#my illustration teacher would have torn me to shreds

[zivazivc]

let me put an end to the year+ long question...

... 😬

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

24. Mai

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN |  Masterlist

Summary: I’ve got my trip back to the present coming up in some months. Even Sasuke warned me specifically about getting too close to any of these guys. And as much fun I’ve been having here or how comfortable I am thanks to Masamune, in the end it’s pretty obvious I’m just plainly playing with fire…

She’s not as stupid as to deny her feelings for him, or their undeniable chemistry for that matter. However, she’s nothing but a plain, normal girl, and there are other solid reasons why Masamune Date is called the One-eyed Dragon, with everything that alone entails. Dragons are not just wild, but ruthless, volatile, untamable.

No TWs. Slight spoilers - Masamune's route

Mai

Outside the castle walls, the sky falls into orange hues, announcing the coming of dusk. As closer as she is of ending with her current errands, her jumbled and unsure thoughts keep her from taking the road back to the gates and her current residence, walking aimlessly across random streets in town.

Taking out the last piece of paper she holds from the breast pocket of her kimono, Mai stares at the drawing requested by Masamune. Worrying her lip, she becomes torn between what she wants and what should really be done.

“… I hear you’re having trouble sleeping.” Ieyasu deadpanned, not looking up from his reading after receiving her in his office. “It’s Masamune, isn’t it?”

Her breath caught in her throat—Hideyoshi must have really gone to him, after all. “What? Masamune?”

Ieyasu suddenly closed his book to look at her. “Am I wrong?” He questioned, quirking a skeptical brow.

“Yes… and no, alright,” Mai sighed, avoiding his eyes. “Masamune is, in fact, one of the reasons I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Still, it’s no—”

“If you don’t want to get hurt, you should cut things off with him quickly.” Emerald eyes pierced at her, but there was no malice in it, just his usual bluntness. “You’re thinking Masamune’s still normal, but I assure you, he’s not.” Still, the hint of warning in Ieyasu’s voice sat her on edge, “Even in these times of war, there’s no one scarier to have nearby.”

In truth, she never actually thought Masamune had a shred of normality to begin with. However, there was no more inappropriate time for her to be having that exact conversation—not right when actually returning from his manor after having a really nice lunch, and an even better steamy make-out session with. One she was not-so-secretly looking forward to repeating it again in a couple of hours, at least until now.

“And what, pray tell, is so scary about him?” Frustratingly, Ieyasu didn’t answer. And without another word, he went back to his book.

A tired sigh escapes her lips after recalling her past conversation, prompting her attention back to the paper in her hands. It had taken less time than most of the other samples she made for Kojuro, but it’s not a rushed job at all, and she’s actually quite proud of it. Deep within her heart, Mai knows the main reason why that illustration stands out from the others is pretty much due to Masamune showing a genuine liking to her work—a truly inspiring gesture, and something she currently is and will remain very thankful for.

It had to be her herbalist and medicine teacher the one to plant the seed of doubt on her.

“To be fair though, Ieyasu’s probably right…” If anything else, she has to be honest with herself. And the harsh truth is, she should consider cutting things off with Masamune right away.

I’ve got my trip back to the present coming up in some months. Even Sasuke warned me specifically about getting too close to any of these guys. And as much fun I’ve been having here or how comfortable I am thanks to Masamune, in the end it’s pretty obvious I’m just plainly playing with fire…

She’s not as stupid as to deny her feelings for him, or their undeniable chemistry for that matter. However, she’s nothing but a plain, normal girl, and there are other solid reasons why Masamune Date is called the One-eyed Dragon, with everything that alone entails. Dragons are not just wild, but ruthless, volatile, untamable.

Is it truly worth to let herself be caught within the dragon’s maw? Isn’t it safer to call it quits before their relationship gets serious—as it is actually on the verge of becoming?

What is she even looking forward to with such a guy?

“Psst!” A subtle whistle suddenly prompts her attention, turning on her heels to find the source, but no one in particular seems to be coming her way, just the usual coming and going of locals and merchants about the streets. Still, the glint of glass against light catches the corner of her eye, making her curious enough as to cross the street, entering a lone alleyway.

A person in green robes seems to be awaiting her, in the safety of the shadows, but it’s the shimmer of their glasses what gives them away. “Sasuke…? Is that you?”

