Choices

“I’m sorry,” he kisses his cheek—messy and desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his neck, his jaw. “Please, please, I’m sorry.” It’s sad. It all feels so fucking sad and warped. “I’m sorry,” Sirius kisses the tears off of his face. “I’m sorry.”

Remus cries then. And he hates it. Hates that he isn’t stronger than this. Hates Sirius for existing. For being all that he is. For burrowing so deeply into Remus’s bones. For breaking his heart. With those girls. With that kiss. With Snape. He feels sore and raw and bleeding

I do. I just want you to know—I just need you to understand—that you are so beautiful. Every inch of you, every part of you. You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I’m so—so fucking sorry,” his voice is thick, it carries his words like they hurt to hold, “if I made you feel, for even a second, like you aren’t.”

“Remus.”

And Remus hates it. Hates the way he says his name. Like it’s hurts. Like it matters. Hates that it makes him want to cry.

When he would stay up late by himself because Sirius wasn’t back yet. Sometimes he would check the map, he wasn’t proud of it, it felt like an invasion of Sirius’s privacy, and it certainly wasn’t good for Remus. But he couldn’t help it. He would check and inevitably find Sirius in some broom cupboard, or in the astronomy tower, his name too close to someone else’s.

He did cry about it. Once. Maybe twice. Pathetic

He doesn’t know when he fell in love with Sirius Black. It might have been the first time he saw him—stampeding into their dorm room with James behind him, so big and loud and full of life in a way that Remus craved. It might have been the first time Sirius smiled at him—not just around him, but at him. Because of him. Or one of the late nights when Pete and James had fallen asleep and Sirius and Remus had stayed up, sitting in the window, talking, legs tangled in each other.

Halloween, second year, when Sirius threw his arm around Remus’s shoulders. Or his birthday in fourth, when Sirius got tipsy for the first time and kissed his cheek. Or a few weeks ago, the last time, when he laid in bed and Sirius caressed his cheek.

Maybe those are the

Maybe those are the reasons he’s avoiding Sirius. Because if they didn’t exist maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much that Sirius had told Snape. If he didn’t have lists of Sirius Black in his head maybe he could just brush it off. So what if he only saw Remus as a pet? He’d been worse things

James puts on a brave face but Remus can see how much it kills him, not talking to Sirius. Part of him wants to tell James it’s okay, that he can forgive him if he wants, but the truth is, Remus is too selfish. Because if there’s a choice—between Remus and Sirius—Remus knows who James’ll pick. And he just can’t bear the thought of losing James. At least not yet.

“Don’t apologize,” he lifts himself up to Regulus’s mouth. “Don’t ever apologize for loving me.”