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The early winter air bit at Remus’ skin, cold and unforgiving. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, trying in vain to shield himself from the chill that clawed at his bones. His wool sweater beneath the dark brown bomber didn’t stand a chance against the harshness of the night.
But it wasn’t just the cold.
It was the hollow ache that lingered in his chest—the ghost of another breakup with Sirius. The bitter, biting emptiness that always followed their explosions.
Eight months.
Eight months without Sirius. The longest they’d ever been apart. And every minute of it felt like a lifetime.
Remus had begged him to come back. One night, after far too many drinks, with his heart on his sleeve and his words slurred by the alcohol, he’d pleaded. And, for the first time, Sirius hadn’t returned. Not even once.
He had left. He had stayed gone.
The voicemail still echoed in his mind, a haunting, brutal reminder.
“Sirius…” His voice had cracked as soon as he said the name. It had been too long since he'd said it aloud. The sound of it nearly broke him. “Sirius, it’s—it's Remus... God, I don’t know what I’m doin’... what the fuck am I doin’, huh?”
The words had come stumbling out, like a wave crashing without control. “I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this, I can’t live like this. I can’t do this without you. I’m... I’m not strong enough.” He’d laughed, a bitter sound, but there was no joy in it, just pain. "You—Siri’us, please... I can’t do this alone. I thought maybe I could... I thought maybe time would make it easier, but it don’t. It don’t, an’ I—"
His voice broke again, a ragged, frustrated sound. It wasn’t just the alcohol. It was everything he was feeling, everything he was trying to choke back. “I miss you, Christ, I miss you so much. I can’t breathe without you. You’re everywhere—you’re in everything. The bloody rain, the moonlight, every song I hear. An’ I can’t get away from you, I can’t—”
The words slipped, tangled in his throat, as he struggled to keep control. He had been trying to hold onto his dignity, his pride, but that was long gone by the time the message had begun. Now it was just desperation, raw and honest.
“I don’t know how t’—I don’t know how t’ keep pretendin’ I don’t need you,” he mumbled, the words thick in his mouth, the accent heavier with the drunken fog cloudin’ his mind. “I don’t know how t’ pretend I don’t want you. I don’t want t’—God, I don’t want t’ be without you, Mo chroí, I don’t.”
There was a long pause, a shaky breath, the sound of him pacing in the small space he was in. The vulnerability hit harder than anything, and his voice became softer, the alcohol clouding his mind but not his heart. “I can’t do this alone, cariad ... I can’t. Please. I—I don’t even care anymore. If you’re angry, if you think I fucked everything up. I know I did. I know I ruined it... I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Sirius, I swear to you, I never meant to—”
His voice wavered, like he was on the verge of breaking down, but he kept talking, the words coming faster now, like if he didn’t get them out, he'd never be able to breathe again.
“I love you, alright? you’ve gotta know that. I love you. I—I don’t even know how t’ live without you. I don’t want t’... I can’t.” His voice softened with that final admission, and he let out a slow breath. “Please come back... I can’t keep doin’ this. I can’t keep... livin’ without you.”
There was a long, painful silence on the other end. Remus knew that Sirius wouldn’t pick up. Knew he wouldn’t, but still—he waited. He’d hoped for a response, even if he knew it would never come.
“Just come back t’ me. Please.”
The last words hung there, barely a whisper. His breath shook as he ended the voicemail, the silence that followed louder than anything he could have said.
Despite the heartfelt voicemail, Sirius had never returned to Remus—not even a text to tell him to piss off. Not a word. Not a fucking thing. And eight months passed—slowly, painfully—each day dragging out, until it felt like every second was made of broken glass.
So, Remus tried everything to forget.
He threw himself into work, into long, empty nights, into everything that could distract him from the gnawing emptiness. But nothing worked. Nothing ever worked.
Tonight, he headed for an underground bar in downtown London, hoping the haze of smoke and liquor would make the pain dull. But the ache was always there, lurking beneath his ribs, waiting to claw its way out. He didn't even know why he came here, except that it was dark, it was messy, and maybe it would help him forget that Sirius had never come back.
The bar reeked of cheap beer, stale cigarettes, and too many regrets packed into too small a space. The kind of place where the lights stayed low not for atmosphere, but mercy. Outside, the city pulsed—grimy, relentless, soaked in rain and neon and sorrow. London didn’t sleep; it brooded. It knew what Remus was walking into.