“Mai,” Her friend from 500 years in the future reveals a portion of his face, pretty stiff as normal, but undeniably him. “Do you have some time to talk?” He outstretches his hand in invitation.

She hesitates at first; after all, it’s just her luck to kind of run into trouble every time she happens to head out to town, and despite being her friend, it’s an unexpected encounter nonetheless. Still, her doubts only last for a little moment before tucking her picture back into her breast pocket, grasping his hand.

“Sure.”

Grey clouds close upon the sky as the two of them navigate the streets of Azuchi, and Mai has to keep up with his quick pacing as they walk past all the familiar places to her and reach the outskirts, coming to a stop at an inconspicuous inn.

“I don’t want to be rude, Sasuke,” She begins, taking a seat in a room on the first floor of the building, “But if this is about you telling me you work for the Oda’s enemy, I kind of already figured that out by now…”

He sits down across from her, speaking in his usual smooth, calming tone, “I would like to explain everything I can, if you allow me.” His expression matches the voice as he goes, “Do you remember me telling you I saved Kenshin Uesugi’s life right after I arrived here?”

“Yes. And I’ve heard a little about him since then too. Seen him as well,” Mai suppresses a shiver at the mere thought of Kenshin in battle—a thunderstorm unleashing his wrath upon anyone who dared stand in his way. “But even more so, I’m more acquainted with his associate.”

“Well, indeed he and Shingen Takeda have joined forces.” Sasuke nods, procuring them some tea, yet appearing to be deliberating his words, “I’m currently here supporting a colleague under Lord Kenshin’s orders, doing recon work, and—”

Finally, a small frown makes his features on his face move, hesitating for a moment, “Lastly, as Lord Shingen’s envoy.”

Mai falters before taking a sip of her tea, recalling the contents of a certain letter brought to her through odd means. ‘Have you considered my offer? If so, an envoy of mine will meet you soon. I’m eagerly looking forward to our fourth meeting.’

“Does that mean…” Skepticism catches on to her—as much as, in her heart, Sasuke is her one true ally in that strange world they’ve happened to get caught up to, his allegiances might come to be problematic at most. “Are you trying to whisk me away from Azuchi and bring me to your employers? Is that why we’re here?”

“No.” Adjusting his glasses, Sasuke is most resolute in that, “I had the chance to work with Lord Shingen to exactly prevent that from happening… much to Lord Kenshin’s disappointment,” He seems inclined to admit that last tidbit, “I really intend to avoid kidnapping and non-consenting situations on your behalf. It has taken me some convincing to my employer, but we’ve managed to sway him.”

“Hence, why you signed up for this…” Mai catches on fast, nodding thoughtfully, sipping on her tea to soothe the sudden anxiety coursing through her.

With as much as she’s gathered from the current time period they’re into, Mai knows deep down Sasuke is being honest, thoughtful, and looking forward to her best interests at heart. By catching the eye of not one, but two enemies of the Oda, surely someone else might have taken her against her will already, without even bothering to let her have a say on it.

“I understand your concerns on this, Mai. However, if you’d like to hear my opinion, I too believe it might be for the best if you come with me.” He sets his teacup aside, gaze dropping in a way that makes her wary, “Azuchi might become a battleground soon.”

“W-what?” Her eyes go wide, stammering, “Explain that, please.”

He sighs deeply, “Of all the things I’m willing to, I’m afraid that is the one I can’t.” With lips pursing, Sasuke goes on to seemingly the best of his extent, “I presume you know this by now, but the Oda had caught word I’m here. To make it worse, some of Lord Shingen’s elite spies have already been captured. I can’t stay in Azuchi for much longer if I intend to avoid that…”

Sinking in thought, the gears in her head run deeper and deeper, struggling to keep up with the entire implications of Sasuke’s long-gathered intel. “But, I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay either.” He insists, looking at her dead in the eye. “That’s why I want to extend Lord Shingen’s invitation and ask you to come with me to Kasugayama Castle, Lord Kenshin’s home.”

“I—I see…” Sasuke is clearly serious about everything, and a true friend merely trying to help her out. Regardless, “I might need some time to think about it before I can make a decision like that.”

