forward with rough force, finally separating Sirius from the fans. He stumbles a bit, only the hold on him keeping him supported as he rights himself, his breath slowly returning as Sirius looks sideways to find Remus at his side, pressed tightly against him, half in front, like a shield. His eyes are burning coals in a fireplace, red-hot and enraged, face a mask of solid steel.

"Do not touch him," hisses Remus, somehow permeating the noise surrounding them, everything dying down, turning almost sluggish, a slow crawl of time as Sirius stares at the other man, his panic retreating and something else taking its place. Remus gives him a gentle tug, urging Sirius to move with him as his attention turns to the others. "Let's go," he says, his tone not accepting any arguments, his arm remaining around Sirius as they begin to walk.

Someone attempts to lunge at them again, but Dorcas bodily shoves them backwards, her eyes flashing hostilely. "Keep your fucking hands away from him unless you want your nose jammed into your skull permanently," she threatens viciously.

They trudge forward in a nearly single file line, only Sirius and Remus doubled up because of his hold around Sirius. Lily leads them to the bus, opening the doors and then ushering them through as she remains on the ground, waiting for the others. As soon as they're inside and up the few steps that lead to the main part of the vehicle, Remus releases Sirius and turns him until they're face to face. His hands rake over his body, wherever he can touch, tugging up his shirt and inspecting skin, twisting him to look at his back before angling him forward again, palms finally settling over both sides of his jaw and staying.

"Are you okay?" he demands. Before Sirius has a chance to answer, Remus is barreling forward. "Are you hurt? Fuck, Sirius, they just grabbed you and pulled and I – I – "

Sirius' own hands grip around Remus' upper arms, fingers digging into skin through his coat. "I'm fine, Moony," he assures quietly. He squeezes just a little. "I'm fine. They didn't do anything but touch."

Remus releases a strangled noise, his eyes wide and frightened now that the ire is fading from them. He tugs Sirius towards him, mouth sealing over mouth in a panicked, relieved kiss, Sirius' head spinning with it, whether from lack of oxygen or Remus himself Sirius doesn't know and can't find it in him to care. When they finally separate, Remus presses their foreheads together, the pair standing there in silence, Remus' eyes closed as Sirius watches him avidly, barely daring to breathe. They stay that way until a throat clears to their sides, both men springing apart at the reminder that they aren't alone, though Remus doesn't fully release Sirius, his hands dropping to Sirius' waist instead, keeping him close.

"Well," says Dorcas, the word clipped as it emerges from her mouth, "that's new."

James clears his throat. "Eh…not exactly new," he says from where he and Lily stand at the back of the group. Sirius casts him a reproachful glare and James lifts his hands in apology, though Sirius doesn't miss the faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The others stare between Sirius and Remus, taking in Remus' half-possessive, protective hold on Sirius, everyone still looking a bit harried from the ruckus outside the bus, which is now moving, driven by a wizard paid very well to remain silent on all matters concerning the band. Dorcas and Mary seem a bit shocked, their eyes wide, Peter quiet and observing. Regulus is fixated on Sirius, his face blank, mouth sealed closed, Sirius unable to bring himself to look directly at his brother.

"Not new?" parrots Mary, her mouth parting slightly. "How long, then?"

Sirius glances at Remus, the other man meeting his gaze with a small shrug, acceptance in his expression. Sirius licks over his dry lips and steels himself for what he knows is coming.

"Nearly two months."

"Two months!" cries Dorcas in outrage. "You've been hiding this from us for two months? Were you ever planning to tell us? And you two!" She rounds suddenly, focusing on Lily and James, the latter taking a step back and hiding halfway behind the red head. "You knew! You knew and you said nothing! Why?"

Lily gazes back at Dorcas calmly as James shuffles one foot and motions to Remus and Sirius. "We were letting them sort themselves out," he explains, sounding a bit contrite. "You know how they are. Not the brightest wands of the bunch when it comes to things like this."

"Oi!" exclaims Sirius, but he's wilting when Dorcas turns back to him, a small amount of hurt in her eyes.

"It wasn't our information to share, Dorcas," says Lily truthfully.

Dorcas shakes her head, still latched onto Sirius. "Why didn't you tell me?" she presses, voice guarded and strained. "It should have been you."

Sirius swallows around the thickness of guilt and shame gathering in his throat. "I'm sorry, Cas," he murmurs. "We wanted to tell you, but we were giving ourselves time to figure it out. It's different than most relationships, isn't it? We've been friends for nearly two decades. You can't go from one extreme to the other overnight."

Dorcas nods, the motion a bit jerky, her mouth pulling into a wry smile as she looks away for a moment before pinning Sirius again. "You mean like Marlene and me?" she says almost accusingly, and Sirius winces. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I could have helped?" Sirius blinks at her, his mouth opening but no sound emerging, because he hadn't, not once. He shakes his head and Dorcas snorts angrily. "No, of course not. Sirius Black, egotistical Casanova. Isn't that what all the papers call you? That man doesn't need help from anyone, not even friends."

"Dorcas," hisses Remus warningly, but Dorcas shifts her incensed gaze to him quickly.

"Don't talk to me, Lupin," she snaps. "You had every opportunity to say something as well."

Remus appears a bit angry as well, though it's tampered by the hints of his own guilt at its edges. He glances around at Sirius, frowning slightly, seemingly repentant, but it's Peter that pulls them all back a little.

"It's about time," he remarks, leaning back on his heels and staring between the pair. "You two have been dancing around one another for years now. It was becoming tiring. I was nearly ready to lock you both in a room until you either strangled one another or shagged."

Remus chokes as Sirius glares at his friend, but Peter only smiles brightly at them both, appearing proud and happy. James reaches forward, wary of Dorcas still, and claps Peter on the shoulder.

"Good man," he proclaims.

"Enough," interjects Regulus abruptly, pulling their attention. It's the first time he's spoken since they'd stepped on the bus. His face is still carefully closed off, grey eyes darker than usual. He's no longer looking at Sirius, like he can't force himself any longer. "Home. Now."

They all stare at him for a moment before James creeps forward slowly and says hesitantly, "Do you mean home home or – "

Regulus continues to keep his eyes away from Sirius and Remus as he motions to them. "Theirs," he grates out, and then he's gone with a loud crack, leaving the others staring at the spot where he'd once stood.

The rest of their group slowly pop out of existence as well, Sirius and Remus lingering the longest. Remus still hasn't let go of Sirius, and he's beginning to wonder if the other man ever will again, something Sirius can't say he has a problem with currently. He leans a bit as his eyes flicker around the now empty bus, Remus pressing against him easily. Fingers slowly drift along the side of his jaw, nudging at his chin, urging Sirius to turn his head. When he does, Remus smiles at him and then he's shifting just enough to kiss him, the action soft, barely a graze of lips, but it manages to ground Sirius back to earth for a while.

"C'mon," coaxes Remus, his hands gripping around Sirius' waist. "Let's go face the music we created."

Sirius snorts and shakes his head derisively, but the motion finally alters to a nod. Remus kisses at the corner of his mouth once more, and then he's turning on his heels, pulling Sirius along with him as they're squeezed through that compressing tubing and spit back out on the path leading to their front door.

As soon as they step inside, Marlene is on them, having emerged from the studio where she'd been working while they were gone. She shoves at them roughly, small hands connecting with their shoulders.

"You arseholes, I can't believe you never said anything!" she rants, but she doesn't appear angry like Dorcas or Regulus, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's bloody time. Now, come on, tell the truth. You've had a go in the booth, haven't you? Recorded yourselves. I noticed a while back that someone had messed around with the controls and there was a disc missing. Kinky."

Sirius grunts as Remus flushes a deep red beside him. "We haven't. Piss off with that," he says quickly, averting his eyes. Marlene smirks at him.

"Liar," she tosses out carelessly. "You won't even look at me."

Sirius fixes his eyes on her purposefully, staring her down. "We didn't have a go in the booth. Or anywhere else for that matter," he snaps. "And our sex lives are none of your fucking business."

"Oh," says Marlene, her eyes widening, shifting between the pair. "Oh, I see. Well. Obviously, they're no one's fucking business, are they? Not even your own."

Sirius scowls, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but Remus squirms a bit beside him and speaks up before Sirius can.

"Marlene, stop. Sirius is right. It's none of your concern."

Marlene's expression falters a little as she glances at Remus. She finally relents, lifting her hands into the air and taking a step back.

"Right," she murmurs. "I still can't believe neither of you said anything."

She moves away then, venturing further into the main room where everyone else is seated and watching them. Sirius and Remus stare around at their friends, a sense of dread infecting Sirius the longer the silence stretches on. Eventually, it's Regulus that cracks it open, his voice quiet and reserved.

"Say your peace, all of you, and then go home," he instructs. "There's a photoshoot tomorrow in preparation of the album release."

Everyone remains silent for a minute before they erupt, a wall of sound barreling into the two men still standing by the front door. Dorcas and Mary are throwing out accusations and words of disappointment, Peter and Marlene laughing between themselves and stating that they don't understand the problem with any of it, all while James and Lily attempt to defend Remus and Sirius along with themselves. As they watch with furrowed brows and mounting exasperation, Sirius slips his fingers between Remus', the other man squeezing faintly as Sirius tugs their joined hands behind their backs.

"That's enough!" Lily finally shouts, quelling the noise that's swelled and taken over the room. She glares around at each of them in turn, her form rippling with outrage and disappointment. "What is wrong with all of you? This isn't your life, and you have no right to pass any sort of judgment. Shame on you all. Did either of them badger at you when your relationships first started? Of course they didn't! They let you sort it out for yourselves and allowed you to come to them when you were ready to talk about it, no matter how long that took." Her blazing green eyes settle on Regulus for a moment, the other man ignoring her. "Why aren't they permitted the same courtesy? These are your friends. You have no claim on them because of it, and contrary to widespread and popular belief, they are not yours for the taking. Stop acting like fanatics and behave as the friends I know you all are."

Everyone simmers down after that, chastised and heads hanging a bit lower. They begin to trail away soon enough, muttering apologies, though Dorcas stops in front of them briefly before she and Marlene depart.

"I'm still bloody pissed off at you," she informs. Sirius nods once, and then Dorcas punches him in the upper arm, only using half her strength. Sirius offers her a small smile that she begrudgingly returns, the two women leaving immediately after.

Only James and Regulus remain after that, James murmuring quietly to Regulus, the other man not responding. They slowly trail to the door, Regulus still refusing to look at Sirius and having not spoken since his earlier order. Sirius watches him warily when his brother stops as he reaches for the door handle, hand freezing in midair.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asks, refusing to turn around.

Sirius winces a bit at the hollowness he can hear in his brother's voice. James looks at him from behind Regulus' back, his message clear in the arrangement of his features. I knew this would happen.

"Eventually," mutters Sirius. Regulus says nothing, still standing rooted to the spot, not attempting to open the door. "Can you blame me, Reg? You've never exactly been the most supportive, have you?"

Regulus turns slowly then, something flashing through his grey eyes, a sort of righteous indignation that he can't manage to stifle quickly enough to hide it away. His mouth twists and wobbles until it pulls into a straight line, his lips thin and pressed together tightly.

"When will you understand," he begins, the hollowness remaining around the edges of the chill creeping into his voice, "that everything I have done has been for you instead of against? Will you ever see it? I've never claimed issues with what you've chosen to do, not once. Date whoever you like, sleep with men, have a fucking relationship with your best mate. It makes no difference to me. All I've ever asked is that you don't do it in the public eye."

"Then what's the point, Regulus?" snaps Sirius, acid surging up his throat. "Can't you see that's part of the problem?"

"Do you even want that, Sirius?" launches Regulus in return, his words a vicious snarl, his mask shattering to pieces.

Sirius pulls back from him as though slapped, but Regulus simply rounds on his heel and barges through the door, dragging James with him. James casts a quick apologetic glance in his friends' direction before they're gone, the wood closing with a gentle snick of sound behind them.

--------------------

Later that night finds Sirius in his bed, knees drawn up and spread wide as he tries to relax. His head is full of Regulus' accusing words, so brief but somehow jarring, and he can't manage to shake them away no matter how hard he tries.

Remus lays sprawled over the foot of his mattress, stretched out on his side, propping himself up with one elbow. He'd wandered in not long after Sirius carrying two cups of tea, his now gone while Sirius' sets on the side table mostly untouched. His brown eyes watch Sirius, observing, sweeping over him periodically as though he's searching for something that can't be easily seen.

"I'm fine, Moony," murmurs Sirius, one arm draped over his upheld knee, burning cigarette dangling from between his loose fingers.

"I know," responds Remus softly with a small nod of his head.

Sirius pulls the fag up to his lips and inhales a haul, squinting at Remus through the smoke that lifts into the air between them. "I am," he reinforces as he exhales, his voice a bit strained from the action.

Remus smiles at him, just a little. "I know you are, Sirius," he says just as quietly as before. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching anytime soon."

Sirius stubs what's left of the cigarette out in the ashtray by his hip, not looking at Remus, unsure how to feel about that declaration. He swallows around the lump gathering in his throat before he attempts to clear it.

"Think I'm going to bed," he announces brusquely.

"Okay."

Remus doesn't move and Sirius finally glances up at him again.

"Are you?"

Remus hums, a small sound invading the air. "Yes," he says, "but I think I might like to stay." His head tilts a bit to the side, golden brown waves cascading across half his forehead. "Helps with the watching."

Sirius stares at him, fighting back the increase of his heart rate beginning to thunder in his chest. "Yeah, all right," he agrees, a simple enough response that leaves him feeling adrift and aching for reasons he can't explain.

Brown eyes study him for another long moment before Remus shifts and straightens. He kicks his shoes off and stands, slipping from his jeans and down to his pants. Sirius watches him from the corner of his eye as he sets the ashtray to the side and begins to sink down into the bed, but Remus stops him as he climbs in beside him.

"What are you doing?" he asks gently, fingers finding the hem of Sirius' shirt and closing over it. "You never sleep like this."

His breath catches at the base of his throat as he stares back at Remus, but he finally nods, mute now, unable to speak even if he had words in his head to say. Remus gives the fabric a testing tug, and Sirius lifts his arms willingly, allowing the shirt to be pulled up and over his head. By the time his hair settles and falls away from his face, Remus has gone still, eyes fixed on a section of Sirius' skin halfway down his side. Sirius glances at where the other man is staring and resists the urge to wince when he spies the darkening bruises there.

"They're fine," he mumbles. "I didn't even know they were there. You know I've always bruised easily."

Remus' gaze jerks up to meet his own, eyes hardened to stone, mildly reproachful, and Sirius falls silent under its weight. The other man reaches out slowly, his own fingers connecting with the battered flesh, tracing the edges of the marks. Sirius shivers with the touch and Remus watches him carefully, his hand trailing up, creating a steady path as he searches out more stains, nails grazing over inked lines as they go.

Sirius closes his eyes as the sensations trickle outwards, but they fly open again when he feels warm lips press to the skin of his shoulder. He glances around, finding Remus staring up at him with a quiet sort of rapture as he kisses across the bruises he can reach, more of them existing than Sirius had thought possible. The other man's arm winds around him, shifting them both down into the bed as he reaches over and turns out the lamp, plunging them into a deep darkness.

Fingers graze along Sirius' side, idle motions, tracing ribs, memorizing lines. Remus is warm beside him, wrapped around him, his face nuzzled into the curvature of Sirius' neck, and he thinks he would stay like this always if he could.

"We didn't sign up for this," murmurs Remus after a stretch of silence, only their breathing filling the stillness of the room surrounding them.

Sirius shakes his head, his own fingers searching out Remus' wrist beneath the blankets, conforming around the bones there. "I think we did," he whispers in return, and they don't speak again, not one word, eventually drifting away to sleep together, warm and safe, if only for the night. 

Chapter Text

It's a bitterly sweet thing, completing an album. They all put so much of themselves into it, not just the foursome, but Marlene and Regulus as well. They all have their parts to play, and they're almost there, Marlene applying the finishing touches, Regulus organizing what comes next, while the four friends continue to work on recording.

They've got one song left, saving it for last, tailoring it to perfection. They'd decided to name the album after it and make it their first released single once it's finished. There's a music video already in the works that they'll have to throw themselves into, long hours and numerous late nights, but it leaves a lingering thrum in their veins that's visible from the outside.

No one is taking it more seriously than Remus, working tirelessly on his vocals, Sirius finding him on several occasions singing in the shower or as he putters around their kitchen. He stands back and listens in these moments, watching when he can, losing himself in that splendor of a voice that chases tingles down his spine and into his extremities. Remus always smiles shyly and goes quiet whenever he catches Sirius staring at him, but Sirius only sidles up behind him, wrapping his arms around the other man's middle, pressing his hand gently over his diaphragm as he noses at the back of his neck, encouraging him to continue.

"There's a reason I asked you to sing it," he'll murmur into warm skin as Remus hums in contentment.

"And what reason is that?"

But Sirius never responds, lips pressing against flesh, dragging along a stubble-rough jaw, searching out the other's mouth and losing himself further, everything else ceasing to matter, only for a while.

The day they finally finish is a strange thing. They're in the booth together, their instruments choiring around them, Remus singing, James adding the backing vocals. Everything fades out eventually and silence falls as they all stand and stare at one another. They know it even before the speakers crackle, Marlene's voice ringing out of them, crisp and clear, excitement vibrating just beneath its surface.

"That's it," she says simply.

Sirius meets each of his friends' eyes individually, lingering a few extra seconds on Remus. "That's it," he repeats, and then he's beaming as James whoops, throwing his arm into the air. Peter bounces a bit on the balls of his feet in glee, Remus sitting behind them and smiling proudly.

Sirius springs over to James, whipping his guitar around to his back as he pounces, arm wrapping over his friend's shoulders as his hand comes up to ruffle his hair roughly. James grumbles in protest, but barely fights, laughter spilling from between his open lips, split into a wide smile.

"Get your arses out here!" calls Marlene from the other side. "I've got champagne, and none of that cheap shite. This is the good stuff."

They deposit their instruments quickly after that, hastening from the room, all bright giddiness as Marlene pops the cork with a cry of delight and begins to fill their glasses. They raise them high in the air to a chorus of, "To Scatter the Shadows!" and then they're drinking, Sirius barely taking a sip before his nose is twisting.

"Oh, c'mon, Pads," says Peter in amazement. "After all this time, you'd think you would have developed a taste for it. Parties and celebrations and all that rot. And you're a Black! Didn't you grow up with things like this?"

Sirius scowls for a moment at his friend, but he can't hold it for long, his enthusiasm for what they've done overpowering everything else. "I don't understand why it's fizzy," he mumbles, staring at all the bubbles tickling the sides of his flute. "Alcohol shouldn't be fizzy. It's an abomination."

"You're an abomination," mutters James into his own glass.

"Beer is fizzy," comments Remus calmly from where he's seated himself on the plush sofa.

"Beer," states Sirius, pointing a finger at Remus, "is foamy. There's a difference. And you," he continues, turning back to James, "are a ponce."

"Oi! I resent that," calls James from across the room. "I may be kept, but I keep in return." He waggles his eyebrows at Sirius. "And I've never received a complaint."

Sirius gags audibly and the others laugh around him. "That's my brother!" he protests. "Can you not with the sex jokes?"

"I'm your brother, too," counters James quickly. "Where's the line, Padfoot? Where's the line drawn?"

"It's drawn around my brother's – "

"Cheers to the album!" cuts in Remus, interrupting Sirius before he can finish his thought. Sirius sputters and frowns, angling a glare in Remus' direction, the other man only smiling at him smugly.

"To the album!" cries out Marlene, already on her second glass.

"You're all wankers," grumbles Sirius.

"Speak for yourself, mate!" intones James with a large smirk. "I'm getting mine, or have you already forgotten?"

Peter and Marlene laugh loudly as Sirius balks. "That's just rude – "

"I need to consider finding new friends," mumbles Remus thoughtfully, staring at his own glass, tracking the dancing bubbles with his eyes. Sirius drops down on the sofa beside him as the other three continue to blabber across from them, Sirius giving up.

"You love us," he chimes idly, resting back into the cushions.

Remus hums, his gaze drifting to the trio on the other side of the room. "Suppose I do," he agrees. "What a shame that is." But there's a warmth invading his tone, turning it soft and inviting.

Sirius looks at him, studying the side of his face, and it's taking over his vocal cords before he has any hope of stopping it or even realizes it's coming.

"I love you, Moony."

Remus' head whips around quickly, and Sirius can see him stiffen in pain from the spasm the action must have caused. He stares at Sirius silently, his eyes guarded but slowly opening, blossoming as Sirius watches. His breath is escaping him again, mind screaming at him for being so stupid, but he thinks that's ridiculous because it doesn't feel stupid, something in the words right just as they always have been, except more now than ever before.

"Do you?" Remus' voice drops to a whisper, barely audible, and Sirius blinks at him, but the answer is so simple that it aches in a deep part of him.