The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you
The heavy thrum of music vibrated through the floor, the low hum of bass heavy enough to make his chest ache in time with his heart. He didn’t know why he walked in, but now that he was here, it was like a magnet pulling him deeper into the place. Like it was fate, or just the sick, cruel game he couldn’t escape.
And then he saw him.
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do
Sirius was on stage, a shadow in the dim light, guitar slung low, head tilted back, eyes closed as he lost himself in the music. Remus froze at the door, his chest tightening, his breath stalling. The years that had passed—eight fucking months—disappeared. He could still feel it, still see it—the first time Sirius had performed, those eyes, the way they had locked onto his like they’d always known. He had never stood a chance.
Sirius’s voice cut through the thick haze of smoke and regret. It was raw, rough around the edges, but it was still the same voice that haunted Remus in his dreams. The lyrics, the melody, the passion—it was all Sirius, and it was all for him.
But the song... that song.
It was a soft, aching thing. A slow burn. The kind of song that made Remus want to fall apart right there in the middle of the bar. The same fucking song Sirius had sung all those years ago, in that shitty little dive, the same one that had cracked him open the first time they kissed.
And now here they were again.
He hadn’t stood a chance.
I never dreamed that I’d meet someone like you
Since those eyes—fuck those eyes—had locked on him like sin, Remus had always known, deep in his bones, that Sirius Black had ruined him for anyone else.
And god, he did. Spectacularly.
It all came back, wild and sharp: the reckless beginning, their bodies learning each other with trembling hands and bitten lips. The first kiss, messy and hungry. The first night tangled in sweaty sheets, breathing in sync, like their ribs ached without the other pressed close. Days vanished between kisses and quiet, the kind of silence that feels like church.
And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you
But then always the fights. Violent. Ugly. Words thrown like punches. Doors slammed, hearts broken and rebroken, sobs swallowed behind clenched teeth. They tore each other apart and stitched themselves back together with sex and spite.
And always, always, they came back.
Back to each other.
Back to bed.
Back to war.
Back to ruin.
The world felt smaller, closing in. Remus couldn’t move. His body felt like it was cemented to the floor, his feet heavy with the weight of the past, of the anger, the love, the hurt. His throat burned as the song poured over him, each note pulling him back to the last time they were here, to the last time they’d kissed, to the last fight that had broken them.
He wanted to turn and walk out. To leave. But something held him there. He couldn't escape it. Couldn't escape him.
And then Sirius’s eyes opened.
Remus’s breath caught in his throat as their gazes locked—silent, aching, loaded with all the history between them.
It was too much. Too much, and yet not enough.
Sirius’s fingers faltered on the guitar, but his eyes never wavered. That same, broken look. That same look that had ruined him all those years ago. The one that said, I love you and I hate you for it. The one that made Remus want to destroy everything just to rebuild it with him, piece by bloody piece.
Sirius didn’t stop singing. His voice cracked, but he didn’t falter. Not even for a second.
Remus felt it—felt the pull. The ache. The familiar ache that had never left, that had only been buried under a false sense of moving on.
The years between them didn’t exist anymore. The silence didn’t matter. They were back here, again, standing at the edge of it, just like before.
And Remus... Remus couldn’t breathe—couldn’t move. Didn’t dare. The rain on his coat, the sweat on his skin, the city buzzing behind his teeth—all of it dissolved. There was only Sirius. Only the sound of that voice wrapping around him like barbed wire.
They hadn’t seen each other in eight months. Since that night. The fight. The slammed door. The unanswered voicemails—three minutes of silence and a soft, choked "please."
And now, here they were. Again. As always. Because it was never over. Not really. It just went quiet for a while.
Remus’ heart surged—feral, frantic. Like it was trying to crawl out of his chest and back into Sirius’ hands. That old ache rushed in, too familiar, too cruel. He loved him. God, he loved him. Loved him in ways that hurt to name. Loved him enough to destroy them both.
But their love… it was a fucking battlefield.
It was nails down backs, teeth at throats, bruises bloomed like flowers. It was whispered apologies into fevered skin. It was breathless laughter that always, always came too late. It was beautiful. It was violent. It was everything.
It was too much silence, then too much screaming. It was leaving, returning, crying into pillows that smelled like each other. It was hell, and they kept choosing it.
And now Sirius was still singing, looking at him like nothing had ever changed. Like that song had always been for him. Like he’d carried Remus in every lyric, every goddamn night they’d been apart.