His lips purse again, conflicted, “I wish I could give you that, but we have to leave tonight.”

“Sasuke, the people of Azuchi have taken good care of me. I don’t like the idea of disappearing on them without a word.” And she won’t just be doing that—she’d be joining the enemy. For all it takes, they’d very likely see that as a betrayal, and with enough reason to.

She feels a lead weight on her chest, digging her nails into her palms as she frets over the situation. To make it worse, as she flutters her eyes close, the face of only one man comes to mind.

That stupid, reckless, wild, most adorable Masamune…

Setting aside Sasuke’s efforts, Masamune is the only guy who’s helped her to adjust to life in that crazy time period, and frankly owes a lot more than her vanishing into thin air. In reality, her feelings don’t just come from a vain physical attraction, but also for the moments they’ve shared together; their endless talks, the many things he’s taught her, his encouragement and appreciation of her art. Even the damn tiger cub he’s taken as his ‘pet’ and has grown fond of.

And it’s hard to believe it’s merely been a month or so, and still, she surprisingly feels so strongly about seeing him one last time. I still have his picture. If I were to go—and that’s if—I’d want to at the very least do that first.

All of it goes without counting the rest of the friends she’s made along the way, such as the kindhearted Kojuro, the hardworking Date scouts, the sweet Mitsunari—and who’s going to bring him breakfast in the mornings and help him out on getting a healthier schedule if she’s not around?—the ever-worrier Hideyoshi, the sly Mitsuhide. She’s even grown attached to Ieyasu, that grouchy porcupine, and has stopped to mind so much on playing Scheherazade and fan dancing with Nobunaga on eventual nights.  

“Look, there’s something I must insist upon, and that is we’re both lucky I found you first.” He seems to hesitate at first, but then stretches to touch her shaking wrist, “But as much as I’ll understand if you want to stay here, my boss won’t take it lightly if you did. And my other boss…” Despite Sasuke’s stoic face, the conflict is very clear in his eyes, “I just can’t assure you either of them will back down at this point. Do you get this?”

She’s not that stubborn as to not believe that—and Sasuke might literally be the only diplomatic approach she’ll ever have on the matter. But would Kenshin Uesugi or Shingen Takeda truly go through other more direct means merely to get their hands on a fake Princess like her?

Unless they truly believe I am one. But even so, is that enough reason for either of them wanting to get to me?  

“Yeah, clearly it means danger,” Mai nods, “But Sasuke, but I just don’t know if I really can—“

A frighteningly familiar sound interrupts her—cold, metallic, all but announcing trouble. Which it does as, a moment later, bright steel pierces the paper wall, missing her head by a couple of inches.

“Wha—!“

“Mai! Watch out!”

The glint of it makes it too clear. Sword! That’s a sword!

The blade finishes its thrust forward, ending several inches past where Sasuke’s throat had been. After harshly pulling her aside, he sets on his feet, and there’s a cut no thicker than a hair on his neck. She manages to scramble away from the wall, getting a clear look at the blade that had nearly impaled Sasuke.

Stuck through the paper, its edge shimmers menacingly in the candlelight. “What’s the matter? No good women in Echigo? You have to come here and try to steal ours?”

As the sword slides back from view, she recognizes the voice all too well.

Oh gods. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.

[littleoldrachel]

Fourth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut.

100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 4/100 - “Come here, let me fix it.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x

Tw for anxiety like woah, terrible parenting, mentions of vomit but no actual vomit.

3. “Come here, let me fix it.”

There isn’t a single part of Sirius’ body that isn’t trembling, and he keeps forgetting to breathe – then concentrating too hard on it, then panicking and forgetting once more. He’s pale and sweating through his suit, and he knows that checking his watch every four seconds is helping nothing, but there’re only two hours to go – or one hundred and twenty-one minutes, or seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixty-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-nine-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-eight-seconds-

In approximately two hours, Sirius has the biggest job interview of his life, and he doesn’t mean to be melodramatic, but he literally doesn’t know how he’s going to survive until then (how fast does your heart have to beat before it gives out?). Which is why Remus – wonderful, supportive, kind Remus – is going to come and keep him distracted until then, because otherwise he will actually have a heart attack, and keel over right here in this bustling street, and wouldn’t that just be a tragedy?