"Yes," he says emphatically, his own voice shaking even as he tries to stop it. "Yes," he repeats, more firmly this time, and then Sirius is shifting, pressing close, his free hand coming to rest along the line of Remus' jaw. "I always have. You're my best friend, Remus, but this is – it's different, isn't it?"

He can feel it beneath his fingers when Remus swallows, staring at him, hope bleeding into his brown eyes. Remus nods a little, the smallest of movements, and then he's closing the distance between them, taking the kiss from Sirius that he's offering willingly, throwing outwards and begging the other man to catch and claim. It seeps, infects, thrums through his body like lightning, bursting his every nerve ending to life beneath the flesh and sinew that makes him up but doesn't make him who he is, Remus somehow creeping into those hollow places of his soul Sirius had never realized existed until they'd begun to fill slowly, years ago, decades past.

His chest stutters as they separate, still close, breath from one breathed in by the other, lips remaining parted and hovering just within reach. Sirius' eyes trace the line of Remus' nose in front of him, skimming over freckles he's only begun to memorize as the important little smudges and stains they are, creating images from their curious clusters that cascade over cheekbones, an intriguing path stretching to one ear and up its shell. Sirius longs to suck it between his teeth and never release, but he stops himself before he moves.

A boisterous cry lurches Sirius back to himself and their present company as Marlene laughs loudly at James' now sodden shirt, their friend staring down at himself mulishly. The other three don't seem to have noticed anything transpiring on the other side of the room from them, and Sirius thinks that might be for the best, though he can't figure out how they'd missed the entire world softening and dissolving away around them.

--------------------

They have a proper celebration a few days later, everyone showing up on their doorstep toting food and bottles of Firewhisky and rum, butterbeers clinking delicately under arms, festive puddings that fill their fridge for later indulgence. James' parents even make an appearance and partake a bit, Euphemia patting at all their cheeks affectionately, saying how very proud she is of them all, Fleamont beaming with pride and delight.

Marlene produces a rough copy of the album and sets it up to play through the house, magically enhanced to permeate every room. They drink and eat, talk, jest, but sometimes, when a song starts, or a particular section of lyrics slips from the speakers, they all fall quiet, simply listening, taking it in.

Regulus makes an appearance, but he's the only one that leaves quickly, remaining for barely half an hour before he's gone, Sirius tracking him with his eyes. His brother has been colder since the news about Sirius and Remus had been forced into the open amongst their friends, avoiding Sirius for the most part, rarely speaking unless necessary, words short and clipped off at their edges. James claims he's fine, simply working hard to get everything ready for them, but Sirius knows his brother better than that, waiting for what he's aware is coming, Regulus like a deceptively dormant volcano simmering to life slowly where it can't be seen.

By the time the Potters bid them goodnight, Euphemia promising to bring down some of her pork pies the following day, eliciting a miserable groan but a large smile from Sirius, Peter and Lily are already very red-faced, lounging together in an oversized armchair, singing along with lyrics only Peter knows by heart. The other four are sprawled over the floor in a sort of strange half-circle, half-square formation, shoulders of one person laying across the legs of another. They're exchanging stories everyone already knows by now, but Sirius watches them fondly from where he's stretched out on the sofa with Remus, alcohol-heavy head resting in the other man's lap, his thighs the perfect pillow.

Fingers comb through the length of his hair as Sirius laughs along with his friends beneath him, his eyelids fluttering closed periodically before he remembers he's meant to be watching and opens them again, each time more of a struggle than the last. Remus above him is nearly fine, though he's drunk at least as much as Sirius has, if not more. It's one of the injustices Sirius had discovered in their youth, Remus' ability to drink them all under any table or surface and barely suffer the effects, something about his body metabolizing the liquor faster than the others.

Sirius shifts his gaze to stare at the other man, Remus appearing nearly serene as his fingertips graze along Sirius' forehead and over his scalp. Sirius squints at him.

"S'unfair, y'know," he mumbles, his words thick and drawling, morphing together at their centers. Remus looks down at him, arching one honeyed eyebrow in curiosity. "Tha' you metabicize – melaborize? Whass the word?"

The corners of Remus' mouth quirk up in poorly disguised amusement. "Metabolize," he murmurs, rolling a lock of Sirius' dark hair around his forefinger.

"That's it! S'unfair that you do that."

Remus chuckles quietly, eyes fixed on Sirius' face, marking details, spreading a glowing little warmth through Sirius' entire body that bubbles wonderfully. "You do it, too, you know? Metabolize things. Everyone does."

"Not like you," sighs Sirius, his eyelids drifting closed once more.

"It's just different. You're different," says Remus, voice still gentle and soft, fingers continuing in their movements through his hair as he hums a little. "That's what makes you better than me."

"M'not!" exclaims Sirius, his eyes flying open again, the room spinning a bit as he tries to focus on Remus' swirling face, who stares down at him with an affectionate, loving sort of smile.

"You are," affirms Remus effortlessly, his tone soothing as though speaking with a child. Sirius isn't sure if that should perturb him or not, but he eventually lets it slip away. "You're also adorable when you're sloshed and have gone legless."

"M'not adorable," grumbles Sirius petulantly, rolling and smooshing his nose into Remus hip. His next words come out muffled. "Or pissed. You're a liar, Lupin. Dunno what ya're talking 'bout, do ya?"

Remus hums, a quiet, barely audible sound. His fingers grip into Sirius' hair, providing the strands with a commanding sort of tug. Sirius shifts his head back enough to look up at the other man, seeing the brown of his eyes steadily darkening, pupils blowing wider as Sirius watches. Heat thrashes through him, Remus' hold not relenting, firming instead, and it's only now that Sirius realizes where his head is, how close he is to that permeating warmth, how easily he could turn just slightly and –

A hunger begins to invade him, gnawing across his bones, chewing muscles to shreds. Sirius licks over his lips, gone dry in the moment, feeling Remus tense a little beneath him as he tracks Sirius' tongue with the blossoming black of his eyes. Sirius lays still for a while but finally moves, a nearly imperceptible shift, though it's enough to have those fingers stretching the skin of his scalp as they grasp tighter around his hair. He forgets about the others in the room as his gaze drops downwards and then darts back up quickly, catching Remus', the other man's mouth parting open just barely, and it's only James' loud voice that pulls them back to the surface.

"Careful there, mates," he calls out, Sirius jolting in surprise over Remus' lap, the fingers in his hair loosening and then retreating. "It's that sort of thing that started the whole Spencer incident a few years back."

Sirius rolls again quickly, angling his head in the opposite direction, blood pounding harshly through his ears, drowning out too many sounds around him. He feels Remus sag back into the cushions under him, like something's been released, a thickness expelling itself into the air, sharp and torturous as Sirius breathes it in.

"You said you'd never bring that up again," accuses Sirius waspishly.

"The bloke that slept with the famous Sirius Black and didn't even know it?" scoffs James in humor. "Not bloody likely. It's hilarious. I'll never stop talking about it."

"He wasn't meant to know."

"And yet he found out. Curious."

"Only because you," hisses Sirius, jabbing a finger in his friend's direction, "sent him that fucking stuffed black dog with Snuffles plastered over it. You've teased that enough in public. He put two and two together and came up with four. Amazing, isn't it?"

James only shrugs, squinting across the room at Sirius. "I thought he deserved a consolation gift for bagging you so thoroughly," he claims loftily. "You didn't stop talking about poor Spencer for days. I thought you were pining."

"I was not," protests Sirius indignantly. "He was a lousy shag. Barely knew how to use a hand or find anything that mattered."

Lily cringes from across the room, she and Peter having now finished singing, paying attention to the conversation as well. "That's not what you want," she remarks, her words mildly slurred. "Right? It's the same with women. Terrible when it can't be found. Bit disappointing."

Sirius groans and rubs over his face with one hand roughly, the stubble on his jaw scraping his palm. "Founders, help me," he mutters.

"Why would they do that?" quips James, sounding far too amused for Sirius' liking.

"Why would you send a bloody participation award to a dreadful fuck?" exclaims Sirius, his temper flaring at his friend's continued gracelessness. "Reg nearly took my head from my shoulders. That was a nightmare to clean up, and it never would have happened if not for you."

James looks directly at him, the wide smile not fading from his face though it doesn't reach his eyes, something within them stoic and edged with steel. "Just seemed like fun," he gives breezily.

Sirius sits up quickly, his legs swinging over the side of the sofa, ignoring the spinning room around him from the sudden action as he pins his friend with a reproachful, incriminating stare.

"Fun?" he barks, his voice dropping to a hiss. "That wasn't fun, James. It was you trying to take my choice out of my own hands."

James' expression falters then, having the decency to appear a bit uncertain. Sirius bites down on his tongue, thinking those words never would have made their way into the open if not for the alcohol loosening it to laziness. The room has gone silent around them other than the music still streaming at a lower volume through the house. He can feel Remus' gaze crawling up his back, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, a different sort of heat rushing through him as he continues to glare down at James.

"All right, how about a break?" comes Lily's voice as she unwinds her long legs from Peter and stands, appearing far more sober now. She ventures across the room with careful steps and roots Sirius from the sofa by his elbow, tugging him away.

James resumes talking as they exit into the hall beyond, voice a bit strained as he says something to presumably Remus about double dates or something now that he and Sirius are whatever they are, a topic they haven't even properly discussed yet. Sirius chooses to ignore him, blocking out the words, focusing on the copper waves of Lily's ponytail as they walk deeper into the house. She tugs Sirius into his bedroom and closes the door behind them, only turning to him once it's securely latched. Her green eyes fix on him tenderly.

"Say what you need to say," she instructs, expression open and waiting. Sirius doesn't hesitate.

"He had no right," he erupts.

"I know," agrees Lily in camaraderie.

"It's not his decision to make. It's never been his decision, not any of theirs, but they just – "

"I know," repeats Lily, standing still and watching him closely.

"He thinks that just because he's managed this life of his almost effortlessly, everything falling in place around him like it always has, that it's the same with everyone else, but it's not. He should be the one to understand that, understand me more than anyone but he – he just – it's not the same, Lily, but he can't see that."

Lily's face is soft as she gazes at him, green eyes bright, emeralds melted to liquid ocean water, tropical and warm. She takes a small step forward, just a slight movement, her head ducking down a bit to meet his enraged, desperate gaze with care.

"I know," she whispers, and Sirius deflates, the fight leaving him. He looks away from her as his shoulders sag, spine trying to curve inwards. Her soft fingers dancing over his chin, pulling his attention back to her as she urges him to turn his head.

"Why is this so hard?" he begs, hating the weakness in his voice because Sirius isn't weak, far from it. He's never been weak a day in his life, always fighting back against something, sometimes everything, fists perpetually raised into the air, stance strong, unyielding, but a small, sinister voice sings in the back of his head so sweetly that he's forced to believe it, telling him he's wrong. And Sirius feels so tired; tired of the constant battles, tired of keeping shields drawn up that shouldn't exist but always have since he was born, tired of constantly moving but never advancing forward.

"Oh, sweetheart," murmurs Lily, closing the distance between them, her palms resting over his cheeks. Most people that have seen her out in the world with them would never believe the woman capable of the gentleness contained within her voice and every line of her body now, but Sirius feels it like a palpable ache in the center of his chest. He flinches away from it, but Lily holds on, hands slipping around to his neck, one pushing upwards to press against the back of his head as the other drops between his shoulders, pulling him to her, bending him over her, face into her neck, her floral scented hair tickling his nose.

"You don't owe anyone a thing, do you know that?" she says softly into his ear, fingers soothing over the fabric covering his back, massaging against his scalp, like a mother comforting a distraught child. Sirius despises it, or so he tells himself, but he remains where he is, can't make himself separate from it, absorbing her love into his very marrow. "Not the world or James or anyone out in that sitting room. Not even Remus. The only person you serve is yourself, and the only thing you owe is your own happiness. That's all any of us want, Sirius, no matter how it may seem different at times. We just want you to be happy, however you achieve that."

Sirius clears his throat, attempting to void the thickness gathering along its sides like bitter oil. "Who says I'm not?" he mumbles.

Lily pulls back then, just enough to see his face, her eyes flickering over his features astutely. "Are you?" she asks, her tone open and accepting.

Sirius frowns deeply and shakes his head. "I don't know," he whispers.

The red head nods slowly, expression shifting to an oppressive sadness that Sirius doesn't want to face. "I think that's your answer, Padfoot," she murmurs, her head cocking sideways only slightly. "Don't you?"

Sirius' eyes shift away from her, not answering. His gaze settles on the door, thinking about the people beyond, most of his family contained in the room he'd fled with only a soft urgence from the woman in front of him.

"Cas is still…whatever. Pissed off," he mutters despondently. "She hasn't really said much to me."

Lily hums calmly, like it's not a big deal. "She'll be fine, just give her time," she says confidently. "She fancies the two of you close."

"We are," insists Sirius.

"I know," pushes forth Lily in a rendition of her earlier words, "but that doesn't mean she has anymore right to the information you're not ready to share about yourself than any other person in the world. She knows that, but she's stubborn. Dorcas will come around soon enough, Sirius. Your life is your own to forge, not hers or mine or your brother's. Only yours. You decide, no one else."

Sirius' eyes shift back to Lily's pale, freckled face, the lines of it soft yet somehow still firm, hinting at the terrifying specimen Sirius knows her to be when she feels it necessary. But for now, she's only Lily Evans, his friend, one of the best people he's ever had the privilege of knowing, so incredibly grateful to have her in his life that he can't form words great enough to express it. Sirius loops an arm around the back of her neck, tugging her forward to him, planting a large kiss to her temple, sloppy and a bit wet, sending her grumbling under her breath in a mockery of irritation, but Sirius can see the smile on her lips.

"I have something for you," he tells her, stepping away and over to his bed. "I meant to save it for your birthday, but I finished early and that's too far away." Sirius crouches down and rummages under the wooden frame until his fingers connect and wrap around the handle of a polished case, sliding it out carefully. He lifts it onto his mattress and motions her over, Lily trailing forward slowly, eyes on the matte black of the guitar case under Sirius' fingertips. "You deserve it. You've earned it. This and so much more."

Lily reaches out cautiously, her hands jerking backwards quickly before they connect. Sirius rolls his eyes and moves behind her, settling his palms over her shoulders in encouragement. She finally flips the latches and slowly opens the lid, revealing the refurbished instrument within, her breath inhaling as a small gasp as her eyes sweep the painted wood.

He'd put a lot of effort into it, sanding and coating, polishing, drawing out the designs by hand before retracing them with the paint. He'd sealed the whole thing with a gleaming gloss, making it shine, the neck stained a soft brown, head painted green like a spring tree coming to life. On the body of the guitar, curving and stretching upwards as though craning towards an unseen sun, are lilies wrapping around petunias, twining together, protective, wholesome. They're vibrant yet somehow still dull, fading out as they trail upwards towards the stem.

Sirius watches the side of Lily's face, the woman gone quiet now. Her lips are pressed together tightly, merging into a thin line, rolling backwards over her teeth. There's a light flush of color staining her cheeks, and her eyes are bright, wetness skimming her bottom eyelids.

"I – you – Sirius," she breathes, and his name is everything as it slips from her tongue in reverence. Lily's fingers reach out, barely ghosting along two of the flowers twisting into one, unable to tell where they separate and grow alone. "Why would you do this?"

Her voice is choked, and she still hasn't properly looked at him. Sirius squeezes her shoulders.

"Because it was important," he says simply. "You're important, Lils. You do a lot for us, more than I think any of us realize half the time. I wanted you to know you're appreciated. More than that. You're loved. Completely. We never forget that even if it seems like we do sometimes. I never forget it."

Lily sniffs once, a faint sound, and then she's spinning on her heels, her arms pushing under Sirius' own. They wrap around to his back, hands clinging tightly, nails digging just a little through the fabric of his shirt, but Sirius doesn't complain and never will. He returns the gesture as Lily presses her face into his chest, Sirius making no comment on the spot of dampness that forms under her eyes.

They sit on the edge of his bed afterwards and Lily strums over the perfectly tuned strings of the guitar, testing it out, playing with it, a look of pure delight sweeping her features. Sirius watches her, sings along softly once he picks out what song she's playing, Lily smiling at him and knocking their shoulders together as she rocks towards him.

When they finally emerge from his room, Sirius finds the sitting room nearly empty, the others having departed, leaving only James still stretched out over the floor, staring solemnly at the ceiling above him. He glances around when he hears them, hazel eyes meeting Sirius', a silent apology passing between them, clear in the lines of his friend's face, gaze a bit doleful. Sirius nods his head once, acceptance spreading outwards, and he can see James physically relax over the carpet, rigidly held muscles sagging a little.

Lily smiles in approval and moves across the room to him, dropping down at his side, shoulder pressed to shoulder as they lay together. The red head chatters quietly about her guitar, James listening avidly, and Sirius leaves them to it, venturing towards the kitchen where he can hear Remus shifting around inside.

The other man has his head stuffed into the refrigerator when Sirius pushes through the door, stowing away leftover food and drinks, but he straightens and turns slightly when he hears Sirius. Brown eyes glance over him studiously for a moment before he's striding to the sink, hand flicking the tap to urge water into the basin, steadily beginning to fill it for clean-up. He says nothing, something Sirius finds odd, and he's instantly on edge. His head is clearer now than it had been before he'd followed Lily to his room, but the sullied alcohol once buzzing through his system has left him feeling prickly, grouse-like and sharp-edged.

"All right?" he hedges, stepping forward slowly, something heavy in the air.

"Fine," mumbles Remus, not sounding entirely convincing. "Are you?" He doesn't look at Sirius again, staring down at the rising soap suds instead.

Sirius releases a small noise, somewhere between a hum and a choked sort of weak laugh. "Better. Lily helped," he says, still approaching Remus' side. "Gave her the guitar. She cried."

"Told you she would," remarks Remus without any true feeling.

A grunt escapes Sirius before he can stop it. "Okay, enough of whatever this is. Just say it," he bites out, the thick, nearly poisonous air of the room almost suffocating. "What's wrong with you? You were fine when I left earlier, so what happened in that span of time?"

Remus turns piercing eyes on him that send Sirius back a step on instinct. "Was I?" he says, voice low and waspish, but then it fades, his gaze casting back down to the basin, nearly too full now. He flicks the tap off and pushes his hands into the hot water, steam wafting off it in thin, tendril-like wisps that disappear into the light overhead. "I didn't realize you'd become a mind reader, Sirius."

Sirius' brows tug together as confusion washes over him, silence invading the usually warm kitchen save for the sounds of water sloshing over Remus' working hands, the safety of the room evaporating in the air just like the steam, riddling it with cold spikes, ice growing like stalactites from the ceiling. He draws in a slow breath, trying to curve his mounting ire accompanying Remus' baffling irritation.

"What did I do?" he asks, his own voice quiet, controlled, something that's slipping away quickly. "Earlier, before James and his mouth, we were – I thought we were – " Sirius breaks off with a frustrated growl. He shoves his hands deep inside the depths of his pockets to hide his balling fists, annoyance flaring at the one step forward, three steps back pattern they seem to have fallen within. "What did I do?" he repeats through gritted teeth.

"Nothing," hisses Remus, his tone flat and void of any emotion, sinking Sirius deeper into his spiraling whirlpool of rage, injustice at the situation hanging heavily above him. Remus pulls his hands free from the water, dripping over the floor, uncaring, not even noticing, turning to face Sirius fully for the first time since he'd stepped through the door. "You've done nothing, and that's the problem. It's been almost three months, Sirius, and I've been patient, waiting for you to sort yourself out, figure out what you want." Remus' eyes drop to his hands as he visibly wilts. "I thought I was being patient, giving you the space you needed," he mumbles, grabbing up a towel to finally dry his hands.

Sirius' mouth thins as he stares at Remus, watching him work the cloth over his long fingers. His shoulders begin to tense as he homes in on the primary issue, picking out the words that Remus isn't saying, winding through his every syllable like infection spreading and killing tissue, a creeping, silent virus.

"What is it you want from me?" he demands, voice quiet, an ominous rumble emerging from his chest.

"What do I want?" snaps Remus, head whipping up again, brown eyes flashing almost gold and vicious in the glow of light over their heads. "I want you!" And he's shouting now, but Remus doesn't shout, never raises his voice, getting his point across in other, more effective ways. It causes Sirius to flinch from the unexpectedness of his colossal volume. "I want all of you, not just the pieces you choose to share when it's most convenient!"

"You have me," mutters Sirius, his anger spiking again but something else beginning to overtake it, crippling its stronghold, tearing away iron walls built to be nearly impenetrable. There's a sinking dread there, festering and rotting, molding wood away, breaking it apart beneath heavy footfalls until everything feels as though it's crashing, Sirius trying not to tumble down as it caves inwards.

