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I am slumped in the brown armchair in a corner of the flat, boring holes into the dusty floorboards with the patented Black family glare. The air in the room is sizzling with the magic still clinging to our clothes and hair, tension and something else.
The feeling that, perhaps everything, which has been spiralling so horribly out of control of late, is finally going to come to some sort of head.
Tonight's operation was meant to be totally routine. Observation only.
Remus is reading, or at least, pretending to. I've been paying very close attention and he hasn't turned a page in fifteen minutes. The only sound comes from the grandfather clock- long stopped, but infested with Merlin knows what. The flat is gloomy and neglected. We're both too busy to do things like clean, or tidy.
Or listen. Or do any of that sort of shit that makes a relationship.
"Aren't you going to say fucking anything?"
It comes out with so much more venom than I initially intended.
Oh well.
Remus' brow furrows, and very calmly, he closes the book, and places it on the arm of the chair before answering.
"What is there to talk about, Sirius?"
His voice, like his demeanour, is calm.
His eyes however, are dark as night.
Knowing Remus as I do, this is dangerous.
I push myself out of the armchair and stand in front of him, arms crossed over my chest.
This is it. Things are boiling over.
Finally- it's been fucking weeks.
"Not sure. Maybe the fact you almost fucking died tonight?"
His eyes flash as they catch the firelight.
I must be mad, picking a fight with him tonight. The full moon is only days away, and the wolf in Remus closer to the surface than usual.
His whole body is tense, he's glaring at me silently.
I'm testing the wolf's patience standing over him like this.
But I'm feeling reckless.
I don't care any more. There is a fucking chasm opening between us. I don't want to watch our relationship slowly starve.
I'd much prefer a quick death. Spare both of us the indignity.
His top lip curls slightly.
He's on his feet in one fluid motion, his hand at my throat.
I look him in the eye, unflinching, challenging him.
Suddenly he smiles, and brushes his fingertips over my cheek.
"Poor Sirius, hasn't noticed there's a war going on."
He keeps his voice low. He almost purrs.
I fucking hate him right now.
I shove his hand away, and he raises an eyebrow.
"You're touchy this evening."
"And you're a condescending bastard."
His face hardens, and he growls low in his throat.
"Fucking watch yourself-"
"Or else what? What are you going to do to me?"
He's going to hit me.
I would have hit me by now.
It occurs to me that this is the longest conversation we've had in ages.
He leans in close, and pronounces each word very carefully.
"I'm not playing, Sirius."
I'm tired, frightened, and suddenly, profoundly lonely.
I kiss him. Hard.
For a second, I think he's going to push me away, but I realise he's hard, and the argument is over- or rather, postponed until later.
After.
For now, he's breathing hard, eyes tightly shut, smelling of sandalwood and books and sweat. For now, I relax against him. Right now words like 'trust' and 'betrayal' have no meaning.
There is only now.
There is only want.