Remus threads his toes through the water, swishing his legs back and forth, entranced by the eddies they leave in their wake. The water is cool and tinny-smelling, and the last of the evening light glints off of the fountain's bed of pennies.

"Trafalgar, huh?" Sirius notes from behind him. Remus sighs.

He can just barely hear over the splash of the water and the laughs of tourists the sound of Sirius pulling off his own shoes before he feels Sirius settle alongside him on the fountain's ledge.

"I had to take the tube," Sirius adds meaningfully. Remus looks up in time to catch Sirius wrinkling his nose and can't stop himself from snorting a halfhearted laugh. Sirius hates the tube, always has. Living in Camden, too poor for taxis, Remus used to have to drag Sirius, by hand or shirtcuff or beltloop, down the steps and into the humid tunnels every time he wanted to grab a pint outside of their own neighbourhood. Back then, Sirius' claustrophobia was pronounced. Back then, the mere idea of an enclosed place like an elevator, or a train car, would have caused him to absolutelyshed. He could only imagine how bad he'd be now, after being locked up in…

Remus frowns, shaking the thought away.

He takes a deep breath and braces himself, sliding his knee away from Sirius'. "I need time away. From Grimmauld Place." Remus pauses. Away from you. "By myself."

Sirius swishes his feet in the water, hands in his pockets. The sun begins to dip and Remus suddenly remembers how cold it is. "You know," Sirius says, "It's been so long since we've been here, hasn't it? I remember how you used to drag me here - I think it was your favourite place for a drunken public snog, wasn't it? The fountains and the lights, you're such a sap - and then we'd always, always miss the last train and have to take the night bus home, god, I hate the night bus, more than I hate the tube, I think -"

"Sirius," Remus sighs. "Don't."

"And, oh, oh, remember that time we drank too much and then had to hop off the bus to piss and we couldn't find a public toilet anywhere and you went right for the first set of bushes you saw - in front of those council flats, remember? I thought you were going to get us killed."

"Sirius," Remus begs, quiet under the din of the water and traffic and the voices carrying across the square.

Sirius purses his lips, chews at the inside of his cheek. He nods and wipes at his nose. "So you're leaving us, then?"

Remus knows 'no' would be untruthful, so he doesn't say anything at all.

...

The flat he finds is small and creaky and mildewy and it's what he can afford. Sirius offers to help with the rent, but the thought makes Remus want to claw his own face off from shame, so instead he dips into his meagre savings and considers it a penance.

Seeing him off from the stoop of Grimmauld Place, Sirius murmurs, "We'll see you in a little while." He squeezes Remus' shoulder as Harry looks on like a shadow from the open doorway. Harry offers Remus an understanding nod. Apologetic, almost. Remus tightens his grip on the handle of his ratty, leather suitcase and nods back because it's the least he can do and the most he can offer.

...

A little while ends up being a month and a half. Remus would be ashamed to admit that the time passed quickly, most of it in a numb, vindictive blur. He would also be loath to admit the nagging, constant twinge he felt at the fact that Sirius never once attempted to contact him.

You can't eat your cake and have it too.

It's not that he doesn't want to open lines of communication. Of course he wants to check in on Sirius. And on Harry. Of course he does. It's just that - in his own bubble, isolated away from everything and everyone - he can pretend Harry and Sirius are like the cat in the box, the one from that experiment he'd heard of once. If Remus is away, blind and deaf and isolated in his shabby cell of a flat, then he can pretend things are simultaneously broken and fixed again.

So he spends his days reading and drinking tea and taking walks, feeling like a tourist in his old London stomping grounds. He changes, once, in Epping (bloody Epping) after doing his best to trek as far into the woods as possible.

He doesn't kill anyone, as far as he knows. Just devours a rabbit and gets his wallet knicked from his neatly folded pile of clothes, leaving him to hitchhike back home (not an easy feat, looking like a muddy, bloody madman).

Not all that bad, really, as shitshow wilderness changes go.

...