"I don't," says Remus, and his shouts have stopped, voice almost pleading now, eyes wide, chestnuts exploding under too-high heat. "No one does, not even you. That's no way to live life, Sirius." Remus sucks in a ragged breath as he looks away, his mouth twitching with some stifled emotion. "You can't claim to love me and then not follow through with it. It doesn't work that way. None of this works the way it is, not the way we both want. Look around you, Sirius. Tell me what's changed, because other than getting to touch you, kiss you, I can't find anything else. We sit here, we work, we see our friends. Nothing is different.

"People go out, Sirius. Couples date, have fun together out in the world, experience things as one, not separate. We can't do that because you – " Remus stops and swallows, looking over Sirius' face like he's searching for something he can't find. "James mentioned something about going out together, double dates, but that's not something we can do, not properly, not the way him and Regulus can."

Sirius scoffs, fighting against and hiding the tightness beginning to overwhelm his chest. "It's not as though we could do that regardless," he tosses out, aiming for careless but falling short of the mark, landing solidly in resignation. "Not like normal people. We can't go on our own. Lily or Dorcas would have to be there watching over our shoulders the entire time. Where's the sense in that? It'd be like putting on a show, nothing more. There's no privacy for us out there."

"It'd still be something," argues Remus, slowly withering in front of Sirius' eyes. "People don't hide behind walls all the time, Sirius, even celebrities."

"I'm not hiding behind walls," bites out Sirius, but he forces himself to calm, grunting in irritation, looking around them for some sort of option that he doesn't think will salvage anything. "So we go out, stick to wizarding places. We don't need the girls with us there. Problem solved."

Remus laughs suddenly, his gaze lifting to the ceiling, the sound exasperated, tinged with a bitterness that sours Sirius' stomach. "No, it's not," he denies, eyes fixing back on Sirius in astonishment. "You know as well as I do that there are magical folks that will sell information to Muggles as easily as breathing. The wrong person sees us and your secret's out, your choice gone. That solves nothing."

"What do you want?" roars Sirius, finally losing his slipping grasp on his control. "What do you want me to do about it? I am stuck in this! I can't change it, can't alter how things have happened that's led to this! If I'd known, Remus, I never would have agreed, never would have even entertained it, but I didn't want any of this a decade ago, not a relationship or my full life on display for the world to make a mockery of. I didn't see you back then and I can't change the tides and set that right now, no matter how much we both may want it."

His brown eyes are filled with sadness as Remus stares at him. His face is twisted oddly, expression grim, nearly heartbroken, mirroring the feelings swelling inside Sirius as he stands rooted to the spot, his breaths coming in fast, sharp pants of air, expelling from his lungs and refusing to refill. Sirius' throat has gone dry, his very ribs aching from the furious pounding of his tearing heart.

"Can't," says Remus in a whisper, barely a gasp of sound, loud in the sudden and oppressive silence hanging around them like suffocating curtains, "or won't?"

He throws the towel still clutched in his hands to the side then, not looking at Sirius as he pushes past and vacates the room, leaving Sirius alone. He stares at the empty spot where Remus had stood, eyes unseeing, his vision blurring, though he refuses to admit the sting rising there are the harsh bite of tears forming. His mouth and nose twists and tugs as he fights against what's roiling through him, crushing his insides, hatred attacking his mind just as bile assaults his throat and refuses to depart.

Chapter Text

A few days after their row in the kitchen finds Sirius stowed away at James' and Regulus' home. Remus had left for a photoshoot earlier in the day, an individual one they're all required to do for the album release. Sirius would normally tag along, knowing how boring they can be, lasting for hours on end, having friends nearby to break into the monotony of constant instructions a saving grace, pulling laughter from the one levelled over the chopping block. Yet, this time, he'd bowed out, the strain tugging between them still thick and potent.

Remus hasn't said much to Sirius in the passing days, his words stilted and timid whenever he's spoken at all. Sirius hunches into himself more and more the longer it stretches between them, unable to break through again, lingering gazes burning flesh where it rests, prickling in the worst yet still best ways imaginable. They don't touch and their lips never grace flesh, the pair dancing around one another in a stumbling waltz, the melodies shifting constantly, messing with their steps, burgeoning them down, faltering their movements, never giving them time to right themselves and adjust. Sirius is miserable and he thinks Remus might be as well.

Sirius had fled to the Potters' once Remus had left the house, joining them for lunch. They'd been delighted by his company, the trio talking about random things for a couple of hours before they'd had to rush away for a previous engagement. Sirius had remained for a while once they'd gone, but eventually left himself, venturing to where he is now. He'd known James had gone with Remus to the session, but Sirius had hoped he'd at least find Regulus, his brother still cold but a form of company nonetheless, Sirius having never acquainted himself with the curious art of being alone for long stretches of time.

Regulus hadn't been there, but Sirius had chosen to remain, the home more comfortable than his own currently, that heavy feeling of dread not hanging so threateningly in the air, poisoning his lungs with every inhaled breath.

He's curled up on the plush sofa when Regulus returns, watching their telly, trying to make sense of the chaos of reality television and why people are so obsessed with it. His brother says nothing as he enters, removing his coat from his arms and hanging it carefully from the mounted hook beside the door. Sirius watches him, waiting for the other man to either greet him or demand that he leave, but Regulus remains silent, his expression closed off, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.

"All right, Reggie?" hazards Sirius, keeping his tone light.

Regulus finally glances at him, and then his eyes are fixed in place, not even blinking as he stares down at Sirius crammed into the corner of his sofa. Sirius gazes back, some underlying sense of trepidation rising in him that he tries to push away, though it refuses to budge, only swelling and overtaking his chest, twisting his stomach into a knotted mess of itself.

"Me?" questions Regulus, his grey eyes gleaming with something hostile, sinister, and Sirius suddenly understands the feeling that's plaguing him, doom swirling around both their heads. "Perfectly fine. I found an interesting song earlier. It's really captivated me."

Sirius swallows, gaze shifting over his brother slowly. "Really? Anything I'd know?" he asks tightly.

Regulus hums, his eyebrows lifting high, eyes flashing. He doesn't reply, simply tossing a cased disc into Sirius' lap without a word. Sirius stares down at it, uncomprehending for three seconds, and then he's launching to his feet, rage blossoming through him, pressing outwards, strangling as he glares his brother down.

"What the fuck were you doing going through my things?" he shouts, turning feral. "Who gave you the right?"

Regulus doesn't back down, his features becoming sharp, like a large cat preparing to pounce on its prey. "I was searching for the written lyrics," he says coldly. "We're adding a booklet to this album because while James is brilliant, he does tend to mumble sometimes, making the words difficult to understand. I found that during my search, and I wondered to myself about why you'd have an unlabeled studio disc stashed away. I thought possibly it was a copy of the album and took it, figuring if all else failed, I could just try to transcribe them myself. Imagine my surprise when it started to play and I heard your voice instead."

Sirius glances at the object now laying abandoned on the floor where it had fallen in his haste to stand, Sirius left feeling exposed, vulnerable, his rage still simmering in his veins. "Why would you do that?" he snaps, rounding on his brother again. "It was mine. Why would you ever think you had – "

Regulus continues as though Sirius hasn't spoken at all, nearly as if he can't even see him planted in front of him like a building storm of promised destruction.

"You're good," comments Regulus, his tone almost lighthearted, a deceptive thing that twinges through Sirius' jaw. "Not James' level, of course, and certainly nowhere near Remus', but you managed to impress me. The shock factor came from the lyrics themselves. You love him."

It's a simple statement, truth in every word, but spilling over Regulus' tongue, it sounds vapid, unimportant. Regulus turns it into a mockery of what it really is and Sirius seethes as he glares at his brother.

"You loved him before you even had him, before you admitted it to yourself," continues Regulus, unaffected by the dark tendrils slipping free from Sirius' body, encasing them both in a wrath so strong he's nearly breaking under its weight. "You loved him so much that you watched him drown in that clawing, claiming sea and then you wrote a song about it, sang it all by yourself, tucked it away so he'd never find out just how miserable you were without him.

"And the one thing I can't figure out," says Regulus, his voice dropping to an almost whisper as Sirius' hands shake at his sides, "is why you would never tell me that."

The words creep over him slowly, pulling back and then slamming into the side of his head, jarring Sirius violently, jolting the anger out of him, leaving him upturned, sliced open, gasping for oxygen in an airless void. Regulus stares at him, stifled hurt shining clearly from his slate eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching, spasming as he tries to control his expression, something morphing in him as Sirius watches.

He flexes his throat muscles, attempting to swallow but failing, shaking his head slightly, the smallest of motions. "I didn't think you'd have an interest," voices Sirius finally once his words decide to return, his tone light but closed off, everything hidden away from the surface, revealing nothing.

Regulus' eyes twitch at their corners, just enough to be noticeable. "In regards to my own brother?" he whispers, a breath of sound passing between them, his face flickering with something abhorrent before it's gone, cleared away, features left smooth once more, that perfectly sculpted Black mask slipping into place so easily and effortlessly it leaves Sirius reeling. "Very well," he clips out, words shortening again, all emotion retreating. "How about you sing me a different song, Sirius? I'd like to hear what this one sounds like."

Regulus slaps an object against Sirius' chest with rough force before he has the opportunity to question his meaning. Sirius looks down slowly, fingers clutching around fragile paper, touched too many times to fathom, no mathematical equations existing to calculate all the early mornings and late nights spent with it in his grasp, bending the corners until they'd torn away from weakness, pages slipping out only to be stuffed back inside for safety, hours spent bent over it with a biro, tea stains dotting white paper, bleeding ink together, barely legible in places any longer.

And somehow, Sirius had managed to forget about the notebook he'd locked away with the disc, never to be seen again. He stares at it now, everything sticking at the base of his throat, burning like acid, his mind drifting to the last song written within its failing bindings. He pulls it away from his chest with care, eyes drifting down the now exposed page, the last one in the book, skimming over lyrics known by heart, tattooed there just as permanently as the ink splattered across his skin.

Who am I?
To you I may be the world
But you don't see the hurt
That lies underneath 
As I struggle to breathe 
And crawl my way back to get above
To be with the only one I love

"Am I allowed to break from where I'm bound even if just for one day?" speaks Regulus, voice flat, emotionless, reciting the lyrics, breathing the chorus into life in the air stifling their lungs between them, binding it in chains that gouge and scrape away the heart muscle, so delicate and fine, fluttering for escape. "Am I allowed to feel like myself? Would that be okay?"

Sirius stares at his brother silently, mouth parting but no sound emerging, everything drying up inside him. His eyes drop to the page again, taking in the words that bleed from the page, seeping into the marrow of his being, twisting and contorting until Sirius is no longer recognizable to himself.

It hadn't started off this way, this hurtful or accusing. It'd been a fit of desperation, a need for release, him screaming without noise or breath. It had been a cry to the fans, a thing never meant to be revealed from the beginning. Sirius had only needed to expel it from himself, but somewhere along the way, it had morphed, escaped his control, conforming into something else, no mold left for it to fit inside. He'd finished and stared at the page under his nose, a sickening lurch travelling through him as he'd realized at some point it was no longer the fans he'd been shouting at, but Regulus, his brother, the one consuming his mind without Sirius even noticing.

You say you care
But all I do is fight and break
As they continue to take and take
I'm tired of running away from you
But I feel like that's all I ever do

"Take me as I am. Won't you let me be like them? Will this lie ever end? My image is yours to mend," hisses out Regulus, venom falling from his tongue like rainwater, burning Sirius where he stands.

Take me as I am
Your rewarding pianist
Call yourself a fan
But become the antagonist
In the story of my life
As you bind my wrists
And turn blind eyes to my strife

Sirius squeezes his eyes closed, feeling as though he's tumbling down a deep, dark hole with no grips or footholds in sight, no way to ever catch himself again. Falling endlessly, never reaching the bottom. Regulus is a mounting tempest in front of him, silent rage smothering everything else, killing all life that crosses his path and hinders him in any way. Sirius wants nothing more than to quell under the torrent of his brother's whiplash anger, but he remains standing, tall and stout, his own expression masked over as much as he can manage.

"Do you think that little of me, big brother?" spits Regulus, words twisted, gnarled, like an old tree finally snapping, splintering apart, too many layers of impeding ice coating its once healthy branches. "Have I ruined your life so much by providing my aid so generously? Have I squashed that wonderful little spark in you that everyone else has only ever nurtured? That's how you view this relationship of ours, isn't it?"

Sirius' brows pinch together, a harsh line forming between them, like a knife slice to skin, unhealed and gouged deeply. "Why wouldn't I?" he says snidely. "What have you ever done except try to control everything I've done or tried to make of myself? I pulled you into this, I know I did, but I never gave you blanket permission to mold my life into what you saw as the most beneficial and lucrative. I didn't sign away my soul to line your fucking pockets."

Regulus releases a laugh, the sound crisp, frost over dying flowers in the early spring just as they're beginning to grow and thrive. Sirius' eyes harden when it hits his ears, his jaw clenching, teeth gritting together, grinding inside his skull.

"You've spent too much time around Muggles, brother, comparing me to something as commonplace as their horrendous devil," mutters Regulus, and his mask is cracking apart as Sirius watches with a cruel fascination. "When will you see it? What else do I have to do? I did this – all of it – for you. I wanted no part in your little scheme. I thought you mad, driven mental by the pressure of the war still pressed onto your shoulders even after you ran from the very people you claimed to be doing just that and so much more, but you proved me wrong. I'll admit to that. What you four have accomplished is nothing short of extraordinary and I'll never say a negative word about your achievements in what I once thought ludicrous.

"But I still didn't want it, not even after you began to show what you were really made of, that Gryffindor daring, Slytherin cunningness you turned your back on. It was all there and so much more, but it changed nothing about the circumstances. I was still only in it for you, even after James. It was always you, Sirius."

Regulus pauses then as though collecting himself. His hands shift, moving to clasp behind his back, something Sirius knows to be a gesture of portrayed strength when Regulus feels it least, a nervous action he hides well from most others.

"I have never hindered you. I have never once swayed you away from what you want." Sirius opens his mouth to protest, heat flaring over his cheeks, but Regulus' eyes flash, forcing him to remain silent. "I came to you with a proposal, a suggestion, nothing more. It was a way to grow who you all were, a means to better success, a marketing scheme. You could have said no, had every opportunity, but you didn't. Instead, you agreed to it, signed off on my idea like it didn't matter, and maybe it didn't back then. So I carried on, let you do the same. I stepped to the side as much as possible and allowed you to live your life as you saw fit because it has never been my intention to control you. I am not Mother and Father, regardless of how often you enjoy comparing me to them.

"These binds you claim are locking you down, Sirius – this vice of a grip you say I have on you like a threatening noose around your neck – is nothing more than your own creation. If you wanted something different at any point in time, all you ever had to do was come to me, have a discussion, remain calm about it." Regulus inhales a sharp, dragging breath through his nose, audible and ominous. "But instead, you threw tantrums, behaved as a child instead of an adult. You never once approached me as anything more than a spoiled brat that wasn't getting his way. You hid, not just from the world, but from me, as well as yourself. I am your brother, Sirius, not your minder or your bloody management team. I am blood, the only one you truly have left that hasn't turned their back on you or all but forgotten you even exist.

"If it mattered so much to you, I believed you would do what was right. I had faith in someone that should have long ago driven me faithless," says Regulus cripplingly. "I want you to be happy just as much as everyone else, Sirius. I'll never understand why you've always doubted that so easily since we were children, but I finally realized that nothing has changed. You're still the incomparable big brother, basking the glow of your greatness as everyone rains their favor down upon you, while I'm still second tier, the small one, overlooked, passed off as too cold, uncaring, emotionless. And that is fine. I've accepted my role in life, where I've found myself. It still remains better than the alternative would have been, but never mistake any of that for a lack of love for who you are, because it will never be true."

Regulus turns, moving towards the door, leaving Sirius standing frozen in place, motionless, every part of him aching in a way he's not felt before, something trickling out of him. His brother is almost gone, nearly through the open archway leading to the stairs beyond, when he stops. He never looks back at Sirius, doesn't so much grace him with a glance, and there's no forgiveness in his voice when he next speaks.

"Stop fooling yourself, Sirius. Stop the lies you keep telling yourself and everyone else that matters most." He pauses, a sharp, deprecating sniff sounding from his vicinity. "No one is holding you back but yourself. You’re the one barricading yourself behind those impenetrable walls. It's you that's stoking the flames of your misery. If you want the world to know who you are, tell them. I'm not stopping you and I never have. All I've ever done is advise and try to guide, but I have not once ordered or dictated how your life should be led in any way. I am not the villain of your story, Sirius."

Regulus is gone then, Sirius staring after him, no longer blinking. He collapses to the sofa behind him, all the air deflating from him, his hands shaking around the notebook still clutched in his fingertips, pages ripping, shredding apart under his punishing hold.

--------------------

"Sirius?"

His name is heavy and hesitant as it emerges, caution in the syllables, a wariness lining it that prickles his skin like coming devastation, destruction already swirling around him, cars overturned, alarms blaring, signals flaring like death omens. Sirius squeezes his eyes closed briefly before glancing up from where he's seated on the studio floor, back pressed against the front of the sofa, one knee drawn up to his chest. He exhales a lungful of smoke into the stagnant air, layers of it hanging thickly around him, Sirius having been here for hours now, half a pack of fags gone, burned to bits, coating his lungs with tar as black as his name and likely his heart.

"Go away, Remus," he mutters, not looking at the other man, shifting sideways a little, angling away from him. "Go…fuck, I don't care. I don't care what you do so long as it's not here. I'm clearly not worth the effort or the patience."

Silence reigns loudly, and Sirius thinks for half a second that Remus had listened to him, slipped away soundlessly, left him alone with his twisting darkness, the wretchedness he can't manage to shake no matter how hard he tries. Regulus' words ring through his ears, Remus' from days ago accompanying them, a harmony forming that turns Sirius' stomach sickeningly, red-hot knives stabbing into him, searing his flesh, burning his liver to a crisp, blackened and charred, everything unrecognizable.

"No."

The word, spoken so softly, startles Sirius. He drops his half-burnt cigarette to the floor where it singes the rug, begins to set it alight.

"Shit!" he hisses, his boot stomping down over it forcefully, pounding the tobacco into the fibers, some of it not likely to ever come out again. Sirius stares down at the black mark that's formed over the vibrant color, the red tone now mottled, damaged beyond repair. Even magic can't repair the scorched and wasted. "Fucking hell," he mutters pessimistically.

"It's just a burn, Sirius," says Remus from above him, and even as Sirius finally looks up, Remus is dropping down beside him, long legs folding up, one curling inwards under the other as his knee lifts to his chest, the mirror opposite of Sirius' positioning. "There are worse things."

"How would you know?" snarls Sirius, rounding on him with a burst of uncontrollable rage that isn't meant for Remus at all. The other man doesn't even flinch, his brown eyes raking over Sirius, taking him in, drinking him down.

"It's only a burn," he reiterates quietly, something solemn in his tone. "Accidents happen. Things can be mended right again. And even if they can't…there are alternatives."

Sirius looks away, eyes falling beside him at the closed notebook resting by his hip. He knows Remus isn't talking about the cigarette or the floor, understands it like he understands that still crushing ache inside himself that seems to be encompassing everything surrounding him, pulling it all down with him. His face twists as Regulus' words rattle through him again, his eyes pressing tightly closed, trying to ward it all away.

"Sirius," says Remus again, just as softly as before, trying and failing to pull Sirius' attention back to him. "Sirius, I'm sorry. What I said the other night…I shouldn't be pushing. It's not my place or my choice. It's yours. It's entirely yours and I refuse to be the one to take it from you. That's not fair, and it's only going to hurt worse if it – "

"Merlin's fucking saggy bollocks, just stop!" rages Sirius, an unexpected sort of violence rising from him. Remus falls silent instantly, Sirius feeling him stiffen where he sits, but he doesn't care. "Just shut up. You don't know anything. You don't – you can't just – fuck!" Sirius grabs up the notebook and slings it forcefully across the room. It slams into the opposite wall and bursts apart, pages scattering like a snowdrift, fluttering to the ground slowly, almost serenely, but it does nothing to mute the anger swarming him or fill the hollowness of his heart. "He was right," he whispers to himself, bending forward and pressing his forehead to his raised knee. "He was fucking right."

Remus moves then, Sirius feeling it like a shift in the atmosphere, a pressure releasing, all the stifled air evaporating, leaving him in a vacuum he can't escape. But then, soft and tender, there are fingers pushing into his hair, tugging gently until Sirius is forced to lift his head enough for Remus to press a hand around the side of his face, turning Sirius to look at him, his brown eyes narrowed in deep concern, heaviness making them darker, chocolate cooked too long, nearly burnt.