It didn’t dull the pain. It sharpened it.
No, I don’t wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
Each word a scalpel. A hymn. A curse.
Sirius’ voice dragged over him like fingers on an old bruise. It wasn’t just music. It was confession, memory, punishment. Remus remembered the first time Sirius sang it to him — late, quiet, with a cigarette burning to ash beside their mattress. He’d looked at Remus like he was already wrecked. Like he wanted to be.
No, I don’t wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
But he had. They both had. And it had cost them everything.
Remus blinked, jaw tight, lungs screaming. He wanted to run. To stay. To crawl inside Sirius and never come back out. But he stood there, paralysed by history, by longing, by the ghost of every night they’d loved and left each other.
The city moaned outside : wet tires, distant sirens, someone shouting. London didn’t care. It never had. It had watched them fall apart before.
Sirius kept singing.
And Remus, fool that he was, stayed.
But it became too unbearable to stand there, staring deep into his ex-lover’s eyes—could he really call them exes, though? He already knew that they would end up running back to each other sooner or later.
The bar’s door slammed shut behind Remus with a finality that seemed to echo through the thick London air. The rain had softened, but it still clung to the city like a memory, slicking the pavement underfoot.
He stepped into the alley, pulling his jacket tighter around him, though it did little to shield him from the cold that crawled under his skin. A cigarette found its way into his fingers, the flick of a lighter burning a brief, bright flame before the smoke curled upward, dissolving into the night like everything he was trying to forget.
The buzz of the underground bar’s music barely reached him out here, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to expel the ache that had lodged in his chest the moment Sirius had started singing.
I don’t want to fall in love
Those words—they hung in the air between them, sharp as glass, yet soft enough to cut him open all over again.
Remus’ eyes squeezed shut, and for a second, he could still feel the pull of Sirius’ gaze on him. So raw. So painful. So there.
He hadn’t been prepared for the weight of it, the brutal reminder of what they’d been. Of what they still were.
The first kiss—it wasn’t perfect. It was messy, hungry, all teeth and desperate need. Sirius had smelled like cigarettes and old leather, his lips cracked from too many late nights of playing and drinking. Remus hadn’t even realized he was falling until he was already there, feeling the taste of him, soft and bruising, drowning in the sensation of Sirius pressing him against the door frame of his flat.
And that was it. The moment when everything shifted. They didn’t say much— they didn’t need to. The kiss said it all: we’re both falling, we’re already too far gone, and we don’t know how to stop it.
The first fight—the kind where words were weapons, sharp enough to tear through everything they had built. Screams that felt like fire, eyes that glowed with fury, both of them so fucking tired of loving so damn hard. Remus had stormed out, tears streaming down his face, cursing the night and the moon, cursing everything that had made him fall in love with Sirius. But even as he slammed the door, he felt it—the pull. The magnetic force that always yanked him back. It had always been this way, the burn of needing him. He’d never been able to outrun it.
The night they came back together—that was something else. Everything had been so wrong, so broken. But when they kissed again, all that rage and hurt faded into something else. Something softer. Desperate, but soft. Remus had clung to Sirius like he was drowning, letting their bodies speak the words they couldn’t. Apologies whispered into skin, lips pressed into collarbones as if they were trying to apologize for all the times they’d pushed each other too far. It wasn’t a clean fix. It never was. But it was enough to keep them tethered.
The mornings—god, the mornings. Waking up tangled in sheets that smelled like sweat and smoke, their limbs a map of everything they’d fought for, everything they’d loved. The light through the window was always soft, warm. Remus could still feel Sirius’ body next to his, warm and solid, like a part of him was always supposed to be there. They never spoke much in the mornings. Sometimes they didn’t need to. It was in the quiet. The lazy kisses that turned into something deeper. The way Sirius’ hand would slip under Remus' shirt like he was marking him, claiming him—but in the gentlest way possible, as if afraid Remus would slip away.
And that night. The last night. Remus could still taste the whiskey on Sirius' lips, the way the city hummed beneath them as they fought again, words cutting, hearts breaking. It had been too much. They had been too much. And yet, Remus had never felt more alive. Never more consumed by someone.
Sirius was everywhere—everywhere—and no matter how far Remus tried to run, the universe kept placing him in all the spaces they’d once shared. It wasn’t just the memories—it was the way his presence lingered, like a fragrance that soaked into everything.