Some days he wastes hours getting lost on the tube, staring past strangers until he forgets what time of day it is and his legs cramp up and he emerges, squinting and blinking, from the tunnels into the light. West Kensington and Earl's Court blur into King's Cross and they all inevitably blur into Islington. Sometimes his hand will twitch, or his foot will nudge forward, and he'll almost convince himself to get out because Islingtonmeans Grimmauld Place and Grimmauld Place means Sirius. But then the guilt he usually keeps swallowed down at the very bottom of his stomach rises back up and he stays paralyzed as the doors slide shut and the train lurches forward, on to the next stop.

...

In truth, the first day after packing up and leaving, Remus had barely crossed the threshold into his flat before tossing down his suitcase and making a beeline right back to the tube. Right back to Grimmauld Place. Swelling with confidence or shame or what-the-fuck-ever, he'd made it onto the platform, up the stairwell, and as far as the pavement before his joints locked up and his heart began to pound in his ears.

So he turned around and went "home."

A few days after that, he made it only as far as the bottom step of the stairwell before he couldn't convince himself to move another inch. A week after that, he made it three steps out of the train before immediately doubling back before the doors closed.

Now, when he passes through Highbury & Islington, he looks at his feet.

...

It's funny how such a tiny seed of guilt and shame and resentment can snowball until you feel like a pathetic, grotesque Atlas.

...

And then a month and a half passes, and Remus finally decides he needs to man up and be brave.

...

When Sirius opens the door, Remus has to admit that he expected something more than, "Oh."

But then Sirius pulls him into his arms, quick and tight, and presses his mouth into the dip between Remus' neck and shoulder before letting go just as quickly.

"Sorry." Sirius runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"No," Remus starts. "No, don't - of course you don't have to - I should be -"

"Let's just," Sirius cuts him off. "Let's just - can we skip the bullshit? If that's okay."

"Yes," Remus says breathlessly, but then he's not sure what skip the bullshit is supposed to mean, so he picks at his cuticles and waits for Sirius to take the lead. They stand in silence for an uncomfortably long stretch until Remus can't stand it anymore and wells up enough courage to look Sirius in the face. He'd dragged himself back to Grimmauld Place fully expecting to be flogged and given exactly as hard a time as he deserves but instead of looking angry, Sirius' eyes are clear and bright and Remus' brain trips over itself and his tongue has trouble interpreting the gibberish. "I don't know which part I'm supposed to skip to. Or, I mean - where to restart from. When it comes to, you know. Everything. This. Us."

And then he stares at Sirius, half-manic, until Sirius says simply, "Well. Let's start from a good part, I think."

"Okay," Remus nods, dry-mouthed. "I'd like that."

Sirius turns and walks inside, leaving the door open behind him. Remus takes a deep breath and follows.

...

"Is Harry…?" Remus isn't sure which question he wants to ask first, so he asks them all at once. Is Harry home? Is Harry alright? Is Harry eating?

"Harry's in hospital," Sirius says. The bluntness throws Remus off and it takes him a full five seconds before he's certain of what Sirius has said.

"What - when?" The guilt in his stomach comes back in full, sickening force. Of all the scenarios he'd played out in his head, alone in his cold bed in his stupid, lonely, selfish fucking flat - this wasn't one of them. Somehow, the idea of either Sirius or Harry giving in to any outside help whatsoever seemed beyond the realm of possibility.

"It's been, ahh," Sirius taps his fingers on the kitchen table, counting. "Five weeks now? Yeah, five, I think."

Remus' brow furrows. "But that would have been…"

"A week after you left," Sirius nods.

"But," Remus starts but the words die in his throat. Five weeks? For five weeks he had drifted from pub to coffee shop to bookshop to park bench, deliberately, selfishly, vindictively oblivious. And all the while, Harry was in hospital and Sirius was alone in this miserable fucking house.

"He made the choice," Sirius adds lightly.