"Who was right?" he questions, confusion and worry strong in his voice now. Sirius shakes his head, can't force himself to answer. "Sirius, talk to me – "

"It doesn't matter – " he starts, but the words break apart even as they form and Sirius crumbles, leaning heavily into Remus' palm, fingers warm and supportive. "I can't. I just…I can't, Remus."

The other man studies him, clearly trying to understand but coming up short for answers. His mouth pinches closed, lips pursing, his eyes crinkling in the corners, but then he's shaking it away, his expression smoothing out, something softer taking its place.

"Okay," he murmurs, thumb brushing Sirius' cheek delicately. "Okay. I'm not going to make you but tell me what I can do. You shouldn't – I don't like seeing you like this, tearing apart, not letting me help. Let me help, Sirius. Let me in however you can."

Sirius finally meets his eyes reluctantly, and he stares for a long time, struggling with himself. Everything in him feels rotten, undeserving of anything good or right, but Remus is here again, by his side, skin touching skin, warming Sirius from the outside in. He shudders with it, can't help himself, the lack of it, of the man next to him over the passing days carving out a deep pit inside him that Sirius could never hope to fill without him.

His legs shift and he's moving, climbing up to his knees, Remus' hands following him, not releasing for a second. Sirius presses forward, swinging one leg over the other man, Remus' own knee dropping down automatically as Sirius straddles his thighs just as he'd done in the booth on that first real day so many months ago. His palms slip over stubble-rough skin, sliding to wrap around the back of Remus' neck, fingers intertwining and holding. He brushes their lips together, softly at first, then more insistently as Remus responds, his mouth parting, Sirius' tongue worming between his teeth, licking into the dark recesses he finds once inside.

Remus moans faintly, filling Sirius full with it, his own sounds mingling with it, melding together like a grating symphony, unrehearsed, instruments blaring out of tune. But still Sirius holds on, his grip tightening. Remus' hands slowly move upwards, slipping along Sirius' arms, down their length until his fingers are winding around his wrists. He doesn't force them away, simply grips around them, a firmness there that Sirius relishes.

The kiss deepens, becomes heated, breath exhaled and inhaled in perfect time, a wonderful rhythm that they match effortlessly, lungs expanding and collapsing in sync, leaving one breathless while the other remains full until they exchange, trade off. Sirius sinks further, body relaxing muscle by taut muscle, his hips beginning to rock slowly, seeking friction as sparks flare in dazzling spectacles of color bursts behind his eyelids, air beginning to pull between them in pants of want and need.

"Sirius," says Remus, his name the smallest of gasps as he pulls backwards, his hands finally tugging at Sirius' wrists, trying to separate them. "This isn't – "

"Please." Sirius speaks over him, not releasing his grasp around Remus' neck, holding fast, plastering himself to the other man. Remus' eyes flicker up to his own, searching them, looking uncertain but wavering from the desperation in Sirius' voice. "Please. I just – I love you. Did you hear it? Do I have to put it in a fucking song? I love you. So just…just – please. No more bloody rules. I've had enough for one lifetime. I only want you. Please, Remus."

Brown eyes flicker, dull and dim, and then there's something flaring to life within them. The blackness begins to creep outwards, invading the caramel coloring, overtaking it. Sirius loses them after that, Remus surging forward, closing the distance again, capturing Sirius' lips in a ravenous kiss that chases licks of heat up his spine, extending to every part of him in trickling droplets of pure, unhindered fire.

Sirius' fingers finally unlatch, beginning to claw into the fabric of the thick woolen jumper covering Remus' torso, tugging it over his head without finesse or care, tossing it to the side with little regard, his mouth descending again, pressing to the hinge of the other man's jaw, teeth scraping over stubble. He marks a wet trail downwards, following the line of Remus' neck, stopping again when he reaches the scar, his tongue tracing its raised ridges. The action urges a strangled sort of groan from the man beneath him, Remus' body rocking, his hips grinding up, and Sirius hisses as they connect, sucking in afterwards, skin pulling between his teeth.

Remus shudders beneath him, hands shoving under Sirius' shirt, seeking skin, blunt nails scraping. He locks his grip around the base of the fabric then, providing it with a sharp yank upwards, tearing it from Sirius' body with little effort, separating Sirius from his neck with the action. Sirius grumbles, but he has no time to return as Remus suddenly flips them, pressing Sirius' back to the floor, weight and heat settling over him in a glorious way. Sirius grunts at little at the unexpected adjustment, but his hands are already locking back around Remus' head, pulling him down into another fierce kiss.

They rock together, Sirius arching upwards, seeking whatever blessed friction he can get, but it's not enough, a growl eventually emerging between them. His hands drop, gliding over flushed skin, nearly scalding to the touch, his fingers hooking over the waist of Remus' jeans and pushing them down. They resist, catching on his hips, and Sirius gripes in irritation, eliciting a low, rumbling chuckle from Remus above him.

He straightens, now straddling Sirius, his own hands falling over Sirius' and guiding them to the center, flicking one of his fingers over the button. He leaves Sirius to it after that, descending again, mouth falling over a protruding collarbone, tongue swiping greedily, teeth baring and scraping as he slides his way down Sirius' chest, only stopping once he reaches a nipple. He sucks it into the heat of his mouth and Sirius fumbles over the zipper, fingers sliding ineffectually, shaking a little.

"Fuck me," moans Sirius without thinking, Remus pulling off his now peaked nipple with a satisfyingly wet pop. He stares down, molten brown meeting grey, eyes sweeping over Sirius' face for a long moment before he's shifting again, straightening once more above Sirius.

"Okay."

Sirius' breath catches at the base of his throat, his hands falling completely still, but his actions are no longer necessary, Remus taking over easily. He slowly replaces Sirius' fingers, working the zip down easily, his thumbs hooking over the fabric of both his jeans and pants, tugging them down his thighs. Sirius watches avidly, no longer able to breathe, not needing it anymore, Remus fully displayed in his sight, a wonderous thing, full majesty, a sinking sun bursting colors across the sky like a spectacular painting.

As Remus shifts out of his remaining clothing, Sirius lays still and studies him without hiding his intentions. There are still clusters of scars riddling his body from his accident as a child, the metal scraps he'd landed on injuring more than simply his neck. He's a patchwork of them, some nasty and gnarled while others are cleaner, more surgical looking, healed with pristine magic where possible, but even magic can't vanish everything, especially the scars left inside.

Several of the heavier patches have been covered with ink, the lines of designs bleeding with the fading and stretched marks, remnants from growth and age. Sirius had been with him when Remus had covered over the worst that existed, a terrible knot of them bunched together on the middle section of one thigh. Sirius had kept him company, made sure he was entertained and distracted through the grueling process, taking hours, Remus never seeming to mind at all, smiling from the padded table in that special way he only ever reserved for Sirius alone.

Sirius reaches out now, his fingers tracing over the ink, stilling Remus' movements for a moment. His eyes flicker down, watching Sirius' fingers with a soft sort of reverence until he looks up again, meeting the grey of Sirius' eyes, something passing over his face, freckles deepening as his skin flushes wonderfully. Sirius smiles at him and hums quietly, his hand dropping and slipping up his own leg until he reaches the button of his jeans, popping it open with the smallest flick.

Remus' eyes darken to match his freckles, the remaining light in them fading, and he's dropping once more. His mouth skims over the flesh of Sirius' abdomen, kissing across toned muscles, attributes from Sirius' exercises performed in the early mornings within his room. He pushes Sirius hands to the side, fingers latching over the waistband and pulling, not worrying with the zip, the material going easily, and Remus groans deeply as it disappears.

Sirius kicks free of them, losing the binding restriction around his ankles as Remus moves back up the length of his body, searching out his lips again, the kiss hot, heavy, intoxicating. It leaves Sirius' head spinning from lack of oxygen, leaves him breathless, a panting mess, but it's nothing in comparison to when a firm, calloused hand wraps around his shaft and strokes with deliberate intention.

"Fuuuuck," hisses Sirius, his back arching again. He shudders with it, so long since he's been touched by another that it's nearly overwhelming. His fingers grapple for skin, clawing and desperate, and Remus comes to him effortlessly, an instinctual thing, bodies molding, morphing, shifting together like strings dancing inside a piano.

The fingers of Remus' free hand drift down Sirius' side as he lifts and continues his slow passes over his cock. His eyes study Sirius in rapture, watching his face then following his hand's descent. They sweep quickly and then steady out as they work their way back up, pausing at the protrusion of bones where the neck of the guitar wraps, ink splattered over skin precisely, everything Sirius is and loves marked in formations over his body. They skitter and strum, playing out a familiar melody across Sirius' ribs, a tune taught and learned within this room, music leading them here, always guiding them by the hand to where they're meant to be.

Sirius falls apart under Remus' touch, breaks into pieces, scattering like evaporating shadows, a poignant thing, meaningful in ways Sirius can't begin to understand yet. Remus seems to sense it, his working hand retreating, leaving Sirius keening and wanting, but Remus shushes him quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to the strings of Sirius' ribs as he reaches for his wand in the pocket of his abandoned jeans. When he returns with it, Sirius feels the brush of a silent spell that shouldn't be familiar anymore after so long of carrying on with mainly Muggles, but it somehow is.

Warmth trails down his center as the wand drop to the side, Remus' hand sliding over his skin, rough palm grazing the sensitive flesh of his cock, making it kick with want. The other man smirks at Sirius in a knowing way and it flushes him full with a marvelous, blazing desire, burning his veins to ash around his bones. The hand continues, skimming balls just enough to make them tighten against the touch and then there's a finger dipping between the cleft of cheeks, spreading them just enough for the tip to dance circles around the twitching ring of muscle buried within.

Sirius sucks in a forceful gasp when the digit presses in slowly, the way already slicked from the spell. The burn is there, something Sirius has grown accustomed to, so few and far between when he does this, far less likely to bottom when encountering strangers, only caving at his most desperate of times. But with Remus, it's different. Sirius doesn't resist it, has no intention or want to deny him, safe as he is, unworried as he spreads his legs wider over the floor, allowing the other man better access, losing himself to the sensation as the finger works inside him, a second joining before long.

He steadily begins to roll his body, rocking his hips down to meet, breathing heavily as he seeks more, Remus giving it willingly when he knows Sirius can take it. His eyes keep attempting to fall closed, but Sirius forces them open every time, determined to watch Remus' face, glowing with some sort of ethereal light above him as his free hand wraps around Sirius' cock again, strokes slow and pulling, tugging the air from Sirius' lungs.

Eventually, sooner than he'd like, Sirius' fingers are scrabbling at Remus' arms, begging him to stop wordlessly even as he struggles to form them through his forceful pants.

"Stop," he pleads. "Close. You've gotta…gotta stop."

Remus hums above him, but the sound turns to a low sort of animalistic growl, emerging from the back of his throat. Sirius reaches down and grips around the base of himself, the noise travelling through him, heat pooling in his center, nearly expelling. He grits his teeth and Remus laughs bodily, slipping forward again, hovering over him, his chuckles of mirth receding as he settles between Sirius' spread thighs, weight resting perfectly. The backs of his fingers brush along one side of Sirius' jaw as he observes him with a critiquing eye for a stretch of time, Sirius able to pull himself back down from the edge as he waits, gaze fixed, unblinking, drowning in the brown of earth after heavy, saturating rain.

"Are you sure about this?" asks Remus finally, voice a low murmur, the rumble and growl gone, barely a rasp to it at all. He's soft, pliant, studious. He devours something inside Sirius whole, an entire section of his soul with only a look, and Sirius nearly implodes.

"Fuck off, Moony," he jabs, his lips spreading over his teeth in a wolfish grin, "and fuck me."

Sirius wastes no time in bringing Remus down to him then, fingers in his hair, pulling, urgent and needing. He moans into the kiss, Remus matching it, Sirius biting at his lower lip, holding it between his teeth, rolling it, but he jerks out of it with a loud groan as the other man hooks hands around his thighs, lifting them up, spreading him out, and pushes in with one smooth thrust, not stopping until he reaches his depth, bottoming out.

Sirius' eyes do close then, and he keeps them that way, his chest pressing up against the other man's, holding himself rigid as he adjusts. He eventually begins to relax, his body dropping back to the floor in slow motion, breathing starting again, Sirius having not realized it'd stopped at all until now. When his eyelids flutter, Remus is staring down at him, watchful, looking entranced.

"That was – you're – " he stutters out, the words difficult to form, though whether from the effort of keeping still from the heat of Sirius around him or the utter reverence shining from his eyes, Sirius isn't sure. "Bloody magical," Remus finally manages. "Magic made tangible." His fingers ghost the skin of Sirius' cheek again. "Are you okay?"

"Am I – fuck." Sirius inhales a stuttering breath. "I'm brilliant." Remus stares down at him doubtfully, but Sirius cranes up and kisses it away, lips soft, a comforting graze. When he drops back down, Remus is smiling at him in an odd way that sets Sirius' stomach fluttering pleasantly. "Just move. Fuck, please move."

Sirius hasn't even finished speaking fully before Remus is nudging in deeper. He groans with it, Sirius' thoughts flashing back to what the other man had told him about hearing him through the thin wall of their hotel rooms close to a year before. He'd been told on more than one occasion that he was too loud, no matter what end of things he was on, though Sirius is aware he's always more vocal like this, ripped apart in the best way. He chances a glance up at Remus as he pulls back, nearly out and then slides back in with a slow drag, Sirius stuttering out a moan, but he only sees enchantment in Remus' brown eyes, no judgement or desire for him to fall quiet, contain himself, hold anything back.

He continues at his nearly agonizing pace, setting a steady rhythm, driving Sirius close to insanity. Sirius moves with him, the rug biting into the skin of his shoulders as he flexes, pushes his hips up to meet each torturous thrust, but he ignores it, one leg wrapping around, pressing into the hot flesh of Remus' arse, trying to urge him to move faster, but Remus doesn't relent, keeping his speed set in place as his mouth trails down the front line of Sirius exposed neck, spending time and layering devotion over the bobbing knot there, moving with every hissed plea for more, every gasp and groan, Remus seemingly mesmerized by it.

Remus shifts after a while, and Sirius' body sings as he does, static bursting behind his eyelids, obscuring his vision, causing his ears to ring loudly. His back arches with it, a choking sound emerging from his throat.

"Right there, fuck. Moony."

Something about the name spilling from Sirius' tongue seems to spur Remus on, his movements increasing, pace building, but it's still not enough, Sirius needing more. With a deep growl, he hooks one leg around Remus' hips and locks his hands around the other man's shoulders, pushing upwards and flipping them. Remus looks stunned and a bit dazed as he hits the floor with a heavy thump and a grunt of sound, eyes blinking up at Sirius in startlement.

"What the – "

But Sirius doesn't let him finish, covering Remus' mouth with his own. His knees plant firmly on either side of the other man's hips and he lifts himself, falling back down with force. Remus gasps between his lips, hands landing on Sirius' waist. He thinks, briefly, that Remus is going to halt his motions, but instead he aids him, helping him raise and lower himself until Sirius is a sputtering mess above him, Remus not fairing much better over the floor. There are rug burns marking themselves across the skin of his knees, embedding and searing, but Sirius doesn't care, everything but the sounds Remus is making beneath him evaporating from existence, the feeling of that perfect fill inside him glorious, like enlightenment after being trapped in darkness.

Sirius pants out desperate breaths, the heat gathering again in his center, working its way down slowly, creeping and invading his every muscle. His legs scream under his weight, body clenching down, and then Remus is releasing one side of his waist, warm, wood-roughened hand sealing around his aching, leaking cock, giving it one, two, three pumps, and Sirius is gone, crying out his release as it bursts between them, coating Remus' fingers and abdomen alike.

Remus works him through it until Sirius is barely keeping himself upright before he loosens his grip and moves his hand, fingers of both latching around Sirius' hips, stilling his motions. Sirius groans as he's held still, his palms pressing flat over Remus' chest for support, brown eyes meeting his own, waiting for Sirius' nod of approval, and then Remus is careening up into him, no longer holding back, barreling in, chasing his own end with quick, shuddering rocks of his hips.

When he falls, he does it hard, pulling Sirius down over him as he thrusts up, remaining still as he pulses, Sirius shuddering from the sensation. It's only when Remus' hips crumple back to the floor and his grip relents that Sirius leans forward, slumping across his chest. They breathe together for a long time, the room silent, somehow peaceful in the wake, Sirius able to hear Remus' heartbeat from where his ear is pressed near the other man's neck. As Remus slowly comes back to life beneath him, lips press to heated skin, working a slow, mapping path over Sirius' shoulder.

It's only when Sirius' legs begin to go numb and cramp that he shifts with a groan, Remus slipping out of him as he moves. He grunts at the feeling, shrinking away from it as much as possible, but he lands on his side over the rug, his arms reaching out automatically, gathering Remus within them and pulling him into his embrace.

"Do you regret it?" he asks tentatively, dread pooling somewhere inside him, trying to eliminate the pleasurable glow still lingering.

Remus shakes his head where it's buried into the curve of Sirius' neck without hesitation. "No," he murmurs, voice muffled. "No, never."

"Good," says Sirius with a thankful smile that Remus can't see, lips dusting small kisses over his temple and forehead.

Chapter Text

As much as he would like to say that things begin to improve, shift and alter, that things start to change around him, Sirius can't lie to himself. Nothing is different; almost everything stays the same.

They're still pulled from one place to another, their schedule ramping back up quickly now that the album is complete and preparing for release. Regulus is adamant about them avoiding interviews just as much as he's resolute in his avoidance of Sirius after their exchanged words in his brother's sitting room.

James and Peter don't change and neither do Remus and Sirius, at least within the public eye. They're the same as they've ever been, even if there are occasional slips away from nosy onlookers. Dorcas, for her part, is seemingly coming around slowly, though the conversations she exchanges between Remus and Sirius in particular are obviously stilted, and Sirius eventually stops trying, leaving her to her stubbornness, simply waiting for her to move past their supposed transgressions.

The days pass in a sort of cycling loop, the foursome shuffled around during the lighted hours like strategic pawns on a chess board, and Sirius finds himself wondering in his darker moments how aspects of their lives now are any different than they would have been had the war stretched onwards beyond their schooldays. He doesn't linger on it, choosing instead to focus on the nights, stowed away within the walls of their home, warmth spreading, music always existing in some form or fashion, where the only true alteration at all is the man now a permanent presence by Sirius' side when the world fades to black and falls still, everything going quiet like the muted quality freshly layered snow provides.

Sirius finds himself lying awake again, staring at the dark divots of his ceiling in the sprawling hours of the night, tendrils of shadows creeping out, reaching and twining around him, encasing him in a negative charge, leaving him buzzing and twitching with sourness. He can't stop thinking about it no matter how hard he tries, the truth of those words spoken by not one, but two people he cares about more than himself. They seep inwards, fester like a mutating virus, corrupting parts of him that may never be the same again.

They're both right, Remus and Regulus, their accusations said in such wholly different ways but still the same at their core. Sirius is the one repressing himself, not Regulus. His brother hadn't built those towering walls of the fortress Sirius had constructed around himself, only supplied, merely offered, and Sirius had pounced without a second thought. He hadn't ever looked too closely at it before, had never had the inclination or desire and still doesn't, but it's been thrust upon him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs more than once.

So, he stares at his ceiling and allows it all to fall over him like an avalanche every night, twisting limbs, snapping and crushing bones, leaving him feeling ripped raw, flayed open. He lays still, frozen in some terrible paralysis without the sleep to accompany it, living nightmares playing themselves out on the walls surrounding him, the scenario never much different from how he'd lain that night so many months ago with Remus in the same way, except it's not the same at all.

When it becomes too much, Sirius turns his head, forces himself to move, telling himself he doesn't have to worry this time or ever again. He doesn't have to crowd the edge of the bed, fearful of accidental touch, of getting caught staring, eyes mapping the plains and hills of Remus' bare back, following the lines of his arms as they stretch upwards, disappearing beneath his pillow cradling his shadow-darkened head. Sirius can reach out a hand and press fingers to skin if he feels the desire or desperate need to do so, which he does on more than one occasion. He can roll, curve his body around the other man's, mold them together, no fear of the rejection that had lingered so heavily in his lungs and chest on that tectonic night so many moons ago.

Sirius is allowed to brush his lips over exposed skin, press palms flat to the dip and curve of a lower back, drift fingers down hair-sprinkled thighs. He surrenders to the weakness the sight of Remus beside him brings, noses at a sleep-warmed neck, searches out pulse points, leaves marks in flesh with his teeth, sometimes rousing Remus in the process of these small but significant things, the man always sleep-rumpled, a bit grumbly and cross, but his easy smile never failing to spread lazily across his face as they morph to one being and move together, disturbing the sheets, unsettling pillows, blankets spilling over the side of the bed with little care.