The shop on the corner of his street, where they’d bought cheap wine and snacks before curling up in front of the fire. They didn’t need anything fancy. All they needed was each other, their limbs tangled, hands roaming freely, lips never parting. Every kiss was like an apology and a promise all at once, as if each moment might be their last chance to be this close, this whole. Every touch was both a beginning and an end, something new and something old. Love and loss interwoven in every sigh, every breath.
The library in the heart of London—the first real date, or at least, the first one they had actually tried to make official. Remus remembered Sirius’ hand brushing against his in the aisles, the way they pretended to be absorbed in books but could never stop stealing glances. The air smelled of dust and forgotten pages, and somewhere between the rows of bookshelves, Sirius had kissed him for the first time in public. It was sudden, unexpected, a reckless and tender thing. Nothing about it made sense, but everything about it felt right.They had both been too shy to say it aloud, but in that kiss, everything was clear. No one else had ever made him feel so alive in the world, so seen.
The full moon. Remus couldn’t forget it, even if he tried. They’d been on the roof of the small flat they shared, just the two of them and the moonlight cutting through the night. It was a clear sky, the stars scattered like pinpricks of light, but it was Sirius’ words that had made the night unforgettable. The moon had hung heavy in the sky, full and burning, but nothing was brighter than Sirius’ eyes when he told Remus he loved him for the first time.
"I love you, Moony," Sirius had whispered, the words soft, but carrying a weight that Remus would carry forever. It was the first time he’d ever felt his name sound like a prayer, like something sacred.
But just as beautiful, there was always the pain. That delicate, painful balance between loving so hard and hurting so deeply. The passion, yes, but the heartbreak too. The nights they fought until their voices were hoarse, until they were too exhausted to say anything, but I'm sorry. The tender moments, wrapped up in the mess of it all—the quiet after the storm, the apologies, the way their hands would still reach out to find each other in the dark.
Sirius was in every part of him—the good, the bad, and everything in between. The love that didn’t have an end, but had no real beginning either. It was in the messy, impossible dance they did—always falling, always coming back.
Outside the bar, the city felt heavier than before.
The cigarette burned between Remus’ fingers, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache settling in his chest. He flicked the last of his cigarette into the street, but it didn’t matter. The memories circled him like smoke, refusing to leave, suffocating him in the best and worst of ways. He wasn’t ready for this. Not for this moment, not for him . And yet, every part of him was craving it—that fatalistic draw back to Sirius, like gravity, like the moon pulling at his blood.
This was familiar. Too familiar. That bitter pull between them. It was the moon, the rain, the everything they couldn’t forget, no matter how much they tried to outrun it.
Fuck, I’m here again. I’m always here.
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the weight of the city on his shoulders. I can’t do this again. I can’t—
But then he heard the footsteps. Soft at first, but they drew closer, like the earth itself was pulling them together. Remus didn’t need to look. He could feel Sirius before he even came near. He always could.
A long breath caught in Remus’ throat. “Sirius…” His voice was rough, a quiet rasp, with just the hint of the Welsh lilt in it. It was always like that—soft, almost like he was trying to keep his emotions under wraps, even though they were spilling out of him like a river in flood.
"You’re here…" Sirius’ voice cracked, carrying a fragile hope, but also an aching vulnerability.
He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. His heart felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Every part of him was telling him to run, but his feet stayed rooted in place. He was here now. They were here. And he had no idea what to do with that.
Sirius’ footsteps faltered. His breath caught in his throat. The weight of Remus' words hung in the air.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.” Sirius’ voice was soft and held a slight tremble, breaking open the dam of everything they hadn’t spoken. For once, it wasn’t anger or frustration; it was quiet, a trembling truth that pierced through everything.
Remus felt it. Felt it deep in his chest, like a knife twisting, slow and sharp. He took a step forward, each movement aching. His voice was barely a breath, but it cut through the air. “We always end up back ‘ere, don’t we?”
The words were a confession, but also a curse—a truth that neither of them could escape. That pull. The magnetic force between them that always dragged them back, no matter how far they tried to run. He knew it, and Sirius knew it too.
Remus could feel the heat in his veins, the ache in his lungs, that familiar, bone-deep craving for Sirius. He shouldn’t want him. But god, he did. Every time. Without fail. There was no reality where Remus could walk away from him.