Remus is late, which isn’t unusual for him, but with every extra second on his own, Sirius can feel himself slipping further and further towards a panic attack because fuck, why does he think he can do this?

(He can’t – his parents were right, his teachers were right, he’s not good enough, he’s never going to be good enough-)

The thing is – this interview is kind of a Big Deal. It’s not that he doesn’t like working at The Marauder Corner – he does, and he’ll be eternally grateful to Frank for supporting him. He finally feels like he knows what he’s doing now, and he hasn’t screwed up an order in three (three!) days. He’s figured out how to smile for tips, who the nicest regulars are, and he’s starting to feel safe there – he’s comfortable. But… in the meantime, he has a hard-won First Class Bachelor’s Degree in Illustration & Graphic Design going to waste, and after everything he went through with his parents to be allowed to study it, with his mental health to actually complete it, it’s driving him a little bit crazy that he’s not doing anything with it.

It’s not that he hasn’t been on the hunt for jobs; it’s more that freelance illustration is hard to get in to, it’s hard to find regular clients, it’s hard to make a decent living, and for once in his life, Sirius just wanted one thing to be easy.

But this interview could change all of that. Queerllustration is a small company, who produce web comics for both educational and entertainment purposes, and they’re currently looking for a new, full-time Graphic Designer. As the name suggests, they make art about LGBT+ people, created by LGBT+ people, for LGBT+ people, and Sirius has been in love with their work since he first stumbled across their nonbinary superhero character, Eclipse. Working for them would be the absolute dream – he just has to convince them he’s good enough.

(Which is going to be difficult, considering he can’t even convince himself).

“Hey, you,” the voice is warm and gentle, and the touch on his arm is light, but Sirius still flinches sharply, and Remus withdraws immediately. He looks breathless and tired, but he’s smiling brightly at him, even if his eyes are a little crinkled in concern.

(Six thousand, six hundred seconds to go).

“Alright?” He tries for a confident smile, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder briefly as he pulls him in for a hug, but his insides are still liquid.

“Have you eaten yet?” Remus asks, still not quite releasing him (probably for the best – Sirius’ knees have forgotten how not to shake, which is making standing a Problem), and peering inside the café.

Sirius is torn – if he says no, Remus will make him eat something, and then he might be sick – what if he vomits all over the interviewers??? – but if he says yes, he’ll be lying to Remus. The thought of lying to him, even over something so trivial, makes him feel just as nauseous as eating will. In the end though, he doesn’t have to choose, because Remus knows him well enough to mutter, “no then,” whilst steering him gently towards the door.

It’s a mark of how anxious he’s getting, that Sirius doesn’t even register Remus sitting him down at a table, queuing, ordering and paying – and Sirius notices things, his anxiety won’t let him not document every tiny detail of a situation, to the extent that it’s overwhelming and too much, but now, he’s losing entire pockets of time, and he’s terrified.

There’s a large pumpkin spice latte sitting in front of him, and moments later, a tomato and mozzarella panini slides across to join it. Remus slips in to the seat opposite with his own food, and Sirius tries to smile his thanks – his heart tugs a little at the fact that Remus knows him so well – but it comes out as more of a grimace.

He clears his throat, hand clenching the table leg to give him something to ground himself on, and mumbles, “thanks, Moony.” Remus gives him a thumbs-up, his own mouth already full with an egg salad sandwich, and Sirius seizes on this detail, this normalcy. “I thought you didn’t like the egg sandwiches here?”

Remus swallows with difficulty, and shrugs. “S’alright. There aren’t many kosher options, this is fine.” Sirius nods absently, and shifts his grip from the table leg to around his mug – it’s a little too hot to hold, but the burn helps him to concentrate. Remus tracks this movement with a frown, and then continues, “anyway, we’re not here to talk egg sandwiches. How are you doing?”

Sirius forces himself to take a sip of his latte, eyes closing briefly in pleasure at its warm sweetness. (If Remus were a drink, he’d be a pumpkin spice latte, he thinks vaguely, then catches himself and nearly chokes on his drink). “I’m – uh – okay?” he says, and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no, try again.”