But tonight, Sirius does none of that. He pushes himself up until he's nearly sitting, reclining back against his headboard, the wood chilled where it presses to the skin of his shoulder blades. Sirius takes time to study Remus where he sleeps, peaceful and relaxed, one arm thrown above his head, the other draped over his abdomen. One leg is bent at the knee, the other elongated, encroaching on Sirius' side, nudging against his own, sheets pooled low across his body, a hipbone protruding from beneath, drawing momentary attention. There's enough light from the swelling moon outside, peeking through the cracks of his curtains, to highlight the dark, purpling bruises littering various places on Remus' chest, lining one shoulder, creeping up his neck, high enough that they'll have to heal them before leaving the house again. Sirius mourns them a bit before they're even gone.

He licks over his lips, the taste of Remus still lingering on his tongue from earlier, and it stirs something in him that fades quicker than usual as his mind begins to drift, bobbing along, floating at the surface of a slow-flowing creek.

"Remus?" whispers Sirius, testing. The other man releases a grunt of sound, more of a sigh than anything, his head twitching, but otherwise he remains still, doesn't stir again, deeply asleep. Sirius inhales a breath, lungs expanding, filling, then deflating as he exhales, picking at the skin on the side of his thumb.

"It's won't," he says quietly, a low murmur of noise, soft enough to allow Remus to stay in his restful state. "It's won't, but it also can't. You were right, but you're also wrong. Regulus was right. He never forced it, and none of this is his fault. I've been blaming him for years because it was easier than – I didn't want to look at it and see it for what it was. Cowardice. I'm a coward."

He stops and winces as he rips a piece of skin free, blood welling. Sirius presses it to his mouth, lips sucking around it until it quells, the sting remaining, a faint thing, barely felt.

"Everyone acts as though it should be so easy, telling the world who I – showing myself as – tearing that privacy screen away, but it can't be, not when they look at me and see – " Sirius' words choke away in the silence between Remus' pattern breathing, and he pinches at a callous covering one of his fingertips with force. "There are success stories, I'm aware of that. People, they…they step into the light all the time, shed the cloak, mount the broom without the wind pushing them back to the ground. It happens, but it's not the same, not for everyone. Some people, they just – it swallows them, becomes everything they are, nothing else mattering anymore.

"It wasn't that way for James, but he's got that thing, doesn't he? People can just look at him and see exactly who he is from the outside in. No one ever really judged him for his choices, never threw it back in his face. James is an open book, and people love him for that, exactly as he is."

Sirius shifts his eyes away from Remus, looking down at his hands. His fingertip is a dark red, nearing purple in the darkness cast over him, and he releases his pinching hold quickly, his eyelids fluttering closed briefly.

"It's never been like that for me," he whispers to the shadows, to the slumbering man beside him, to the pregnant moon hanging in the sky outside the window. "People clamor and they fawn, but they don't see me. They don't trust me. But you know that better than most. I don't even know why I'm telling you. How long did it take for you to warm up to me when we started school, no matter what I tried? Months. More likely a year or two. You were wary, and I don't fault you for that." Sirius pauses, licks over his teeth with the tip of his tongue. "Suppose I was a bit spoiled. It's very possible I still am. But there you were then, and here you are now, except now it's…worse. It's worse and so much better. I have you, finally, after so long of being infernally stupid and blind. I have you and you want me, all of me. You want me to let loose of those binds, want me to be free and I – I can't. I can't do it, Moony."

Sirius' last words emerge as a tortured sort of hissed whisper, breath leaving between clenched teeth. His chest shudders, air catching in his throat, something thick and bitter working up his throat as his features seize, but Sirius growls softly and scrubs roughly over his face with both hands, scouring it all away. He shakes his head, sniffs sharply, a harsh sound in the imposing silence around him, a new sort of wall beginning to erect around the old ones.

"I would give you absolutely everything," he says into a void, only the paint and the divots in the ceiling hearing him, "but I don't know how to give you this without crucifying myself in the process."

He remains where he is for a while, staring sightlessly where Remus' knee connects with his ankle beneath the sheets. Sirius eventually slips back down the bed, settling carefully, trying not to jostle, but Remus must sense it, the other man rolling, his arm stretching across Sirius' middle in his sleep, face pressing over the hollow dip of his collarbone. Sirius tugs him closer, Remus coming willingly, no resistance in his body, and Sirius stares at the places where they connect and meld until the shadows scatter outwards and begin to fade, dawn breaking through the darkness, light dripping through the curtains like rainfall.

--------------------

Dorcas appears in front of him the following day, cornering Sirius against the back wall of the Potters' house. He looks up at her, blinking in surprise, white smoke from his burning cigarette fluttering between them like wisps of gossamer fog, catching the waning autumn sunlight overhead. She stares at him in an unreadable silence, and Sirius glances around, searching, waiting for some sort of attack to barrel into his side.

"Cas?" he prompts. "Are we stalking now?"

Dorcas snorts and rolls her eyes, her body finally relaxing a little as she crosses her arms over her chest, rocking back on her heels. "It's my job to stalk you, git," she says snidely.

"Mhm, yeah," hums Sirius, gazing around them again. "Is that necessary now?" he hedges, his eyes settling on Dorcas once more. "Are there feral fans hiding in Effie's shrubbery? She'll be hacked if they trample the roots. She's incredibly fond of those bushes, you know that."

The woman frowns at him, observing but not speaking for a long time. Sirius gives her a bit, but eventually grows impatient, an irritated growl emerging in a low rumble from his chest.

"What are you on about, Cas?" he demands with a clipped bite, drawing the fag back to his mouth and dragging in a lung-inflating haul. "Why are you here?"

Dorcas exhales a large breath in frustration, her eyebrows pinching together. "Remus is gone," she states, no question in her voice.

"I – yeah. Yeah, he is," says Sirius, his own voice dropping several octaves, something prickling over his skin. "He went to try to see his dad. Lils is waiting in the wings to scoop up the pieces."

Sirius had wanted to go with him, but Remus had asked him to stay home, saying Sirius' presence would likely only make things worse instead of better. That had stung a bit, something Sirius hadn't vocally admitted, but he'd known the other man to be right. Sirius has never been good at keeping his mouth closed, especially around Lyall Lupin whenever he's spoken to his son so disparagingly.

"Let's go do something."

Sirius' eyebrows arch high on his forehead at the words, a small frown tugging into place over his features. He stares at Dorcas, studying her face, still steely and hardened from unhappiness.

"What?" he asks.

Dorcas huffs in annoyance. "Let's go, get out. Explore the world. Do something fun or…or just wander. I don't know. Let's just do it." He shifts his gaze over her, not entirely certain what to think or how to react. The longer Sirius remains silent, the more Dorcas becomes increasingly unsettled until her arms finally drop, hanging limply at her sides, her posture wilting a bit. "I miss you," she admits quietly, refusing to meet his eyes now. "I feel as though I've barely talked to you in forever, and I don't like it."

Sirius' frown slowly morphs into a smile, and he steps forward, one arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders. He tugs her in firmly against his chest before she can react and stop him, her free hair tickling under his nose.

"Listen at you," he coos. "Who knew you were such a bleeding sap, Meadowes?"

Sirius cackles openly as Dorcas releases a sound of protest and shoves him away, her cheeks flaring darker as she flushes. "Piss off, Black," she mutters, but Sirius can see the glitter in her eyes as she goes about brushing off imaginary dirt from her shirt. "You're like an annoying pixie, do you know that? Just all the hair pulling and none of the fun and exciting biting."

"We can fix that," proclaims Sirius, snapping his teeth down in a sharp clack that echoes through his head.

"No, thanks," denies Dorcas with a delicate sniff. "I don't need Lupin's jealous wrath."

"Remus doesn't get jealous." Dorcas only eyes him pointedly and it's Sirius' turn to flush a deep crimson, flutters taking over his stomach. "Well, not that jealous."

Dorcas hums in disagreement. "He does. You're just blind to it, Black."

Sirius clears his throat and looks away. He drops his cigarette and stomps the fire out with the heel of his boot before vanishing the mess away, never wanting to leave it for the Potters to have to deal with.

"All right, then," he says, lifting his head higher. "Where to?"

They Apparate to Brighton, deciding to explore the shops there. The sea air is cold around them as it whips whenever they venture close enough to the pier and pebbled beach, but neither of them feel it much, chattering away with one another. Their conversation is still a bit stilted and strained in places, Dorcas remaining more guarded than usual, but Sirius doesn't draw attention to it, taking what he can get, steadily working closer again.

They have lunch at an Italian place, somewhere they all like to visit while in the area, a favored spot. It's never too crowded this time of year, the tourists having fled for less dreary days. They manage to eat in mostly peace, only a couple brave souls approaching, though whether that's because they're being respectful or simply Dorcas' general demeanor of guard dog, Sirius isn't sure.

"Marls is happy with the album," voices Dorcas as they push their way through the door and back to the pavement beyond, the pair strolling along idly, glancing into shops as they go. "She thinks it might be your best yet."

Sirius hums, kicking at a pebble in front of his feet. "She did a brilliant job," he says, not remarking on anything else.

"Some of those songs…" begins Dorcas, trailing off in the middle of her thought, her eyes shifting up to his face, studious and critiquing. Sirius doesn't look at her, focusing ahead of them as they amble. "You did a good job, Sirius. They're…phenomenal. Everyone says so. I'm not sure how you did it, but it's like you – you tapped into something new or dormant. There's a lot of emotion in those lyrics."

Sirius swallows, still avoiding her gaze as she continues to observe him. Dorcas finally reaches out and catches his elbow in her fingers, urging him to stop. It's only when he relents and turns to face her that she speaks again.

"It was Remus," she says, sounding as though she already knows, "wasn't it? You were stuck, we could all see that. You were struggling, but then he…did something, I'm not sure what, and it's like he opened something inside you. You wrote an entire album worth of songs in a little over a month. Probably more than an album, knowing you. You've never done that before. You work on those for a year or more sometimes before Marlene is shuffling you lot into the booth. You poured your heart and more into those words, and it's all because of Remus."

She falls quiet for a moment, and Sirius risks meeting her eyes, only briefly. They're wide, the dark brown of her irises nearly swallowing the white circling their edges. Her face is open, questioning, amazed, and Sirius looks away again.

"What did he do?" she asks quietly.

Sirius licks over his lips, glancing at their surroundings, always searching, always aware. He finally sucks in a breath and rests his gaze on her again.

"He was just himself, Cas," he murmurs. "I don't know any other answer to give you. He was exactly who he's always been, but I suddenly saw it. I saw what I wanted and thought I could never have. Remus didn't do anything he hasn't done before. He…loved me." The pause is short, nearly imperceptible, but Dorcas seems to pick it out regardless.

"Does he?" she questions gently. "Love you. Does he love you?"

Sirius doesn't immediately respond, though he wants to. His automatic reply is yes, but that stems from their years of friendship, that lingering brotherhood stretching between them all, potent and unwavering. But this, what Dorcas is asking, is different. A love in a varying form, a separate version, and it's something Remus hasn't said yet, a fact Sirius has failed to register until now.

"I – I don't know," he admits softly. "I think so."

Dorcas nods slowly, her eyes sweeping Sirius' face. "Do you love him?"

"Yes." Because of course he does, more than he thought possible in his younger days, or even a handful of months earlier. Sirius had always wondered about it, watching his friends pair off, seeing couples on the streets, dancing below stages, bodies pressed together in familiarity, liquid lines merging, forming a whole. He'd studied those curiosities and puzzled over what it felt like, having that devotion, feeling it in return. He'd wondered if it felt like constant heat, a crippling ache at the knowledge of all that could go wrong.

But it's not like that at all. Loving someone, and possibly being loved in return, is like standing in the snow for too long, cheeks and fingers icy from being wind-battered for endless hours. It's coming back inside a welcoming home, finding the fire blazing. It's a swaddling of warmth, tucking in around a newborn child, safe, protective, soothing. Love, Sirius thinks, is better than any notes from an instrument could ever hope to be. It's light in the darkness, flickering away growing shadows. Love is silver markings on brass, long before it was even recognizable.

"So, why didn't you tell me?" There's no accusation in Dorcas' voice this time, only a tiny plea for understanding. "Did you think I would judge you for it? Disapprove? Tell you ridiculous things about your careers together and about how it could ruin it all? You know me better than that, Sirius. I would have been happy for you. I am happy for you, but I don't understand why you kept it a secret like it was a bad thing."

"No," says Sirius adamantly. "Fucking hell, Cas, no. I never thought any of that. We didn't tell anyone."

"Lily and James knew," she mumbles, and there's hurt in her eyes and voice that stabs deeply at Sirius.

"Yeah, well. Those two are too perceptive for their own good," mutters Sirius mulishly. "We didn't tell them. They figured it out on their own. They just knew. We didn't willingly tell anyone. We were trying to wade through it on our own first because of all the reasons you just said. There's a lot of history there, Cas, and this is…I was scared, okay?" Dorcas frowns at him, beginning to shake her head, but she stops when Sirius laughs bitterly. "I was. I still am. I don't want to lose him, Dorcas. He means too much. Matters too much, and this could wreck everything. Two decades of friendship, a life built, all down the drain because of my own stupidity."

"You're not stupid, Sirius," says Dorcas plainly. Sirius looks away again, not answering, and he can see Dorcas' expression harden from the corner of his eye. "Sirius Black," she snaps fiercely, and Sirius winces at how loud his name is falling between her teeth, his gaze shifting around them. Dorcas seems to realize and lowers her volume, though her words remain just a firm. "There is not a stupid cell within your entire body. Maybe you make mistakes sometimes, and maybe you only see what you want to see until it's thrust directly in front of your face, but I think you have your reasons for that. Years spent stepping around your family shite groomed you for just that. I don't blame you for it and neither does anyone else. But none of that means you're stupid."

Sirius looks at her then, meeting her eyes, and her expression softens when she sees the look draping his features, pulling them down. "I'm still making mistakes," he mumbles, scraping the sole of his boot across the roughened pavement, his head bowing in the process. "It's not fair, none of it. Not to Remus. He's asked for – it doesn't matter, but I can't do it."

Dorcas studies him for a second before her fingers push under his chin, lifting his head again. "Mhm," she hums, her eyebrows pinched again, "and what about what you want? Unfairness doesn't just settle onto one person, Sirius, and sometimes, what's fair to one is shredding to another. You can't have it both ways. Remus knows that. I don't believe he's pushing for anything you don't want to willingly give."

"But that's not fair to him!" shouts Sirius suddenly, drawing a few eyes their way that thankfully turn around and ignore them further. "This isn't something that you just compromise on, Cas! How do you have a relationship with someone when you're – when you can't even be – fuck!"

Dorcas chews the inside of her cheek between her teeth for a thoughtful moment before she tries, "Is this about Regulus?"

"No! No, it's not about Reg," rages Sirius, spinning on his heel and beginning to walk again, putting distance between them. His next words emerge as a sour mutter. "Everyone needs to stop accusing Regulus of every little thing."

"Sirius! Wait!" cries Dorcas, hastening to catch up with him. She grips around his elbow and forces him to stop again. "Will you talk to me, please? What's going on with you?"

Sirius doesn't answer, looking past her shoulder, eyes fixing on the large window behind her. "There's a music shop," he says instead, nodding his head, still feeling prickly all over and wanting to be done with the conversation, denying its existence now, his head too full of everything and nothing. "Let's go in. They've got instruments."

Dorcas begins to protest, her expression turning angry, but Sirius pushes past her. He walks through the door, a small bell jangling above his head. The girl behind the till greets them a bit drily, sounding bored, but otherwise ignores them. Sirius presses deeper into the shop, gaze shifting over the mounted instruments, scouring the shelves of music, bins scattered in between filled with records in varying degrees of misuse. Dorcas eventually sidles up beside him, stony and silent, but Sirius doesn't care, an incredibly large lie that he ignores almost as much as the girl had ignored them.

They browse for a while, not really speaking to one another, a tense air settling around them. Eventually, it seems to leach away the longer they're there. Sirius examines guitars Dorcas points out, presses fingers over buttons on clarinets, taps across drums and jingles tambourines. At one point, he stumbles across a xylophone, and Dorcas chuckles and shakes her head as Sirius patters over it with the mallet, even drawing the attention of the girl settled behind the till, her eyes lifting from her magazine with interest.

"What?" questions Sirius, wrinkling his nose at his friend's laughter.

"Nothing," murmurs Dorcas, her eyes sweeping as she regards him, a fondness within them that he can feel to the tips of his toes. "You just never cease to astound me. Is there anything you can't or haven't mastered?"

Sirius drops his gaze back to the xylophone, knocking out an idle sort of tune. "There are lots of things," he says truthfully, trying and failing to force away the embarrassed flush creep around the sides of his neck. "I like music, you know that. If it makes noise, I want to know how it works. Something wrong with that?"

"Of course there isn't," denies Dorcas, shaking her head again, her mouth twitching up into a small smile. "You're a bit of a marvel, d'you know that, Sirius Black?"

"M'not," mumbles Sirius. "I'm just curious."

"And avid. I've seen you with new instruments, the way you toil away on song lyrics when they won't cooperate. You're more than a little inspired and inspiring."

"You're mental," he claims, brushing away her words as he drops the mallet where it dangles from its string by the xylophone. Sirius turns his back on her purposefully, but Dorcas follows him easily, and Sirius rolls his eyes. "Meadowes, you've no idea what – " He stops short when his gaze falls on a corner across the shop. "Oh," he breathes, and then he's moving forward, everything else forgotten.

Sirius reaches his hand out, fingers trailing over colored strings, taking in the deep mahogany finish, brass workings running along various points. Along the front of the instrument, running up its curving line, are intricate carvings of vining flowers surrounding Celtic runes. Sirius studies them, and he thinks that if he reached far enough back in his memory, he might be able to read them.

"This is Remus'," he says, voice gone breathless.

Dorcas steps up beside him, her own hand brushing over the front of the wood, taking it in, a small frown pulling her mouth down at its corners. "I thought Remus is always saying he doesn't want one?" she says slowly, a question in her tone, but Sirius shakes his head.

"He just thinks we don't have the space for one."

"Well," gives Dorcas, "you don't."

"I'll make it." His voice is determined, and when he looks at Dorcas, there's something curious in her expression, but it fades and morphs when he speaks again. "Did Remus ever tell you how he learned to play?" Dorcas shakes her head, remaining silent, and Sirius sweeps his fingers over the smoothness of the harp again. "His mum taught him, like she did with the drums. You know she couldn't do much after the accident, but she still mesmerized with the harp, or so Remus says. I saw her play once, before she died. He was right."

Sirius clears his throat and swallows, remembering the way Remus would always retreat a bit whenever she fell ill, always so susceptible to things after the fall. He doesn't like thinking about after she died, Remus' overwhelming silence, a crushing thing, his devastation tangent, palpable, so strong Sirius could nearly taste it on his tongue, bitter and sour, like spoiled milk and sulfur.

"He didn't play for a long time after she was gone. Took forever to work himself back up to it." Sirius pauses, plucking at a lone string. "Most of you don't know this, but he nearly gave up the drums as well. Lyall sold Hope's harp, couldn't bear to stare at it anymore, or so I'm guessing, but the one she had looked almost identical to this. It's the only reason I've never pushed him to get one, the reason I've never bought one, because I've been searching. Remus doesn't want just any harp. He wants this one, and now he'll have it."

Dorcas stares up at him, studying the side of his face as Sirius begins inspecting the instrument closely, searching for anything that would sever his commitment to leaving with the large piece. His friend stops him after a moment, pulling Sirius down a bit, pressing a kiss to his cheek that leaves him frowning and blinking at her in confusion.

"You're so much better than you think you are," she praises softly. "Remus is lucky. We all are. To be loved by Sirius Black…wow."

Her words grip him, leave him standing still for a few seconds. Sirius finally smiles and shoves gently at her shoulder, rocking her back on her heels a bit, an action which Dorcas laughs away easily.

Sirius purchases the harp, the girl at the till helping them maneuver it out the back to the small space between the buildings with access to an alley. He tells her they have a friend that can come get it with a larger vehicle, and the girl doesn't seem concerned, leaving them outside as she meanders her way through the door again. Sirius waits until she's gone before pulling his wand and sending the harp home ahead of them.

"You could have just shrunk it," suggests Dorcas, looking a bit put out, but Sirius shakes his head.

"No, it's not good for them," he explains as he stows his wand out of sight again. "It messes with their components and instruments never really play the same afterwards. They're always a bit off. It's the only reason I don't bring every piece I own when we go on tour."

Dorcas appears to puzzle over that, but Sirius nudges her, urging her to follow him back. They Apparate to his and Remus' house, finding the harp safely within the confines of Sirius' bedroom, just in case Remus had returned in their absence. He's still gone, so Sirius and Dorcas make quick work in the sitting room. They float the piano away, guiding it to the studio and the bit of empty section of the wall they can manage to make it fit. Once done, they shift the harp to its previous place, resting the instrument perfectly in the corner.

