#becausr they did think that the other was the spy but they loved each other too much to say anything

[loserboyfriendrjl]

cigarette conversations

Remus had been lying in bed for a while. Outside was dark, and the moon lit up his features; a bitter ode to what he was. A single candle was lit up, the only source of warmth in the apartment. Remus blew it, and he chased the smoke the same way he chased Sirius; whenever he walked back home, there was no one there.

He and Sirius were playing a game in which both of them would lose; a waltz of death, and grief, and anger.

The door clicked, and Remus almost wanted to go and kiss Sirius, to welcome him in what used to be their nest of love. Almost. Instead, he focused on Sirius; the thud of his boots when they hit the floor, his sigh, the sound the hanger made when Sirius put his heavy coat on it, his steps against the sticky floors. He focused on those moments; on the few moments that the two of them had together.

"What's the moment I remember when I conjure a Patronus?" Sirius asked; the questions were a routine. Both of them thought of the other as the traitor; or so, at least Remus did, and that made questioning pointless. However, there was something holding him back from going to Dumbledore and spilling his secrets, blood and poison, something holding him back from telling Sirius to leave; because Remus was still hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

"Regulus' first word. It was your name," He added, and there's a weird feeling in his stomach when he said that. He knew so much about Sirius; and he didn't only know the beautiful, what Sirius showed the world, what he wanted them to see; he knew the rotten, too, words whispered in the dead of the night over nicotine-stained fingers and alcohol-imbued lips. "What was a part of your wedding speech at James' wedding?"

"Puns. And a lot of crying, especially from James, that emotional prick," Sirius said, letting out a breathy laugh, and Remus basked in it; it was so rare, nowadays, a smile or a laugh, and Sirius' was so enticing.

Sirius sat down next to him, the bed squeaking and creaking under the weight of both of them, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; he held it out to Remus, who pulled one out, lacking the elegance that he had when he did that. Sirius brought their foreheads together, and there was a certain intimacy in that; it had been a while ever since they had loved each other that close, and Remus' eyes flicked between his lover, who snapped his fingers and lit up their cigarettes, and his arms, folded in his lap.

He wanted to punch Sirius, hurt him, love him, and kiss him; his feelings were overwhelming, and Remus' heart thrummed in his chest. He wanted to chase the smoke of the last cigarette they shared, maybe then, he'd still love Sirius. He wanted to think he hadn't sold his soul, he wanted to think that they were still in love, that they would be fine. They would be. They had to be, right? Would their nights of love dissipate, slipping through their fingers? Would their hatred for each other burn in their veins, rotten and disgusting?

Were they still in love? Or were they a temporary ailment to each other? They used to be in love, a love that burned both of them; passionate, a fire that consumed them, reduced them to ashes. Was that what they were? The ashes of boyish souls, ghosts of the past, remains of their love?

"Do we still love each other?" Remus asked, and he didn't know the answer; their bedroom was drowning in the night, the only light being their cigarettes and the moon. The room was filled with smoke, and he could only see, through the haze, Sirius' eyes shining.

"I don't know," Sirius answered, and there was a vulnerable sincerity in his words. "I wish I could give you an actual answer." He let out a laugh, and that was the moment when, even if he was over him, even if the war was eating them apart, blood and flesh and howls of pain, Remus realized he was still in love with Sirius.