And those eight months without him? It had been like suffocating on the fucking air itself, drowning in the absence of something he’d once had, something he couldn’t live without.
It was painful. So fucking painful.
But living with Sirius was just as hard. Just as cruel. Just as beautiful. And fucked up in all the best ways.
Sirius’ voice broke through the storm in Remus’ head, low and rough. “We do.” His eyes never met Remus’, avoiding the intensity of the moment. Instead, Sirius’ gaze drifted sideways, somewhere far away, like he couldn’t bear to look at Remus—or maybe it was the other way around.
The silence between them was thick. It was loaded with things they’d never said. Things they’d buried so deep they didn’t know how to dig them back up. And yet, the weight of it, that awful, beautiful ache, was always there. Always.
Remus wanted to tear himself away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even want to. That pull, that burning desire, was too much. Too raw. Too fucking strong. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t destructive.
He wanted to scream at him. Wanted to push him away, tell him it was over, that they were poison to each other. But the words died on his tongue, because the truth was—he didn’t want to be without him. Not really.
Sirius was everything he couldn’t have, and that was the part that hurt the most. That sweet ache. That suffocating pull.
"Why do we always do this, eh? Always come back t’ each other.” Remus’ voice was hoarse, his words thick with the weight of everything unsaid.
Sirius’ jaw clenched, his fingers digging into his own skin, a slow torture. “Because we’re fucked, Remus. And we always will be. ”
And there it was, the truth. The truth in all its ugly, beautiful, brutal glory.
They were fucked. Together. Apart. Whatever they did, it didn’t matter. They would always come back to each other. Because love like this wasn’t easy. It wasn’t pretty.
It was messy. It was painful. It was suffocating. It was the kind of love that would break you, piece by piece, and still leave you begging for more.
Remus took a shaky breath, as if trying to steady himself, but the air was thick, heavy with the kind of tension only they could create. Why the hell did it always come to this?
His heart was racing, his hands clammy, but he couldn’t step back. He couldn’t leave. Not when Sirius was standing there, so close, so fucking close. Remus’ eyes burned, and his chest ached as he swallowed down the words he didn’t want to say, the ones that would break him.
“I… I can’t, Sirius,” Remus said, his voice strained, thick with the weight of what he was trying to say. It came out rough, a little cracked.“I can’t keep doin’ this.” His tongue curled around the words, the soft Welsh lilt making them heavier. “I’m just not strong enough t’keep lettin’ you break me.”
He knew it was stupid. Knew it was a lie. But that didn’t stop the words from spilling out.
Sirius’ eyes flickered, a flash of something too familiar — something like hurt, like he knew Remus was saying it to hurt himself. To hurt them both.
“And I’m supposed to believe that, am I?” Sirius said, voice like gravel, sharp and raw, but his gaze never left Remus. He was on edge, every muscle in his body taut like a wire, ready to snap at any moment. He was fighting it too. “You think I don’t feel it too? That I don’t fucking feel what we do to each other?” His voice cracked, just barely. “Tell me that. Tell me you can walk away and not want to burn the world down.”
Remus flinched, the words like a slap to his soul. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t want to.
“No…” His breath hitched, and he took a step back, even though every part of him screamed to close the distance .“But that’s th’point, isn’t it? We’re poison. We always were.”The words were bitter, tasting like old memories, like scars that would never fade.“I love you, god, I love you, but we... we’re killin’ each other, Siri’. Killin’ each other.” His voice shook, softer now, that raw emotion slipping through the cracks. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t know what’s left o’ me.”
Sirius took a breath like he’d been hit. He looked like he might say something, but it caught in his throat. There was too much. Too much anger. Too much regret. Too much love.
“Fuck, Remus,” Sirius whispered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, even though his eyes were still filled with something that looked like pain. He shook his head, but then, his eyes softened, just for a second. “We always say that, don’t we? Every time. And yet, here we are. Right here. Every fucking time.”
It was too much, all of it. The weight of the words, the unsaid things that hung between them, thick like smoke in the room. Remus could feel his resolve crumbling, his breath coming faster now. He couldn’t breathe without Sirius. Not like this. Not with the ache that wouldn’t leave.
“I hate you for doin’ this t’me,” Remus muttered, voice low, as if he was admitting it for the first time, but the words tasted wrong, because god, he didn’t hate him. He never would.“But I need you, I fuckin’ need you, an’ I don’t know how t’stop.”
