Everything's different.

Jesus Christ.

He's lying in bed, which is par for the course on a Sunday morning. What's unusual is that he can't be sure what year it is because lying inches from his nose, snoring with the side of his face pressed into the pillow is Sirius, and that hasn't happened in a long, long time.

They weren't drunk. He knows that. It was also completely his fault; reminiscing in the middle of the night, putting his hands over Sirius', letting silences stretch out; kissing Sirius, open-mouthed, grabbing his shirt tightly in his hands to pull him closer, tugging him upstairs, undressing him completely just to get a good look at him before they both fell against eachother, laughing, breaths hitching in Remus' tiny, silent house.

It was all instigated by him because Sirius has grown a kind of membrane of insecurity in his time in Azkaban, among other things. His bravado was never a front before but now it is, in a way; it's a kind of pretending. He doesn't look brave now, though; his forehead crinkles in sleep and Remus can't reach for the space in between his eyebrows, can't feel the shape of his worry, because it's too cold to move his arm out from the covers. He breathes shallowly, trying not to disturb Sirius' sleeping.

Was this a mistake? He thinks slowly, staring mindlessly as Sirius' face as he mutters, mouth opening against the pillow. Perhaps. But he's old enough in his soul now to know that some mistakes are worth it, even if they do tear everything to pieces. Sirius has always been that kind of mistake. He knows, even at this early hour, that the whole thing will end in tears. He smiles. It always does.

It's funny how history repeats itself. The smile stretches its way across his face without him really noticing, at first. It should be a sad memory, should be tinged with regret; their time at hogwarts, their time during the war; but the memory of his seventeen-year-old self finally, finally, grabbing hold of Sirius' face as they talked beside his bed in the hospital wing and kissing him with a brusqueness that he's never really felt since is happy. And no amount of death-eaters and pain and bitterness could ever really change it. If he remembers correctly, he muttered "Idiot." As he did it. He smiles, strangely proud of the funny, awkward boy he used to be. He misses bravery, misses stupidity, misses their foolishness. He misses love.

Sirius blinks twice and then slowly wakes, eyes unfocused. He looks like he doesn't even recognize Remus at first; tries to cover it but Remus has seen that brief flash of terror and something inside him surges up to meet it; not pity, but close. He meets Sirius' gaze and smiles indulgently instead.

"Morning Moons." Sirius says in a hush, like they aren't the only two people for miles in the tiny countryside house. Remus finds his hand under the covers and holds his palm.

"Morning."

It's a mistake. Definitely. But it's perfect, all the same.