"What? Really?" The very concept of Harry seeking out help for himself may have been the only possibility that fell lower than Harry gets checked into hospital on Remus' totem pole of expectations.

"Really," Sirius nods, pulling himself up from the table and heading towards the stove. "Tea?"

"I - erm, sure, thank you. I'm just… really surprised, Pads." The pet-name falls out of Remus' mouth before he can catch it and shove it back in. "I mean, that's great, I think?"

"Yeah," Sirius agrees. "Yeah, it's been… a relief, I guess would be the right word. He's a tough lad - he's doing... a lot better. It just had to be on his terms, I suppose."

Remus nods thoughtfully and takes a moment to take it all in. For the first time in he-can't-remember-how-long, they share a comfortable silence. Finally, Remus has to ask, "What changed?"

Sirius leans back against the kitchen counter, thinking. He shrugs, "He wanted to own up to everything, I guess." The kettle begins to whistle and Sirius moves to pull two mugs from the cupboard, adding, "Harry mentions you a lot, actually."

Remus' eyes dart up to meet Sirius'.

"I'm serious," Sirius adds. "He really took it to heart when you left. I'm not saying that to, you know, make you feel guilty or anything. It just really hit him hard. I think you understood him the best, out of either of us. Out of any of us, really." He sets their steaming mugs on the table and sits back down across from Remus. Remus gratefully takes his tea, letting the heat settle into his fingertips and help ground him.

"He felt a lot of responsibility," Sirius continues. "For, you know, us. Anyway," Sirius shrugs again, awkwardly, and takes a sip of his tea, "He'll be thrilled to hear you came by."

Came by. Remus hadn't shown up with a plan very far beyond putting on his trainers, getting on the tube and knocking on the front door, but the words gnaw at his insides and he shifts uncomfortably. Came by. "Oh," Remus murmurs. It comes out more wounded than he intends, but he hopes Sirius notices all the same. He shakes his head and continues, "That's… It's a lot to take in. I'm so glad for him. For you both. You seem well," Remus adds, an unexpected intensity radiating from his chest. "Truly."

Sirius cracks a smile and Remus' heart flutters and aches all at the same time. "I am," he agrees. "It's like a weight's been lifted. Things obviously - well, things aren't the same, might never be - but. Things also aren't as fucked up and confusing and awful as they were."

Remus nods, staring into his tea, listening.

"And having some time was good, in a lot of ways," Sirius adds. "You didn't entirely have the wrong idea. About having some space." His hand slides a bit closer to Remus' across the pocked wooden table and he crooks a smile, gently adding, "Not to say you didn't go about it in kind of a fucked up way."

Remus chokes a laugh. "I deserved that."

"Mmhmm," Sirius agrees fondly, then sighs. "God, I was so angry with you, Moony. So, so angry."

"I know," Remus says quickly. "I'm so sorry - it was selfish and I know there's nothing I can say. It wasn't fair to you and it wasn't fair to Harry."

Sirius tilts his head, exhaling slowly. "You know, I'm not sure any of us was fair to each other."

Remus considers this, heart pounding, then leans in across the table. He can't quite meet Sirius' eyes so he focuses on Sirius' long fingers wrapped around his own mug. "I don't want this to be, you know. Me stopping by. I don't want to just stop by, Pads." He takes a breath. "I mean. If you'll have me."

He watches as Sirius' fingers slowly, slowly reach out to brush his own.

"Moony," Sirius says softly. "Of course."

They sit for a while, quietly, hand in hand, until Sirius jumps slightly and glances at the clock on the wall. "Christ," he says, gently slipping his hand from Remus'. "It's, um. I have to go, actually."

Remus tilts his head questioningly.

"It's visiting hours," Sirius explains delicately. "Harry's expecting me."

"Oh," Remus says. He bites his lip. It's time for you to finally fucking man up, Remus Lupin, he decides. "Well, we should head out then, I suppose."

Sirius stares at him a moment, then nods and takes Remus' hand back up in his own, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw.

"Missed you."

"Missed you, too."

...