Sirius took a step forward, his hand trembling, reaching for him like a man starved. And that was it. That was always it. They were both starving. Always hungry for the other, even when they were tearing each other apart.
“Remus…” Sirius breathed, his voice thick, desperate. His fingers brushed against Remus’ jaw, and it felt like fire, like everything they’d been running from. “I don’t know how to fix this. I never have. But I know I can’t let you go.” His lips were barely a whisper from Remus’ ear, and the tension in the air was unbearable. “I’m not strong enough to let you go. Not this time. Not ever.”
And there it was. The final crack. Remus didn’t fight it anymore. He couldn’t. He closed the space between them, crushing his lips against Sirius’, and it was nothing like it had been before. No softness. No gentleness. Just teeth, just need.
It was messy. It was violent. It was love so raw, so painful, that it felt like they were both drowning in it.
But at least they were together. Even if it hurt.
Their meeting had been somewhat similar—Remus walking into another dingy little bar tucked in some forgotten alley of Camden, the air thick with smoke and possibility. He’d come with Lily, his best friend, who’d dragged him out with the promise of cheap drinks and live music. That was the night she met James Potter—now her husband. They’d gotten their happy ending, the perfect sort of love that survived it all.
Remus and Sirius, though… they were still fighting for theirs.
Sirius had been on stage then, too—guitar slung low, mouth brushing the mic, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette tucked behind his ear. That was the thing about Sirius Black—you couldn’t look away. He was too much. Too bright. Too dangerous. He didn’t just command attention—he consumed it. He looked like sin, all wild eyes and slow-burning chaos, and Remus—stupid, lonely Remus—couldn’t resist. Even if it meant going straight to hell.
Their eyes had met. And back then, there hadn’t been bitterness yet. No ruined voicemails or slammed doors. Just a spark. Curiosity. A slow fuse catching fire.
It was the beginning of their doom.
Who found whom didn’t matter. Whether it was Sirius who pulled Remus into the dark, or Remus who stumbled in with open arms—it didn’t matter. They found each other. They always did. And they ended up back at Sirius’s place that night—too fast, too reckless, too much. But somehow it had never been just a fling. Somewhere between the bruised kisses and tangled limbs, they’d carved each other into their bones. Into their breath. Into everything.
A single tear slid down Sirius’ cheek, and Remus caught it with his thumb before it could fall too far—gentle, reverent. He cradled Sirius’ face like he was made of glass and ghosts, like one wrong move might shatter him completely.
“I missed you,” Sirius said, voice cracking on the words. He pulled back just far enough to look up into Remus’ eyes, and it was all there—every aching, buried thing. Tears clung to his lashes, and his voice was thick, trembling. “Fuck, I missed you so much. I thought I could do it. I really thought I could live without you, but—bloody hell, I couldn’t. And your voicemails—Christ, Moons, your voice…”
Remus’ brows furrowed, pain flickering across his face as he listened. He didn’t speak right away—just traced his thumb along Sirius’ cheek again, like trying to memorize him all over.
“I missed y’ too, cariad,” he whispered, the Welsh lilt curling soft and broken around the word. “So bloody much it hurt. Like losin’ a part of m’self.”
Sirius’ breath hitched–—sharp, raw—-like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. That Remus was here, touching him like he hadn’t shattered him eight months ago. Like he hadn’t walked away with his heart still beating in Sirius’ hands.
Remus leaned in slowly, like the space between them was dangerous. Like closing it meant letting go of every wall he’d built just to survive without him. But Sirius’ mouth was already trembling, already parting like he was starving, and Remus couldn’t fight it any more.
The kiss was brutal.
It wasn’t sweet, or soft, or careful. It was mouths crashing together with months of grief and longing behind them. Sirius made a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a moan—and his hands tangled in Remus’ coat like he was afraid he’d disappear again.
Remus pressed him back into the wall of the alley, the cold bricks biting at Sirius’ spine, but he didn’t care. He pulled him closer, fingers digging into his ribs, breath ragged against his mouth. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“You’re still mine,” Sirius gasped between kisses, desperate and breathless. “Tell me I didn’t imagine it. Tell me—fuck, Remus—tell me you’re still mine.”
Remus groaned, forehead pressed to Sirius’, their breaths mingling like smoke. “I never stopped bein’ yours,” he whispered, voice low and laced with his Welsh lilt, roughened by emotion. “Never could.”