Sirius spends the next hour polishing the thing, making sure it gleams in the soft light of the room. He's just stepping back to examine it when he hears the signaling crack outside, Remus having finally returned. Sirius quickly sends the polish away with a careless flick of his wand and then hastens to the door, standing in front of it and blocking access to the rest of the house as Remus tries to enter.

Brown eyes flutter over him curiously, a small hint of a bemused smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Hullo," greets Remus.

"Hi," chirps Sirius, nearly vibrating with excitement. Remus chuckles a little as he continues to study Sirius fondly.

"You're like a dog, you know?" he says lightly, a gentle tease in his voice. "Waiting by the door when someone comes home, tail thumping over the floor. What are you doing?"

Sirius shrugs one shoulder, schooling his face into a more reasonable expression, hiding away his building delight. "Nothing," he announces quickly, causing Remus' eyes to narrow suspiciously. "I'm not doing anything. I just missed you. Godric, Moony, that's not a crime. Are you accusing me of something? I haven't done anything. Not today, at least. All right, I spilled pizza sauce on the rug, but it came out with magic!"

He sucks in a breath as Remus stares at him in bewilderment, amusement clear in every line of his features. Sirius mentally shakes himself, inwardly scolding, then manages to settle a bit.

"How was your dad?" he asks, calmer now, fingers twitching behind his back.

Remus' expression darkens at the question, though Sirius can tell he's trying to hide some of it away. "Not much different than he usually is," he mutters. "Can I come inside, Padfoot?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. 'Course you can. Enter your own home. Why wouldn't I let you do that?"

Remus eyes Sirius as he steps inside, Sirius moving a bit to allow him entry. There's a puzzled sort of frown pulling at his mouth as he hangs his coat off one of the hooks by the door.

"You're acting odd," he murmurs thoughtfully, and Sirius can't hold it back anymore, beaming at the other man as he wraps his fingers around Remus' wrist.

"I have a surprise for you," he bursts, tugging Remus around the corner and into the sitting room with him. Sirius bounces a bit on the balls of his feet as they stop in the middle of the room, eyes landing on the harp in all her magnificence.

Remus doesn't touch it, never even moves or twitches a finger. Sirius waits beside him in building excitement, eyes fixed on the harp, his prize find, meant only for Remus, a reflection of all that he means, how incredibly important he's always been, Sirius knowing he'd give him the entire universe if possible.

"Is this my consolation gift for sleeping with you?"

The other man's voice is low when it reaches Sirius' ears, his head whipping around quickly at the words that strike him in the chest like a sledgehammer and nearly send him reeling backwards. Remus doesn't look at him, his face smooth and emotionless, brown eyes hardening as Sirius watches, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards and then back up like he's trying to fight against something.

"What?" snaps Sirius before he can stop himself, outrage flaring through him. "Of course it's not. Why the fuck would you ever think that?"

Remus slowly turns to look at him. "Why wouldn't I?" he says in the same flat tone. "After all these years, all the times it's been talked about, Regulus of all people finding one to keep at his and James' house, but this is when you decide is the perfect time to find one of your own? Now? After we – " He stops talking abruptly, words effectively coming to an end even as they crash into Sirius with the force of a terrible stampede of erumpents, crushing him beneath their large feet, leaving parts of him ground to nothing but dust. "It's convenient. Why else would you do it?"

"Maybe because I fucking care about you!" shouts Sirius in an effort to squash down the hurt the accusation had created. The idea that Remus could ever think Sirius capable of something so cruel and unfeeling sends him back a step, widening the gap that feels as though the edges are quickly caving in and crumbling under his feet. "I've been searching for something like this for years. Years, Remus. I wanted you to have one and I could have bought you a harp at any fucking time, but I was looking for the right one, and I finally found it. It is purely coincidental, so don't accuse me of being so tainted and twisted that I did this out of – out of – what? Necessity? A grand bloody gratefulness? Fuck you, Lupin, you miserable prick. If that's how you think I see myself, how you view me and think I see you, then just – go fuck yourself next time."

Remus stares at him with wide eyes, the slow, half-realization of his mistake steadily working its way onto his face. His mouth parts, jaw hanging slack, his breathing shallow.

"Sirius – " he tries, taking a step forward, reaching for him, but Sirius backs away, retreating quickly, shaking his head in denial.

"Fuck off, Remus," he snarls over his hurt, masking it, covering it up, burying it in the dirt where it can't be seen, though he knows Remus sees it regardless, his eyes remorseful and turning desperate.

Sirius rounds on his heels before the other man can speak another word, storming away, slamming the door behind him as he leaves, the sound rattling through the sudden hollow places growing inside him.

Chapter Text

He flees to James'. Regulus hasn't spoken to him since their row nearly a week before, but Sirius isn't thinking about that now, his anger too high, hurt too strong, ripping sections away from him with every step he takes. It bubbles under his skin, sears harsh, blazing bursts of lightning through his every vein, charring them black, scorching around his heart.

Sirius slams through the front door without knocking, startling the two men beyond. James lurches up from the sofa quickly, teetering on his feet for a moment before he rushes towards Sirius. Regulus remains where he is, grey eyes fixed and unblinking, watching Sirius as he storms across the room. As James levels with him, his face twisted into a dark sort of wary concern, hands coming up to grab onto Sirius' arms or shoulders, possibly even his face, but Sirius bats him away, glowering.

"This is your fault!" he shouts, features contorting, red overtaking his flesh as rageful heat floods him. James stumbles backwards in surprise, his hazel eyes widening behind his glasses as he stares at Sirius in shock. "Why did you have to say that? Why did you have to bring it up again?"

"What are you talking about?" demands James, straightening up again from where he'd started to lean away. "Bring what up again?"

"Spencer!" cries Sirius, all sense and reason having left him. "That bloody thing with Spencer! You brought it up again, reminded everyone about it. You're the one that did all of it, I never did a thing, but now – "

Sirius' words choke away. He can feel Regulus' eyes drilling into his back, and Sirius wants to round on his brother, throw out more accusations, but he can't force himself to move, rooted to the spot, glaring at James balefully, as though every bad thing that's ever happened to him, all his woes and strife, fall directly on his head.

James shakes his head a little, appearing baffled, his gaze darting around the room as though searching for some sort of answer that doesn't exist. "It was just a joke, Sirius," he finally says, sounding a bit sullen. "I didn't – "

"You didn't think?" yells Sirius, leaning forward towards his friend, his wrath and terrible torment swelling inside him, something crying out for him to stop that he ignores. "You're fucking right you didn't think! You never do, do you? Everything's so fucking easy and simple for James Potter. Nothing hurts. It's all just sugar and rainbows in pretty rain and sunshine all the fucking time, but have you ever once considered it's not like that for the rest of us?"

James slowly backs away, his eyes wider than Sirius has ever seen them, but he advances on his friend, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. Blunt nails dig into the skin of his palms, leaving marks behind, the pressure so hard that Sirius will be surprised if they don't bruise afterwards.

"Perfect family, perfect upbringing, perfect home. Perfect little life," snarls Sirius in a vengeful rage, towering over a steadily hunkering James. "Great career, happy little love nest with a boyfriend who just…fucking gets you. It's so nice, isn't it? Pieces slotting into place without any effort at all. No one judges you, criticizes what you choose to do with your life because you're James fucking Potter, king of the world, master of all, but some of us can't have what we want, James! Some of us have to fight for those pieces and then watch as they all slip through our fingers no matter how hard we try to get them to connect."

James' mouth works for a while when Sirius finally falls silent, his chest heaving as he pants and stares his friend down, a hint of madness swimming with the anguish inside him.

"It – it was just a joke," stutters out James weakly.

Sirius stares at him in astonishment, a bitter, harsh burst of laughter bubbling its way up and out of his throat. "Fuck you, Potter," he hisses as his face twists, mouth sneering up. "Fuck you and your pathetic jokes."

He turns quickly and stalks through the house before James can recover enough to speak again, before Regulus can decide to act or intervene. Sirius storms out the back door onto the small terrace that merges with the garden, slamming the door closed behind him, the curtained glass panes rattling from the force. He rounds on the exterior of the structure, his fist flying, connecting with the brickwork so hard he hears a loud crack, pain flaring through his knuckles and fingers, trickling down like spreading fire to his wrist.

"Fuck!" he screams into the night, his foot kicking out next, toe of his boot slamming into the bricks. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

--------------------

Sirius shivers where he sits in one of the padded outdoor chairs. He'd forgotten his jacket, but he barely feels the chill creeping over his skin and settling into his bones. The sky above him is crystal clear for once, no clouds blocking out the stars overhead, but Sirius can't look at them, his eyes darting away whenever he forgets and lifts them upwards, remembering Remus' words about freedom and muses, and his own dawning realization of all that he wanted so strongly.

No one has sought him out yet, the back door having not cracked open, not so much as a curtain shifting. He sits in the darkness, ignoring the studded navy of the sky, buried within himself, miserable and teetering, thinking about Remus' accusations, the look that had passed over his face as Sirius had lashed out in return, the sharp sting of the hurt that still floods his blood with acid, coursing through him with every beat of his mangled heart.

He's not sure how long has passed when the sounds of footsteps reach his ears, emerging onto the terrace with him. A jacket is offered out to him silently, and Sirius glances up expecting to find a darker hand attached to it, surprise rippling through his numb form when he finds pale fingers similar to his own. Lifting his eyes higher, Sirius frowns at the sight of Regulus standing beside him.

"Take the jacket, Sirius," he instructs, his tone harboring no arguments. "You'll freeze in your stubbornness. I'd prefer to avoid the clean up your death would leave behind."

Sirius scowls, staring at the jacket, but he finally takes it without a word. The fabric is a dark maroon, soft to the touch, Sirius realizing it's one of James', a favorite, which makes sense. Regulus' own would be too small, his brother bearing a slighter build than Sirius' own, shoulders narrower, arms a bit longer, his stature thinner and a bit reedy.

Regulus watches him as Sirius runs his fingers over the material clutched in his hands, his broken knuckles now healed but still bruised, the other man saying nothing for a while, waiting. Sirius finally relents and swings the jacket around his shoulders, slipping his arms inside, his skin beginning to prickle and sting faintly as it adjusts, attempting to gather the sudden warmth inside his body.

"Only you would be dramatic enough to run outside in the middle of December instead of choosing a bedroom or even the water closet like a rational person," drawls Regulus above him, sounding disconnected and indifferent.

Sirius tells himself for the twenty-third time that he should leave, go somewhere else, but he can't seem to do it, frozen to the spot, having nothing to do with the cold around him.

"James was a bit skittish to come out here," remarks Regulus, his voice still distant, unfeeling. "I'm not entirely sure why. You're very practiced in exploding your emotions over everyone surrounding you, but you never actually do anything about it. It's always the running with you. You never change."

"What do you want, Regulus?" bites out Sirius through gritted teeth. "If you just came out here to insult me, you can leave. I don't need it, especially from you."

Regulus is quiet for a moment, ponderous, before saying levelly, "I think you forgot that this is my home you've invaded." He remains standing for another few seconds before settling down almost regally in the chair at Sirius' side. "Tell me what happened," he compels, barely a request.

"No," mutters Sirius foully, reaching to dig through the jacket pocket until he remembers it's not his own and he slumps miserably. "You don't want to hear it. You're only here because James wouldn't come." Because of me goes unsaid between them, Sirius deflating further.

Regulus sighs, pulling his wand. He flicks it lazily, a nearby window slipping open at the back of the house as something flies through it and into his waiting hand. He offers it out silently, Sirius turning belatedly to see the pack of cigarettes laying over his palm. Sirius glances at his brother, the other man huffing and rolling his eyes.

"James insists on keeping them here for you since you refuse to quit," explains Regulus in irritation. "Pushes me to buy them as well. Says it gives me more practice with Muggles, as though I don't already have enough contact with them through day-to-day business."

Sirius stares at the cardboard box in his brother's hand, and when he doesn't take it, Regulus waves the item around in annoyance.

"Take them or I'll burn them all as you watch," he grates out in warning.

Sirius snatches the pack quickly at the threat, pulling one from the box and stuffing it between his lips. He snaps his fingers, flaring the tip to light, a trick he'd learned in his youth but only uses now when necessary. He drags in a large haul, his head buzzing with it, ears ringing faintly, clearing a small amount of the destructive haze that had settled over him since leaving home.

"Tell me what happened," repeats Regulus, eyeing Sirius as he smokes, studying him through the darkness. When Sirius doesn't immediately speak, rolling the cigarette between two fingers, his brother huffs. "Taking into consideration the accusations you threw at James, and what he informed me transpired on the night of the album celebration, it doesn't take much deduction to come to the conclusion that Remus said something you didn't agree with."

Sirius still doesn't speak, the heavy weight of Remus' harsh, bitter words raining over him again. He closes his eyes, the fag gripped between his thumb and forefinger burning to ash as he sits unmoving, the sound of a grunt eventually reaching his ears.

"You can't keep blaming your problems and mistakes on everyone else, Sirius," launches Regulus like an aerial attack. "Whatever Remus said, while likely untrue, can't be laid upon him as solely a fault of his own. You're standing in a relationship with one foot in and the other out because you're scared – "

"I am not scared!" snarls Sirius, rounding on Regulus like a whip.

"You are," snaps Regulus, his eyes flashing in the blackness of the night. "You are terrified, Sirius, and while you might think you hide it well, you do not. It is seen, it is noticed. You stomp around like a teenager who isn't getting his way all while you simultaneously condemn everyone else for your own misfortunes."

"Misfortunes?" hisses Sirius, his own eyes narrowing into a glare. "For fuck's sake, Regulus, do you even hear yourself? That's what you call getting grabbed and groped against my will? People storming us on stage, never having a second of peace when we go out? Having our faces and every transgression splashed across the front pages of papers on every corner of the world is no way for anyone to live their life."

Regulus sniffs, a sharp inhale of breath, his face dark in the shadow of the house behind them. "It's what you signed up for," he says coldly, uncaring.

"It's not!" shouts Sirius, his every nerve singing with rage, flames licking at his words. "We never wanted this, Regulus. We just wanted to play, be together, do what we'd always done. The wizarding world was fine, but it wasn't accepting of what we chose to perform, just as you know, so we branched out, but we were happy in those small pubs playing for pennies that didn't amount to anything. We were satisfied with it. You're the one that pushed for more, pressed us further. You convinced us to be more."

"Because I knew you could be!" says Regulus heatedly, his own volume rising in the stillness of the garden sprawling in front of them, but Sirius continues as though he hasn't spoken.

"You're the one that shoved Remus in my face," he accuses in a hostile whisper, and Regulus goes silent, staring at him through the faint light forcing its way through the thin curtains of the door. "I never would have agreed to any of this if you hadn't brought him into it, but you knew. Even without really knowing, you knew, and you used that knowledge against me, convincing me of how much better he'd be for it all, how we could…what was it you said? 'Patch his elbows, line his wardrobe with the softest jumpers, give him a life free of struggle.'

"You laid him at my feet like a blinded sacrifice and built your altar around us, a church steepled high, its walls built out of hypocritical exploitation and clever enough lies that they always seemed like beacons of truth," continues Sirius in the same quiet, ominous tone, Regulus creeping deeper into the shadows, his face nearly disappearing as Sirius watches. "You manipulated me into getting what you thought was best, lining your pockets along with our own, taking our talents and molding them into something marketable, and you did it all by using him against me. And somehow, I never saw it, or I ignored it because it worked. It worked, and you knew that, so you let me keep going even when I started to fight back in the only way I could without demolishing everything we'd built with callouses on our hands and aches in our throats and hearts. You used me and I let you."

Regulus opens his mouth to speak, no sound emerging, but Sirius turns away from him, gazing at the frosting shrubbery and dying grass. "I don't blame you for me hiding away from the world," says Sirius, so quiet now he isn't sure if Regulus can still hear him. "I tried for a long time, refusing to see it, but that's not your fault. It's on me. My own cowardice over what will come of it. It's my burden to bear and sort through. I have to decide what I want and what I'm willing to sacrifice to get it.

"But the mockery you've made of me, this…fucking sex idol you've crafted me as, all for the sake of monetization…that's on you, Regulus." Sirius flinches as the cigarette he's still holding burns itself to the filter, stinging his skin. He drops it quickly, the fire gone out now as it hits the concrete beneath where he sits, rolling against the side of his foot. Sirius pushes the same hand back through his hair, pulling it away from his face with a half-rough, half-resigned tug. "I don't mind the fame of it all. I can deal with it, we all can. It's why we've created our little personal corners where we can tuck away and not be bothered by the outside world. There's no escaping it now, and the fans are…I don't hate them. They're a lot of fun under most circumstances, but sometimes they push too far, too hard, and they do that because of you and what you've shaped me into.

"So now I'm saying no, Regulus," states Sirius resolutely. "I'm saying no to all of it. Every seductive photoshoot you don't make the others endure, all the towering billboards featuring some nearly obscene image of me, every single twit or tweet or whatever the fuck they are you send out under the guise of me that sparks more needless lust and grappling hands…it all stops. I won't do it ever again. I am a person, a human being, not some object without thoughts or feelings designed to catch the drool of the rest of the population." Sirius finally turns and looks at Regulus again, his face catching the light enough for the other man to see it clearly. "And more than that, I'm your brother, and you should have known better from the beginning, especially after all the manipulation and molding that caused me to run from our childhood in the first place."

Regulus, silent and immutable, like a controlled tempest swirling and building pressure in the atmosphere around them, stares at Sirius for a long time. His expression is unreadable but open where it's usually closed off, his feelings and emotions always guarded away except for the times he loses himself to anger and lets the cracks show. Sirius studies him through the darkness, taking his brother in in a way he hasn't done since they were kids. He looks almost like a child now, the years and lines slipping from his features, leaving him smooth and exposed, that cold outward mask that never fails to make him look like their mother gone, stomped under the heavy boot covering Sirius' foot.

"I didn't – " he finally says, but he stops, swallows audibly in the oppressive silence. "I didn't realize – "

"Yes, you did," interjects Sirius, stoic and judgmental. "Don't lie to me, Reg. What's the point now?"

Regulus winces, an odd thing to witness, the other man always so composed, constructed from heavy, immovable stone, iron rods through his center for that unwavering support he relies on so strongly. He shakes his head, mouth pulling into a taut line, twisting out into something grievous.

"I ignored how much it was hurting you," he admits then, voice far too quiet but heard all the same, "but I didn't do it for the reasons you think, not entirely." Regulus licks over his teeth, as though steeling himself, his back going a bit rigid where he sits, prepared, on edge. Scared. "In the beginning, when you came to me and told me what you had planned, I wanted no part in any of it, but I agreed because I wanted to be with you. I didn't have anyone else anymore, and I'd only just realized I'd never really had them to begin with.

"But then I saw it, how good you all were, the talent you had, not just as individuals, but as a collective, and I knew you were something special." Regulus stops, his palms rubbing over his trousers, a nervous gesture that becomes a curiosity to Sirius as he observes his brother without speaking. "I remember, Sirius. I know you think I don't, or that I never cared, but I remember it all. I saw how miserable you were at home when we were kids. I wasn't blind to what they were doing to you, all the pressure they put on your shoulders, but I ignored it, turned my back on it, told myself that's just how it was supposed to be and you were simply stubborn, too resistant for your own good. I blamed you for making it worse on yourself, and I hated you when you left me. I convinced myself you never really cared if you could abandon me so easily."

Regulus inhales a breath that sounds firm, the perfect gust of oxygen, but Sirius can hear the shakiness beneath, layered away deeply. "It wasn't until they started pushing me that I finally…" He tapers off again, falling into deep silence that Sirius doesn't break, allowing Regulus time to sort out what he's trying to say. He turns to Sirius eventually, still open, a tinge of pleading flooding his eyes. "I only wanted you to be happy, Sirius, in the way you never could be when we were kids. And I know you were already, but I wanted it to be me that gave you more than you already had. So you'd have a reason to keep me this time."

Sirius shakes his head quickly, his features pinching inwards. "I didn't run from you, Reggie," he says solemnly. "It was always them. We drifted, I know that, but I never stopped caring about you. When I left, I wanted to take you with me. I thought about it. I stood in my room and stared at my trunk, wondering if there was a way we could fit your things inside it as well, because getting one out would be easier than two. I thought – but you were so deeply entrenched with them that I knew you'd never come. So, I made a decision, a choice. I chose survival because I knew you'd be fine with them until I was better equipped to do something about it."

"But I wasn't," snaps Regulus, his voice turning hostile and vicious, filling with injustice and a palpable ache. "I wasn't okay, because they took all of their expectations for you and turned them on me, except it was worse. It was worse because they'd lost you, and they wanted to make sure it didn't happen again. You were always their favorite."

"That's not true," denies Sirius, aiming for force but his words no more than a whisper. "They hated me."

