I'm playing with my food, once again. And once again, I can feel her eyes boring into me.

"Remus?"

I don't look at her. "Not hungry."

I sense her stiffen in her seat, and I know she's trying not to cry. I feel strangely detached, and make no move to comfort her.

You hardly ever cried. I don't even know if you cried when James and Lily died. I never bothered to ask. But I'd bet you did.

Instead, I reach for my glass of wine – a habit I've developed only recently; drinking to numb the pain – and pour the contents down my throat without looking at her.

I replace the glass on the table, and finally throw a glance in her direction. She looks upset, but I know that I had made her feel a lot worse in the past, and still, I didn't care.

I'd comfort you if I'd made you upset – but I'd never try to make you upset, never.

"Sorry," I say, the words feeling fake even as leave my mouth, but she chooses to ignore the pretence of it all.

"It's alright. I know how it's getting to everyone," she says, and I know she means the war, but I'm thinking about other things. She places a hand on mine, lying discarded on the table, scars criss-crossing over the back of it.

You used to kiss all my scars; she doesn't, she never will. She doesn't know how much I need the reassurance… How much I need you.

She leans across in her chair, and kisses me. I wonder if she notices that I no longer kiss back.

As she pulls away from me, I smile briefly, and then lean back in my chair and rub my eyes with my fists. I can hear her getting to her feet, clearing away the plates and glasses.

I slowly get up, the weight of the world seeming to rest on my shoulders, and I make my way to our shared bed.

The bed that will never be as warm, or comfortable, or perfect as it was with you.

I collapse on it, still dressed, and I suppose I must have drifted off, because when I next open my eyes, she was laying next to me, her hand propping up her head. When she saw I was awake, she inched closer and began kissing me once again, her hands running over my chest.

In the same way you did, but completely different. How did you ever manage that?

She began pulling off her own shirt and between kisses murmurs words I try not to hear. As her hands move to the buttons of my own shirt, I sit up.

"Can you do me a favour?"

She seems so taken aback by, quite possibly, the most words I've said in weeks, that she pulls away from me and nods.

"Can you… You know… Have black eyes?"

Her own, blue eyes stare at me for a second, uncomprehendingly.

"It's just that – you look so pretty with black eyes," I lie, but she hears what she wants to hear, and grins. Her eyes close into a grimace, and when they open, they're black.

I smile. "And – and, can you do black hair? You'd look so beautiful."

She looks almost ecstatic that she can do something to reach out to me, so much so that I feel terrible, but I push the guilt to the back of mind. She closes her eyes, and her vivid pink hair turns black. "Like this?"

"Not quite, a bit longer," I say, heart beating rapidly.

She squints a little, and the hair grows down to her shoulders.

"Perfect," I say, and this time I mean it. "Can you make your cheeks a bit… You know, sunken?"

She complies, and it's like I'm looking at him with obvious imperfections – a more feminine chin, and a smaller nose, but otherwise… Beautiful.

The last word I appear to have said aloud, for she pushes me back to the bed, and resumes kissing me, and this time I'm kissing back, kicking my shoes off, my hands in her hair –

but it's not really her hair, your hair, your hair –

and I stare unblinkingly into those soulful black eyes.

And for once, when it's over, I'm not disgusted with myself, I don't feel like such a traitor, and there's a strange feeling in my stomach that resembles something like happiness.

I realise I should be sent to Azkaban for doing this to her, but I reason with myself that this is the closest we've been in what seems like forever, and that has to mean something.

---

I woke up with the sunlight streaming onto my face, head pounding. I blearily look over at the sleeping figure next to me, and my heart stops.

It's you - it's you, fuck, am I dead?

I can't get to you quick enough, and as I straddle you, my lips are on yours, and one of my hands is pulling off your shirt and my other hand is pulling off mine, and all I can think is that you've come back, you're with me and that I'm going to make every second count.

Soon enough, you're kissing me back and I feel you moving underneath me so I can reach you better, and as I shift my weight and pull my hands to my waist to slide down my pants, you say something and I stop.

"Remus."

And I knew in that single word that I was here, with her. That word brought me slamming back to reality. That word crushed my hopes, and my beautiful plans of the future.

You never used to call me Remus, do you remember? Moony, Moony, fucking always Moony.

She sits up and links her arms around my neck. "I love you."

I smile back, even though I'm completely dead on the inside. "I love you, too."

And I know I'm not talking to her, I'm talking to you.

I'm always talking to you, Sirius.