They kissed again, harder, messier—like they were trying to press the months apart out of their skin. Remus' hands slid beneath Sirius’ jacket, fingers ghosting over his waist like he needed to feel every inch of him, to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream.
The city howled around them : sirens in the distance, rain hissing on concrete, neon lights flickering like broken promises. But all Remus could hear was Sirius’ breathing, all he could feel was Sirius’ heartbeat against his chest, matching his own in a wild, panicked rhythm.
They didn’t speak for a long time. Just kissed like they were coming back to life, like the world had stopped spinning eight months ago and only now began again—right here, in the dark, filthy alley where love had come back to ruin them once more.
They barely made it back to Sirius’ flat.
Buttons were torn, jackets abandoned somewhere between the stairwell leading to his flat and the door slamming shut. They tripped over each other, a tangle of mouths and hands, tugging and grasping like they were afraid time would rip them apart again.
Sirius shoved Remus against the inside of the door, breathless, eyes wide with hunger and grief all at once. “I dreamed about this,” he rasped, dragging his fingers through Remus’ curls, cradling the back of his neck like a lifeline. “You. Here. Back to me. I fucking dreamed about it. ”
Remus didn’t answer—just pulled him in and kissed him like the world was ending. And maybe it was. Maybe they only had tonight before they broke again. But he’d take it. God, he’d take every second of Sirius’ mouth on his, of Sirius whispering his name like a confession.
They stumbled to the bedroom, half-dressed, wholly undone. Remus pushed Sirius down onto the bed, climbing over him like a storm. His voice was raw with everything he’d tried to swallow for months—grief, want, love that tasted like blood in his mouth. “Look at you,” he whispered against Sirius’ throat, teeth grazing skin. “Fuckin’ beautiful. Always were. Always will be.”
Sirius’ hands found his waist, pulling him closer, desperate. “Touch me,” he begged, voice hoarse, “like you did the first time. Like I’m still yours.”
“You are,” Remus growled, and then his mouth was everywhere—down Sirius’ neck, over the scar beneath his collarbone, the one he kissed every time like a vow. Their bodies collided, skin to skin, desperate and frantic, like they could undo the months apart with touch alone. “You’re still mine. You’ll always be mine, Sirius. Even if we don’t speak for years. Even after I’m dust in the ground—you’ll still be mine. Always.” His voice was low, hoarse, thick with everything he’d held back. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at Sirius, his hands and mouth carving devotion into every inch of him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.
It was teeth biting lips, hips grinding, fingers clawing into skin with the need to leave marks—to prove something. It was a battle cry dressed as a love song.
Sirius gasped when Remus finally sank against him fully, and the sound broke something open inside Remus. He pressed his forehead to Sirius’, panting, bodies slick with sweat, moving together like instinct. Like they’d never stopped. Like they were born to be ruined by each other.
“It still fuckin’ hurts,” Sirius whispered, voice breaking like glass against Remus’ skin, a few tears escaping his eyes. “Wantin’ you. Missin’ you. Lovin’ you when I know we’ll tear each other apart all over again.”
His fingers trembled where they gripped Remus’ shoulders, like he didn’t know whether to hold on tighter or let go before he drowned again.
Remus cupped Sirius’ jaw, tilting his face lightly to kiss his tears away. “I know, cariad,” he breathed, voice thick with everything unspoken. “I know. I feel it too. Every fuckin’ day without you’s been like livin’ with a ghost—mine.”
Their mouths met again, not tender, but desperate—all teeth and tongue and aching need. Like they could swallow the pain if they kissed hard enough. Like they could forget the damage if they made themselves feel anything else.
“But I promise, this is the last time, Calon fy nghalon. This—This is forever, this time.” Remus whispered it against his mouth, breath trembling with truth.
They didn’t sleep. They just curled into the wreckage of what they’d made together— fingers tangled, limbs locked, hearts still bleeding.
But through the wreckage, through every wound and every word that ever broke them apart—they still chose each other.
And maybe they always would.
Because no matter how many times they shattered, they never walked away without taking pieces of the other with them.
And no matter how brutal the fire, they always crawled back into it.
Because in the end, this was all they’d ever known:
Pain.
Love.
And the promise— unspoken but undeniable—That no matter how much it hurt, they would always belong to each other.
When Remus woke, the sun had barely started to bleed through the threadbare curtains, casting the room in soft grey. The sheets were tangled at his waist, still warm with the weight of what they'd done—and what they hadn't said.