"They hated what you became. They couldn't understand it," hisses Regulus, "but it changed nothing. You were theirs from the beginning, their heir, the one they placed everything on, all their hopes and desires. You were a prince in a world filled with peasants, and in succession, I became the extra, the spare, the fallback option, just in case, something they'd never planned to need because you were everything, Sirius. In a world of darkness, you were their sun, and you failed them. By saving yourself, you failed them, and I thought, for a long time, that you'd failed me, too. You abandoned me to a den of wolves and laughed as you did it. You flaunted around that castle like nothing could ever touch you again, and I hated you for that, because I could see. You were happy, and you were happy without me, for the first time in your life."

"I wasn't happy," whispers Sirius. "How could I be, Regulus? I turned my back on my family. Regardless of circumstances, that's not – it can't be an easy thing, leaving that behind. It wasn't. I missed you. I could live without them. I was better off, though it took a while to see it and a lot of insistent talks from James, but I never forgot about you. I never stopped watching. I was still your big brother, Reg, and I still loved you just as I love you now, no matter the detritus of our lives."

Regulus looks away, seeming unwilling or possibly unable to meet Sirius' eyes. He straightens his back after a moment, posture becoming more rigid, something slipping over his face, a different sort of mask, one of determination.

"I'll reschedule your photoshoots. We won't use the originals," he declares, Sirius feels a sudden sense of whiplash with the abruptness of the subject shift and the way his brother's demeanor had changed. "There's still several weeks before the album releases. We have time for alterations to whatever you don't want."

Sirius blinks at him in surprise, thrown off balance a bit by his words, but he nods slowly, something releasing inside his chest that he thinks has been there for far too long. "Thanks," he murmurs.

Regulus nods as well, once, a curt motion. His shoulders stiffen and then fall a bit as Sirius watches him. His mouth opens to speak again, something in his grey eyes, ineffable, a mysterious thing, but before Regulus can put voice to words, the door is cracking open. Once again, Sirius expects to see James, but he's mystified when he meets a bright green gaze instead, though he thinks he shouldn't be.

"Hello, boys," greets Lily, her voice measured, a tentativeness embracing its edges that makes Sirius want to retreat. "Am I interrupting?"

"No," says Regulus quickly, rising to his feet, Sirius following his movements with his eyes. "He's yours. I have business to tend to."

He disappears inside after that, slipping past Lily as she steps onto the terrace, replacing Regulus in his vacated seat. Sirius eyes her speculatively as the door closes, knowing instinctively why she's here but not ready to approach it yet.

"James?" he asks instead, a small amount of guilt beginning to fester in his stomach, turning it sour and sending it roiling, but Lily only smiles at him, a soft thing, as though she can see it.

"He's fine," she assures. "This isn't the first time you two have lashed out at one another. You always move past it, don't you?" Sirius doesn't answer, looking down at his boots. "Apparently, he's been trying to keep himself from peeking through the curtains to watch you two like a stalker for a while now. He's worried, but he understands, I think."

Sirius nods again, something thick lifting into his throat. "You talked to Remus," he states, a fact he knows to be true.

"I did," confirms Lily gently. "He wanted to come but he – " She pauses, staring across the strip of light shining through the door. "He's incredibly sorry about what he said."

Sirius looks away from her again, out into the darkness of the garden. "Why would he ever think that?" he demands, the hurt invading his tone as much as it had in the beginning. "He should know me better than that. I thought he did. I've never done anything to deserve what he said. It's like he's believed it all, the stupid things people are always saying about me, but he knows better, Lily. I love him and he – "

Lily reaches over as Sirius' words choke themselves away, her hand resting on his cheek, thumb brushing lightly under his eye. "He does know that, Sirius. He does. He's just scared, sweetheart," she tries to soothe, but Sirius wrenches away from her, his expression flaring with fury.

"I don't care," he snaps. "We're all scared, Lily! If you're not scared, you're not paying attention! He still should have known better!"

Lily moves forward then, crouching to the ground in front of him. Both of her hands wrap around his jaw, forcing him to look at her and holding him in place.

"I know. I know, love," she says comfortingly, heartbreak in her eyes. "And he does as well. He made a mistake, Sirius. He regretted what he said as soon as he realized what he'd done. It was only a mistake."

"A mistake?" snaps Sirius violently, pushing her away. "A mistake is forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge. It's leaving the window open all night when it's cold. A mistake isn't accusing me of – of – fucking buying him off for sleeping with me, Evans!"

Lily flinches at the harshness in his words, dropping her hands from where they're still trying to soothe over his skin. He glares at her, seething, aching, ripping apart from the inside out. He's never felt like this before, didn't think it was possible to feel so completely destroyed by one person, not even his mother able to garner such a rise from him in all their battling years.

"He is my best friend, Lily," hisses Sirius. "James is my brother, and Remus is everything else, and he knew better. Only James knows more about me than him, and even with that, there are some things even James doesn't know that Remus always has. I don't understand how he could stand there and look at my kindness and love like it was tainted with – with such fucking cruelty."

Lily stares up at him, her eyes dark, barely catching the glimmer of light shining from inside the house. Sirius can see her chest shuddering as she breathes below him, her expression pulled into grim lines as she studies him, debating something before her mouth opens.

"Sirius," she says quietly, voice invading the settling stillness, firm and resolute but still compassionate, trying to be understanding and forgiving, "that's not what that was. You're not seeing it clearly." Lily holds up her hand, gaze hardening in warning when Sirius attempts to protest and lash out again, stopping his words in his throat. "You aren't," she says factually. "You're too focused on everything else to look at the smaller picture, the Remus of it all. Which is…understandable. I know you're hurt. I know what he said was unkind and not fair to you, but you need to take a moment, only a few seconds, and examine this entire thing from his point of view, because it's important, Sirius. If you two are ever going to make this into what it could be and should be, you have to start seeing his side of things as well as your own.

"You two are more alike than I think you've ever realized," she continues, still not allowing Sirius to speak or defend his own thoughts and actions. "Terrible, horrible, soul-crushing childhoods. You've both lost so much, but you need to remember that you chose to give up your family, whether that was a simple decision or not. It was still a choice that you made. Remus never had that option. His family was ripped away from him, and he blames himself for that. He always will, no matter what we say about it. To him, he is the direct cause of his mother's declining health and death because of it. He's the reason his father fell apart at his seams, the reason Lyall can no longer stomach to even look at Remus, or so he thinks. He was six years old, and he thinks he ruined everything with one mistake.

"And here he is now, more than twenty years later, a rebuilt life spreading out around him, so many people he cares about and loves with his entire heart…you in the center of it all…" Lily stops, licking over her lips slowly. "You are the center of it all, Sirius. That's how Remus sees our entire group. You're like this force of nature, this center of gravity tugging everyone to you, Remus always just trying to hold on by his fingertips, clawing in with nails until he finds some sort of purchase. He's terrified of losing you, because he loves you, but he's also paralyzed by the fear that if you go, the rest of us will as well, and he'll be left with nothing again."

Sirius blinks at Lily, his face crumbling at the words. She reaches up and strokes a tender finger down the line of his nose, something Sirius has only ever allowed her to do, the action making him feel like a beloved dog under her care. She hums at him as she sees the realization in his eyes.

"He is scared, Sirius, of so much more than you've ever seen," says Lily gently. "He's spent years watching you run around, unsettled and unhappy, just wanting to grab onto you and not let go. Remus loves you so much, in so many different ways, so when he saw that harp and you there beside it being entirely yourself, so bright and vibrant, he panicked. He pushed those walls up again, the walls you should understand more than any of the rest of us. He blocked himself off because he didn't know what else to do, that fear strangling him so thoroughly that he couldn't breathe through it. Don't blame him so harshly for that. He made a mistake – yes, a mistake, Sirius. We're all entitled to those, and you've had your fair share as well, so do not pass judgment on one of the few he's made because it hurt more than you would have liked. He didn't mean it, you know he didn't. You know him better than that, too."

Sirius looks away then, Lily allowing him to retreat for a while, giving him time to process her words. He stares at the frost glittering faintly in the soft yellow light casting small stripes over the garden, his head spinning, mind clawing, trying to gain hold, find a bearing in a choppy sea, searching for that swash of luminance of a distant lighthouse. He bows his head as Lily watches from her perch over the brick tiles beneath them, knowing everything she's said is true, feeling it like a releasing knot in his stomach.

"You should talk to him about this, sweetheart," she says, prodding in her quiet, effective way. "He's waiting for you, but he thinks he's pushed you away for good. I told him he was being foolish, but I don't think he believed me."

Sirius turns to glance over her again, taking in her fond expression, acceptance in her eyes as she gazes up at him. Her fingers push backwards through strands of his hair, nails scratching lightly over his scalp, Sirius leaning into it automatically, the smallest of smiles pulling one corner of his mouth upwards only slightly. He nods and swallows down the lump that's breaking apart in his throat.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, okay."

Lily hums in approval, raising to her feet. She bends over him, both hands in his hair now, pressing a firm kiss to the top of his head.

"We love you so much, Padfoot," she says affectionately. "You're a fool, and as stubborn as a mule, but we love you even more because of it."

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes, but he stands as well under Lily's coaxing, and her arms push around his middle immediately, Sirius stumbling a bit at the unexpectedness of the gesture. His own fingers tangle into her copper waves easily once he adjusts to her hold on him, massaging gently over her scalp just as she'd done to his.

Lily eventually separates, gripping Sirius' hand in hers and tugging him back inside the house. As they enter, they find James standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, attempting to look casual and failing spectacularly. Sirius wonders how long his friend had lasted before he'd begun secretly watching them through the cracks of the curtains.

Hazel eyes flicker their way before darting to settle on the opposite wall, his hand lifting and ruffling through his hair, a nervous habit James has never managed to shake or break himself from doing since he was a child. It brings a smile to Sirius' face as he observes the other man.

"All sorted?" questions James, only a tint of strain in his tone. Lily's gaze drifts to Sirius expectantly and Sirius rolls his eyes at her admonishingly.

"Yeah, all sorted," responds Sirius, "mostly. Think…think I'm going home. Talk to Remus."

"Good. That's good. You – you should. Do that," stumbles out James, fingers tugging at dark hair, pulling a few strands from their roots in the process. Sirius sighs, feeling a bit wretched over his earlier reaction, and he steps forward into James' line of sight.

"Prongs," he says, urging James to meet his gaze. When he does, Sirius frowns remorsefully, licking over his back teeth. "I'm – "

James holds up his hand, quelling Sirius' apology before it can form properly, his palm lowering to Sirius' shoulder without hesitation. "We're good, Pads," he assures easily, an effortless smile tugging over his features. "If you're good, so are we. Are you? Good?" His eyes flicker over Sirius, searching beneath the surface, looking for the things that aren't so readily apparent to everyone else.

"I will be," says Sirius after a moment, his voice catching in his throat, cracking a bit on the way out. "I'll be fine, Prongs. Just…need to talk to Remus."

James nods once, acceptingly. "Right. Do that, then," he orders, his head cocking sideways in levity as he shoves a little at Sirius' body, rocking him slightly. "Prat."

"Pillock."

"Nadger lover."

"Arse pirate."

"Boys," sighs Lily grievously, long and suffering, but James and Sirius only laugh in response.

--------------------

Popping into existence on their front step, Sirius can hear it before he enters the house, those low, melodious notes trilling outwards, strings being plucked by expert hands. It's slow, sad, tugging at Sirius' heart to match, and he stands where he is for a while, simply listening, absorbing the dulcet song into his bloodstream.

As it fades from the night air, a new one steadily beginning, Sirius inhales a deep breath, filling his chest with it, extending it outwards, building himself up, and then he steps inside their home. He ignores the shaking of his hands as he closes the door quietly behind him, creeping around the small dividing wall, taking a bit of time to watch Remus where he sits behind the massive harp, fingers pulling at colors, hands dancing, performing along with his song, the bones of his wrists standing out, veins of his arms rolling with each movement.

Remus has beautiful hands and arms, something Sirius had known even before his dawning realization of attraction and more. Years of drumming have built them up from the small, fragile things they'd once been in youth, most calling them his best feature, but Sirius thinks differently. Every part of Remus is his best, nothing better or worse than the rest of it. Sirius would readily and willingly worship the ground beneath his feet if Remus would let him, lips pressed to shoes, ankles, knees, shoulders, each individual rib, small sesamoid bones no one else realizes are even there, any place he could possibly locate and lay reverence and rapture.

Remus stops a few minutes later, his hands falling away, head lifting, like he can sense Sirius there. Brown eyes settle where Sirius stands, regarding him with a heavy silence, and then his mouth is opening, a forceful breath shuddering through his lungs.

"I'm sorry," he bursts quietly, as though he can't manage to keep the words in for another second. Remus' arms hang limply by his sides, all parts of him deflated, gone airless, sucked into a void of absence and misery. "I'm – Sirius, I didn't – I would never – "

"I know," says Sirius, stepping fully into the room, no longer half-hiding behind the wall. "I know, Remus. I understand."

Remus shakes his head, a jerking, violent motion. "You don't – "

"I do," insists Sirius. "I do." He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop the nervous fidgeting as Remus stares back at him in uncertainty. "This hasn't been the easiest thing…has it?"

Something passes over the other man's face, a brief flicker of fear, Sirius almost able to see the dread pooling in his stomach. "No," he whispers.

Sirius nods slowly, eyes shifting around the room for a moment before resting on Remus again. "I – I think that's my fault," he murmurs, and then he scoffs at himself. "It is my fault. All this – this fucking hiding and lying. It's not fair to you, is it? You don't deserve that doubt."

Remus' expression turns stricken where he sits, and it aches in a deep crevice inside Sirius as he watches the lines form over freckled features he's nearly memorized but also knows he'll never do so enough to please himself, not ever. Sirius curls his fingers into his palms inside the rough fabric of his jeans.

"But it's not doubt, Remus," he continues. "Not about you. I've never had any doubt about you, not since the beginning, about anything. You've always been an inevitability for me in some way since the first day I met you." Sirius' eyes drop to the scar on Remus' neck, stretched taut, straining over his skin, pale and shining, catching the soft light of the room and glistening. "I was so curious about you in the beginning. You were this…mystery I couldn't figure out, not for a long time. It took me years, but sometimes I still think I haven't quite cracked it. You're always making me rethink what I know, what I want, who I am, but I – "

His words strangle themselves away, Sirius tapering off weakly, his breath hitching painfully as his gaze drops. He stares at the floor as his shame crashes over his shoulders, crippling his spine, bowing it down, bending it to contortions, making him plaint, breaking him into two pieces. Sirius only looks up again when he feels calloused fingertips pressing under his chin, urging his head to lift, grazing along the line of his jaw, open, inviting, Remus' face reflecting the same things as Sirius meets his eyes.

"You what?" coaxes Remus. "You can tell me, Sirius. Whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you. I've never done that. I won't start now."

Sirius swallows thickly, the sound audible between them. Remus fingers drop, wrapping loosely around his throat, the pad of his thumb running across the knot at its center. Every part of Sirius is screaming at him to be quiet, not to speak, never to voice his feelings into the air, but Remus is gentle and loving, so accepting of everything Sirius is and has always been that he can't find the reasons to hold it back anymore.

"I'm not ready," he whispers, a tortured sound falling between the words. "I can't do it, Remus. I can't – "

"Shh," soothes Remus, suddenly face to face, hands slipping along Sirius' jaw, fingers pushing back into his hair, holding firmly. He leans forward, resting their foreheads together, still shushing quietly, a calming eye in the center of a furious, raging storm. "It's all right, Sirius. No one is ever going to force you, not any of us. I'll never, and I'm sorry if that's how it's seemed." Sirius shakes his head roughly, but Remus urges him dormant again, fingers winding around black locks with gentle pressure. "You don't have to do anything you don't want or aren't ready for, not ever. Do you hear me? Not ever, Sirius. This is your life, your choice. You get to decide who you are and what the world sees, no one else. It's nobody's place or right but yours, especially not mine."

"But you – " chokes Sirius until Remus quiets him again with soft strokes of his thumb over the shells of Sirius' ears.

"I have you," he murmurs. "I have our friends, our family. I don't need anything else. Only them. Just you. I love you so much, Sirius, and I'll keep loving you even if you never let your full colors into the light, because it doesn't matter. I have you, and I know you, every piece. I have all of you, and that's the most important thing."

Sirius pulls back, enough to see Remus' eyes clearly, his expression twitching, not settling. "You – you love me?" he says, his voice far weaker than expected, but Sirius can't look away as Remus tilts his head only slightly, a curious smile gracing his mouth, tugging his lips upwards, mesmerizing and sublime.

"You're a bit daft, aren't you?" he asks rhetorically. Remus gives another gentle tug at Sirius' hair, urging him forward again, skin pressing to skin, breaths misting between them, wrapping, mingling, melding as one, so glorious and enchanting, the magic at the core of a spell, a wand shattered, elements sparking with rituals too old to understand, fathomless and universal. "I have always loved you in one way or another. There are no stupid questions in life, Sirius, but don't ask stupid questions, love."

And, before he can fully understand it, process Remus' words in their entirety, the emotions twinging around them, so rich and warm like nectar flowing down vines, Sirius is laughing. His body shakes with it, vibrates against Remus', but Remus is laughing, too, their heads rocking together, shuddering over skin, catching and gripping before releasing. Remus ducks forward, his lips snagging Sirius' in a kiss that's like breathing after deprivation, sweet air flooding his lungs again, expanding him, filling in the hollowed places created and carved over years and decades. Remus floods them, smooths them over, making certain nothing can ever dig them out again, Sirius perfectly protected in the shelter of the other man's arms just as Sirius guards Remus against the world with his own.

--------------------

Their voices echo around him now, Marlene's higher than the rest but still distorted along with Peter's and James'. The interviewer stares with fixed eyes on Sirius and Remus, not blinking, focused like a predator stalking prey. Sirius feels sweat begin to bead along his neck and trickle down the line of his spine under the heat of the too-bright lights and the sudden, silent scrutiny.

He chances a glance at their friends, a quick thing, but enough to assess their stances. Peter looks murderous, his face narrowed, mouth pinched, nose twisted in disgust as he glowers openly at the host. James' expression is stoic, a mask of carefully crafted disinterest, but Sirius can see the fury and outrage blazing in his hazel eyes like lightning strikes, the ground rumbling, threatening to burst open, swallowing the world whole in its gaping jaws of destruction.

Remus is still stiff beside him, though Sirius can sense that's he's exuding an outwardly appearance of calm collectedness. His arm shifts imperceptibly, pressing against Sirius', small finger slipping around Sirius' own between their thighs, hidden but supportive. Sirius can feel his rage bubbling beneath the surface, like a vibration traveling through the uncomfortable sofa under them, but Sirius isn't sure what the point of it is anymore.

His mind whirs, clicking, stuttering, restarting. He scours possibilities, excuses, thinks about ways to laugh it off, leave the whole thing up to speculation. Sirius panics even as he remains solid, upright, his outsides tempered, controlled even as he teeters and rocks violently on the inside, his stomach twisting and knotting, feeling the choice slipping through his hands like uncontainable sand, the hourglass of life never stopping or ceasing in its lessening flow.

The audio replays time and time again, growing louder around them, forcing silence to all else, those four words of declaration blaring through the air in Sirius' own soft yet amplified voice. When it eventually cuts off abruptly, the host smiles, a congenial thing, all teeth from where Sirius is sitting, attempting to keep his composure, holding his expression mostly blank.

"That was very interesting to hear, wasn't it?" the man says pleasantly, like a siren luring a seaman to his death, ready to drown him in the icy depths of its home. "Love. Friendship. They're sometimes interchangeable, aren't they, especially as close as you four are? I imagine you say those words regularly, and likely have for years now. It's incredibly heartwarming.

"But your fans, those so very devoted to your lives, always taking the time to pluck over details, comb them out, separate the important from the ordinary…they seem convinced there was something different about this time. The way you said it, Sirius; so soft, like a confession. It's created a great deal of speculation about the truth that might be hidden in the shadows, about the reason you're so secretive about your relationships, never offering any information as so many others do."

Sirius licks over his lips slowly, a forced smile spreading into place, appearing lazy and effortless. "You're claiming they think I'm in love with Remus," he states, readjusting over the cushions of the sofa, pressing closer to the man at his side without giving anything away, a practiced maneuver, secrets they've learned over years of practice, all four of them, ways to take comfort, give strength, hiding it all away from watchful eyes and cameras focused on them like radars. "It wouldn't be the first time for something like that, would it? As I understand it, they have an entire theory about James and me and our sordid love affair, which is insanity."

James releases a half-laugh from his chair near Sirius, who darts his gaze in his friend's direction. James is relaxed by all appearances, his eyes settled on Sirius, one eyebrow quirked just enough for Sirius to notice, silently questioning, open and just as supportive as Remus in whatever direction Sirius chooses to take his current predicament. Peter's foot stretches out towards them in a show of solidarity, and Sirius warms in a different way with the love from his friends.

He finally turns to look at Remus, the host observing closely. Remus meets his eyes serenely, not pushing but accepting, loving in a shadowed way that only Sirius can see. Something clicks in him then, a missing piece lining up and falling into perfect place, and Sirius suddenly realizes what he thought was so important simply isn't anymore, Remus a blinding, radiating light, silver painting dulled brass, silver gliding over skin in a moonlit glow, the luminance in a song, that shining beacon calling him home, where he belongs, guiding him through the rough waters threatening to capsize everything he is and drag it under. Remus is the moon and stars of the sky, but more, always so much more, better than the entire universe stretching out in front of Sirius' waiting grasp, ignored in favor of a more stunning splendor.

"Yeah," he says, voice quiet even in the silence surrounding them now. "Yeah, they're right." Sirius doesn't look away from Remus as he says it, watching the other man's eyes widen slightly, flickering with something wonderful, his mouth twitching at its corners. "I'm in love with Remus Lupin." Sirius turns back to the host then, meeting his gaze with a firmness that seems to shock the watching man, slimming his face from its hawk-like features into a flutter of uncertainty. "I'm in love with him and I'm gay. Always have been. No one's heard about other relationships because there haven't been any, but even if there had been, it's no one's business except those I choose to share it with. This is my life, my choices. No one gets to judge me for any of it except myself, though I know they'll try, but I don't care."

Sirius angles back towards Remus again, shaking his head. "I don't care, Moony," he says earnestly. "I've got you and that means more than any of the rest of it." He wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss the breath out of Remus, kiss the rising flush deeper into his cheeks when the other smiles at him like a moonbeam, brighter than any sun, but he resists even as someone from the side of the constructed set calls for a cut, the host clearly thrown off balance by Sirius' easy admission.

James pries him up when Sirius and Remus don't immediately move, still staring at one another, Remus a glorious wonderment at his side. His friend's arms wrap around his shoulders once he's standing, squeezing hard, a fist beating over his back, Sirius exhaling a sharp breath under the force of it.

"Proud of you, mate," whispers James into his ear, and Sirius can't help the blinding smile that spreads over his face even as his stomach flutters nervously. Peter is a full grin beside them when they separate, but it's Remus' fingers slipping around Sirius' wrist that calms the storm inside him, settling it to soothing waves lapping at a peaceful shore.

They remove themselves from the set, dropping down the stairs at the back, Lily and Dorcas there to greet them, appearing amazed, a little murderous, but their eyes shining pridefully.

"That's our boy," praises Dorcas, tugging at the end of a strand of Sirius' hair teasingly. Lily says nothing as she meets Sirius' gaze, but she doesn't have to, Sirius able to see it clearly.

He glances around, searching until he finds Regulus standing off to the side. His brother studies him for a moment before he nods, his expression softening, the haughty mask slipping for only a second, but it's enough. Everything is more than enough, Remus still holding his wrist in a gentle but claiming and supportive grip, his friends and family surrounding him, and Sirius in the middle of it all, feeling for the first time like the center of gravity Remus believes him to be. 

Chapter Text

"Peter! Peter Pettigrew, get your rat-tailed arse back here! Oh, for the love of…christ, I will slaughter you all."

The slip is a small thing, barely noticeable, but Sirius finds himself snorting regardless as amusement bubbles inside him. Lily angles a threatening glare in his direction and Sirius flashes her his most winning, charming smile.

"I'm not doing anything, Evans," he remarks cheekily, Lily's glower growing sharper, her green eyes sparking ominously. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm just trying to find a bit of nosh before we go on."

"What is it with you and constantly seeking out food when things are collapsing around you into ridiculous chaos?" demands Lily, not looking humored in the slightest.

Sirius shrugs a little, his gaze shifting around the back of the stage and the room that should contain the band but only houses him and the fiery red head currently.

"Stress makes me hungry," he offers sweetly, Lily huffing in response.

"There isn't a stressed bone in your body, Black," she throws out, turning away from him before he can respond, beginning to look for the others. "Honestly, the concert starts in ten minutes. Where are they? Even Remus is gone and he never leaves like this."

Sirius waves her off with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe he snuck away to read again. You know how he is. Settle the nerves." He bends over the table of food he's finally sidled up beside, scouring the choices, uttering a triumphant 'aha!' when he locates sausage rolls. Sirius plucks one from the waiting tray and takes a large bite, moaning a bit in delight. When he looks up again, Lily is staring at him darkly. "What?" he says around his mouthful.

"I will take your food away from you again if you do not help me," she threatens, and Sirius frowns, looking down at the roll in his hand dolefully before sighing.

"Fine," he grumbles, ducking around her, keeping his snack safe from her too-close fingers as he ventures towards the door, pushing through it with his shoulder. "All right, if I were a band, where would I be?" Sirius chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "Hiding from Lily Evans, clearly. Clever of you, Black."

James is easy. He nearly always ducks into a loo before any sort of performance or appearance to ruffle his hair, the manner of its chaos depending on what they're doing. Sirius pokes his head through the door of the nearest lavatory, not surprised to find his friend in front of the mirror.

"'Lo, Pads," greets James without looking away from his reflection, fingers tangled in his hair with precision as he studies it with one narrowed eye. "Lils is panicking?"

"'Course she is," chirps Sirius, leaning against the frame of the door as he finishes his sausage roll. "She says ten minutes until stage. I don't know what her problem is. It's our concert. We can go on when we want, and it's not as though we've ever kept them waiting for more than five after we're meant to start anyhow, not like some do. Hours standing around without a word. Can you imagine the audacity? Pete in here?"

"Here," calls out Peter's voice from the back corner of the lav, hidden behind a stall door. Sirius grimaces a bit, turning back to James.

"Nervous stomach strikes again?" he questions lightly, sucking one finger into his mouth to remove some lingering grease remaining on the tip.

James hums in response, tousling his hair once more before angling towards Sirius. "Don't know why. You'd think he'd be used to it by now."

"Don't worry, Wormy!" cries Sirius, loud enough that it echoes off the walls and out into the corridor behind him. "I support you and your traitorous stomach." Peter groans in reply from the closed stall and Sirius barks a laugh. "Seen Moony around? He's missing, too, which is odd."

"Saw him sneaking towards the back a while ago," informs James, his eyes shifting back to the mirror slowly even as he flaps his hands in distraction. "Go, find him. I'll let Evans know what's up with Rank 'n Stank here."

Sirius chortles again as Peter lets fly a sputtering curse at James, allowing the door to swing closed on their coming argument. He continues down the corridor, peeking around open doors into rooms, finding them all empty. Just as Sirius is rounding the corner, Remus runs into him bodily, sending Sirius teetering, but hands reach out and grab around his arms, steadying him quickly, the hold firm, Sirius smiling despite his surprise.

"Aha!" he says again, victorious, Remus looking at him in bemusement. "Where did you run off to? Lily is on the warpath."

"I – ah," stutters Remus, pulling a curious frown from Sirius. "Nowhere. I was on my way back. Is there onion in the corner of your mouth?"

Sirius darts his tongue out quickly, licking the bit of flavored vegetable left behind. "Had a sausage roll," he says dismissively, Remus' eyebrow cocking up slyly. "Don't turn my food dirty, Moony. What were – hang on a tick." Lines instantly form over Remus' forehead as Sirius leans in close to his neck and inhales a large sniff, his lips twitching.

"Padfoot," says Remus in warning, his voice dropping lower, and Sirius smirks despite himself, tongue swiping over the front of his teeth as he straightens, sending Remus a wink in the process.

"Were you smoking, Remus?" he coos, tucking his hands behind his back innocently.

Remus eyes him for a moment before he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, all right. I was," he mutters.

"Interesting," mumbles Sirius, pursing his mouth briefly. "Any reason why?"

"Do I need a reason? I'm allowed."

"You're not, actually," remarks Sirius easily. "We've talked about this. Bad for the voice."

"You don't dictate what I do," counters Remus, his eyes darkening a bit, and Sirius relents in his jabs.

"No, you're right. 'Course I don't, but neither do you, typically. Smoke. Not anymore," murmurs Sirius, his expression and tone drifting into more serious regions. Remus doesn't answer, simply staring back at him, and Sirius' brow furrows. "Are you nervous?"

Remus' face twitches, his mouth wobbling, but when he can hold it back no longer, it crumbles as Sirius watches, his earlier amusement fading quickly. He steps forward, moving closer, his fingers working their slow way up the line of the other man's arms, over his elbows, past his shoulders, until they come to rest on either side of Remus' neck, Sirius studying his brown eyes ponderously.

"Why are you nervous, Moons?" he asks softly, and Remus deflates under his touch and voice, slumping forward until their chests are pressed together.

"It's the first time," utters Remus, his words faint, barely a whisper.

"The first time…" responds Sirius thoughtfully before he registers Remus' meaning. "You mean the song?" Remus nods but says nothing else, no longer looking at Sirius. He presses his fingers more firmly into his boyfriend's neck, massaging gently, slowly urging brown eyes to lift again. "You'll do brilliantly," he attests. "You always do with everything."

"But it's important," whispers Remus, causing Sirius to shake his head, a small, trilling laugh emerging before he can stop it.

"It's just a song, Remus. That's all," murmurs Sirius, his fingers slipping upwards to cradle Remus' tawny head, slotting on either side of his ears. "You're the important part. The song is…it doesn't matter in comparison."

Remus studies him in silence for a minute, not speaking, appearing trapped in thought. When his mouth finally opens, his question pushing into the humid air between them, Sirius blinks in startlement.

"Why did you ask me to sing it?"

Sirius' own mouth works, sound refusing to make itself known, the answer so impossibly easy that he can't believe Remus even has to ask.

"Because it's yours," he says, a low thrum of volume, a mist of breath, spoken like a promise. "The song is yours, Remus. I wrote it about you, for you. Every line, every word, every letter belongs to no one but you, just like me."

"Just like you," exhales Remus, words floating on a sigh, his lips grazing Sirius' own in a barely existent kiss, sparking electricity up Sirius' spine and into his fingertips that sizzles and simmers perfectly. "Mine."

Sirius tries to laugh, the smallest of chuckles, but it comes out a shuddering release of air. "Yours," he confirms. Remus' smile is brighter than the shine of the moon, glowing stronger than the silver painting his skin that night so many months before, and they stand there together for a long time, trapped in a bubble of their own design, impregnable to anyone else.

Except Lily Evans.

"What are you doing?" Her voice, high yet somehow a terrifying rumble behind them, breaks through their haze, startling them apart. "In case you've forgotten, you're both expected somewhere. Now, in fact. This is not the time to fall to mush and gaze into one another's eyes in pure love, no matter how nice that is to see. Come on. I will drag you there myself if I have to, you know I will."

Remus rubs over the back of his neck in mild sheepishness, his cheeks coloring crimson and magnificent. Sirius studies him for a long moment before he pulls his focus to Lily at the gruff clearing of her throat, offering her another wide grin.

"We're coming, Evans, calm down," he says, nudging Remus as they venture to follow her. "It's not like it can start without us." Lily pins him with a fierce glare, causing Sirius to falter in his steps, Remus righting him as he stumbles and urging him along. "Well," mumbles Sirius, low enough so that only the other man can hear him as Lily bustles ahead of them, "it can't."

As they enter the area that holds them and their things and leads to the stage, they find James and Peter within, tucking into sausage rolls and sandwiches happily. Lily eyes them both until they drop the food onto waiting plates, both men refusing to meet her eyes.

"Finally," breathes Lily in faint relief before looking at them each in turn. "I'm going to meet Dorcas out there and make sure the way is clear. For the love of – just stay here."

When she disappears from view, Peter and James grin and grab their abandoned food again, beginning to shove it in with renewed vigor. Remus snorts beside Sirius, pulling his attention, watching the fondness and amusement dance in his brown irises.

"So," says Remus when he catches Sirius' besotted gaze, "fresh start of a new tour. Excited?"

Sirius glances at their surroundings as he ponders the question. "S'pose so," he responds contemplatively. "Always am, a bit, but…this time feels different. Doesn't it?" He shifts his gaze back to Remus, the soft smile he receives in return speaking more than words ever could.

Lily appears again quickly, Dorcas in tow, the pair guiding them around the side of the stage at their front and back. The wall of sound hits them just as it always does, the crowd ready and waiting, chanting, cheering, voices lifting high and echoing in a swell of energy that surrounds them. The foursome trample onto the stage, matching it as best they can, enthusiastic as the rumble vibrates beneath their feet. James and Sirius flood the front, lifting their hands, cupping their ears, urging the crowd for more, the people meeting them easily, blasting them backwards. They both laugh in unison as they spin, grabbing their guitars from where they're positioned as Peter adjusts his own and Remus takes his seat, knocking his drumsticks together into the microphone hovering by his head.

It's the first time they've played most of their new songs from the album live, but the fans follow along effortlessly, swaying at their feet, jumping, shouting. Some of them flash signs, others holding up lights on the ballads, turning the arena into a sea of dazzling glitter.

Sirius spies a couple of hand painted signs in the middle of it all, crafted from love and with care, rainbow lettering declaring pride; pride for themselves and pride for him. His first instinct is to back away, retreat from it even as he continues to play over his strings, never fumbling, still not used to the attention it had garnered, both positive and negative, chomping at his heels now wherever he goes. His friends keep assuring him that the fervor will die down eventually, the information too new for people to release and let drift yet, but Sirius isn't as certain as they are. One quick glance back at Remus settles Sirius again, the roughened edges of his mind smoothing over as his chest eases in its tightness.

It's still worth it, all of it. No matter where it leads them, how long the prying questions and nosy attacks into his life last, Remus makes it worth everything.

Nearing the back half of their set, as they transition from one song to another, everything dies around them. The lights dim before plunging the stadium almost black, the stage going dark. The music fades out and disappears, a hush falling over the crowd, so quiet that Remus' one shaking breath is audible as he inhales next to the microphone. Sirius looks back at him again, finding him even in the blackness, so astutely aware of where he is always that it's as simple as locating north on a compass, feeling the tickle of a hair over skin. Intuitive.

It starts softly, different from their usual ways, James plucking the strings lightly on his guitar, Remus barely tapping over one of the drums in a lulling sway of melody as a few faint lights lift again, casting them in a fragile glow. After several beats, James leans into the microphone standing in front of him. His voice is gentle, a quiet thrum, drifting over the low hum of the crowd below, soothing them like a blanket draping over shoulders.

"Stars shine, people whine, the moon is bright," he croons, his voice breathy, as intangible as a fine mist. "I think I might give up the fight."

A shudder races down Sirius' spine as the words wash over him, memories trickling in unbidden, sending him backwards in time, thrusting his mind into his own anxieties, nothing coming, no lyrics forming. His hands twitch but he keeps them still, turning to watch Remus instead, expectant and not disappointed.

The other man strikes the drums harder then, only a little, just enough for a good rhythm, elevating the noise around them. Peter joins him and James, the bass rumbling, but Sirius remains as he is, simply listening, absorbing it into his skin, into the very marrow of his bones, layering himself in the build, but everything stops for him, breathing, heartbeat, even his whirring mind, as Remus begins to sing.

"Shadows broken by sterling painted flesh, bruises staining skin, silver markings on a brass moon." His voice cascades, tumbles and falls with the second verse like heavy rain pouring over them. It rises, lifts into the air, infecting the atmosphere like blades of sunlight, warming skin. "Seconds colliding with days, words that mesh, destiny formed within the womb."

As the pre-chorus begins, the drums pick up, Remus loosening, his eyes closing. More lights flare above them as Sirius sends his pick over strings in a subtle melding of sound, the crowd beginning to come alive again.

"Stars up above, dancing pretenders. Jewels of majesty in the night, but comparisons stagger, surrender, can’t match your light."

And then it's barreling out of them, none of them holding back, the lights overtaking them as they lift as one unit, bringing the stage into sharp focus. Remus pounds over his drums with a fury, a vibrancy of life and emotion, and Sirius can't help but try to match him no matter how impossible he knows that to be. The chorus is a shout, a cry, a torrential outpouring of feelings stifled for too long. It rattles through Sirius, ricochets off his ribs, plunges into his heart as he forces himself to move with the music, unfreezing when the crowd erupts in a frenzy, but his eyes remain fixed on Remus, unable to look away from the wonder of a star burning into life.

"Take me under, pull me out, free these chains that bind. Crack my chest and shred my doubt. Open my eyes, I’m moon-blind," sings Remus like it's the only thing that matters. His gaze flickers up, catching Sirius', holding firmly, an intensity flooding them with forceful power that's overwhelming, nearly crippling, sending Sirius' knees weak beneath him. "Support me in luminance, burst forth like dayglow. Assuage my provenance. Lay by my side and scatter the shadows.

"Tidal waves crash, tectonic plates collide." Remus shifts into the next verse seamlessly, his eyes finally breaking away as they close again, the music softening once more. Sirius barely touches his strings, allowing the others to carry them as he moves closer to James, leaning into him as his friend plucks in harmony with Remus and Peter. "Oceans tremble and thrash as you pull me from my mind."

The pre-chorus takes over again, their power building once more, but it fades out soon enough, dulls to a low roar. Remus pauses, breathes in, James strumming in his wake as the drumbeats die only for a moment before his sticks are falling again, an upturned rhythm earning a shattering cry from their fans. His voice starts again with the bridge, James accompanying him, both of them echoing outwards as Sirius moves backwards, gravitating closer to Remus before bobbing away again, his own fingers intensifying the thunder swelling around them.

"Moon and stars, near and far, clinging onto dreams. Hold my hand, and be my friend, mend my fraying seams."

As if pulled by invisible strings, Sirius is working his way towards Remus again, shifting closer, Remus watching his every move with unblinking eyes. It's not something they'd planned, this part, unrehearsed, never spoken about beforehand, but an occurrence each time they'd practiced the song, woven it into their bloodstreams until it was memorized as well as their own names as they'd fumbled through kinks and found their ways to the other side. No matter what they'd done, Peter and James had fallen away as Remus and Sirius took over, no voices, nothing but their instruments, the combining of a powerful duo, a raging storm of only them, everything else fading to nonexistence.

Sirius continues gravitating in Remus' direction, his guitar screaming out to be heard along with the forceful impact across the drums and cymbals. He doesn't stop until he's standing beside him, the two syncing without thought or choice, a simplistic design of complexity. They weave together as one, the crowd electrified with it, but Sirius can't hear them, his entire focus on Remus alone, brown eyes locked with his own as his entire body thrums as they play, shoulders rocking forward and back with each strike to his strings.

He's thrust back to that fateful performance on the talk show, eons ago, mere days, time a fickle, fleeting thing, having no bearing over him in moments like this. Sirius can see it clearly, that thing that comes over Remus, that's taken him now, sending him like dust into the starry sky above. He feels it all again, that mounting need he hadn't understood at the time, and as they finish, fall to completion, their solos dying out in a natural order, a small lull between words and all music settling over them, Sirius can't resist it, has no desire to do so, his blood running through his veins with every pounding thump of his heart signaling one thing: Remus.

Sirius drops his guitar, only the strap around his neck saving it from clattering to the stage floor, his hands coming up without resistance. He slips them across Remus' face, winds them to the back of his head, holding, clutching, drawing the other man to him, Remus' legs half-lifting him from his stool. Sirius senses the fingers gripping around drumsticks fall slack, almost enough to drop them, but he keeps them in his grasp somehow, though Sirius knows he would have failed, every part of him completely consumed as he kisses Remus like they're the only two people in the world, if just for a second.

Their audience explodes like a volcanic eruption, blasting them with a wall made of nearly solid sound, an outcry of approval, their stomping feet and impacting hands raining thunderclaps over them, quaking them where they stand. Sirius hears James laugh faintly as he takes over with the microphone, picking up the song where Remus isn't able as he's held in Sirius' fingers and heart, swimming through the murky depths of his soul, sending it crystal and clear.

They separate as quickly as they'd come together, Sirius' hands dropping, returning to his guitar as though they'd never left, striking hard and true as he spins away, radiance singing through his blood. Remus is breathless when his voice crashes over the arena again, joining in with James during the chorus one last time, and Sirius' permanently fixed grin widens until his face feels as though it might split in two.

Everything begins to fade after that, the lights slowly dying away, only one remaining, falling on Remus alone. Their instruments quiet, the drums stop, James' fingers continuing to pluck and strum, echoing out a lullaby that calms the whirlpool around them.

"Stars shine, people whine, the moon is bright." Remus' voice is a whisper of sound, the wind through trees, brushing over skin as it sweeps and weaves, stories forming and ending, better ones promised on the horizon. "I think I might keep up the fight."

Everything fades but Sirius doesn't. He shines, bursts forth, sending himself outwards into the waiting night beyond the stadium, leaving the people behind, shattering to pieces never meant to remain whole forever. The dust of himself twists and dances towards the stars, searches out that brilliant silver glow, the silver moonlight of Remus welcoming him in as he scatters away the shadows of the past.