Sirius sat at the edge of the bed, just like he used to. A cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazy patterns toward the ceiling. His spine curved in that way it always did when he was lost in thought, bare back dotted with old scars and new ink. His hair was pulled into a messy knot at the nape of his neck, loose strands catching the morning light like silver thread.
A notebook rested in his lap, pages half-filled with scrawl. French—always French when he was trying to write something too raw for English.
Remus shifted up slowly, pressing his chest to Sirius’ back, arms curling around his waist like muscle memory. His chin found its familiar home on Sirius’ shoulder, breath warm against his skin.
“What’re you writin’?” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, still soaked in last night’s afterglow. He pressed a kiss to the crook of Sirius’ neck, soft and reverent—like apology, like promise.
Sirius exhaled, slow and quiet. He stubbed the cigarette out in the chipped ceramic ashtray on the night stand before tilting his body into Remus’ hold, one arm slipping back to touch his thigh.
“New song,” he said, voice rough and low, like gravel underfoot. “Dunno if it’s any good. Just… came out.”
Remus hummed, eyes falling to the page again. He couldn’t read the words, but he didn’t need to. He felt them—heavy, bruised, lingering in the quiet between them.
“S’bout me?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of Sirius’ ear.
Sirius didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t have to.
Remus already knew.
Remus didn’t need to read French to know the song was about him.
He could feel it in the way Sirius held the pen–—tight, like it was the only thing keeping him from unravelling. In the way his breath stuttered, the way his shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on the ache.
“What’s it say?” Remus asked, his voice low, mouth brushing against Sirius’ shoulder as he leaned in behind him. The warmth of their shared bed was fading, but the air between them stayed heavy, charged.
Sirius hesitated, his fingers hovering above the scrawled words in the notebook.
“It’s… a song,” he said softly, fingers still lingering on the strings that weren’t there. “I want to call it Dernière Danse . Means ‘last dance’ in French.” He paused, and Remus could feel the tension in his back—the kind that always came before Sirius said something that mattered. “'Cause I’m praying this is it. No more breakups. No more losing you. Just… forever. Us.”
Remus’ breath caught.
Sirius ran a hand through his mess of hair, the bun at the nape of his neck loosening. “It’s about losing someone you can’t live without. Screaming for them. Wantin’ them back so bad, it feels like your lungs’ll give out.”
He paused, then added with a brittle laugh, “Wrote it after I listened to your voicemail. On loop. For weeks.”
Remus was quiet, his heart thudding like a war drum in his chest. He glanced down at the notebook, eyes catching on the first lyrics written in Sirius’ chaotic scrawl:
J'ai longtemps parcouru son corps
Effleuré cent fois son visage
I’ve long traveled across his body
Stroked his face a hundred times
Remus reached out, fingers ghosting over the ink like it might bite.
“Play it for me,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Sirius hesitated. “It’s not done.”
“Neither are we,” Remus murmured, resting his forehead against Sirius’ bare shoulder. “Play it.”
So Sirius did.
The guitar was soft, almost timid at first. But his voice? His voice was broken glass and velvet, bleeding truth with every word:
J'ai longtemps parcouru son corps
Effleuré cent fois son visage
I’ve long traveled across his body
Stroked his face a hundred times
J'ai trouvé de l'or et même quelques étoiles
En essuyant ses larmes
I found gold
And even some stars while wiping away his tears
Remus closed his eyes. Every lyric hit like a punch to the ribs. Every breath Sirius took was a memory clawing its way back in. The pain, the beauty, the impossibility of them.
J'ai appris par cœur la pureté de ses formes
Parfois, je les dessine encore
Il fait partie de moi
And I learned the purity of his curves by heart
I still draw them sometimes
He’s a part of me
Sirius' voice cracked on that line.
Remus reached out, his hand finding Sirius’ thigh under the blanket, gripping it like an anchor.
“You wrote this for me?”
Sirius looked at him, eyes shining with everything unsaid. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, Remus. So I wrote.”
Remus nodded, eyes stinging. He’d always understood Sirius best through his music—the way he bared his soul when words failed him.
“Then let’s dance, cariad,” Remus whispered, pulling Sirius into him, his cheek against Sirius'. “One more. One last. One thousand more.”
Because with them, it was never just a song.
It was a promise.
It was survival.
And this time, they would survive.