“I’m – I’m not. Uh. Okay,” Sirius whispers to his panini, and Remus’ fingers hover momentarily above Sirius’ wrist, giving him time to pull away, before gently closing around it. Sirius pulls his gaze up to meet Remus’ eyes, and kind of wants to burst in to tears at the sheer concern and care he sees there. He’s clenching his drink so tightly that his knuckles are white but his fingers are still fucking shaking.

“Would talking about it help?” Remus asks softly. “Or do you need to be distracted?”

Sirius shakes his head helplessly, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t- “

“Breathe, Pads,” Remus slides his hand down to Sirius’, where it’s clamped around the mug, and unpeels his fingers slowly, intertwining their fingers together. Sirius gazes at their hands for a second – he’s lost and scared and shaking, but he’s also anchored to Remus – Remus isn’t going to let him get hurt.

Sirius lets out a shaky breath, and takes another sip of his drink, swallowing down the anxiety for a moment. “Can you – I don’t – can we talk about something else for a bit?”

“Anything,” Remus squeezes his hand, then lets go, and Sirius instantly misses his warm grip. His fingers scrabble for something to fiddle with, land on his panini, and begin tearing it in to strips. Remus glances at him, but doesn’t try and stop him. “So, did you talk to Prongs and Lils after last week?”

Sirius pulls a face. “Sticking with the difficult conversations, are we?”

Remus shrugs, biting in to his sandwich. “You tell me.”

“I did, yeah.” The bread is thoroughly shredded now, and Sirius absent-mindedly begins separating the ingredients in to different piles. “He cried, I cried, everyone cried.”

Remus snorts, but not unkindly. “I think I’d be more worried if Prongs didn’t cry, to be honest.”

Sirius lets out a huff that ordinarily would have been a laugh. “It went like you said it would. He – he was really upset I ever thought they wouldn’t want me around. Said I’m – uh –“ his voice cracks a little. “More special to him than I’d ever know.” He flaps his hand a little, unable to vocalise everything the conversation had mended in him – that it had filled in cracks in his heart that he hadn’t even realised were forming. Of course, it won’t last – his anxiety will be back again soon enough, worming its way in to his weak spots. But for now, at least, he knows that James loves him unconditionally and would never want him to leave.

(It doesn’t hurt that James has doubled his number of daily reassurances, and started leaving him little post-it notes saying you’re so loved all over the place).

“I’m really glad,” says Remus, bringing him back to the present. The anxiety surges back in an unpleasant wave and he takes a breath, desperately looking for another distraction.

“I got a message from Reg on Facebook,” he blurts suddenly – then regrets it, because he’s not ready to unpack that yet at all, but nor is he ready to tackle the topic of the interview.

Remus looks momentarily bewildered at the abrupt subject change, but then raises his eyebrows curiously.

Sirius looks down at the heaps of separated food in panic, and stuffs the bread in to his mouth so that he has time to think. He swallows with difficulty, and says, “he was just checking in, I think. I haven’t read it properly. I – uh – he wanted to know that I wasn’t homeless, I think.”

“That’s… good?” says Remus cautiously.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, only it comes out with too much forced-cheerfulness, and they both wince. “I mean – I think so. Part of me, this is going to sound insane, but… what if my parents are using him to find me?” He glances at Remus’ expression, expecting to see scorn or disdain, but Remus just looks thoughtful.

“I don’t think Reg would do that to you. Maybe he never stood up to your family, but I don’t think he would actually turn on you like that.”

Sirius blinks a little, feeling a lump in his throat and a prickling behind his eyes. “Thank you for not telling me I’m being paranoid… I – thank you.”

Remus nods, still looking thoughtful, and there’s a comfortable quiet as Remus finishes off the rest of his sandwich, whilst Sirius chews through the pile of bread, and makes a start on the tomato slices.

Then –

“So,” Remus says, glancing at his wrist. “You have an hour to go.”

Sirius jolts, the panic racing back down his arms, his legs, through his fingers and toes, and paralysing him in an icy chokehold. He forces a breath in before he completely freaks out, and another, fingers clenching the table hard. Remus’ hands find his own, wrapping around them in a comforting grip. “Sorry, I – I just thought we could maybe talk about the interview? If that might help?”

“Give me a sec,” Sirius manages, and Remus immediately removes his hands, retreating apologetically. Sirius wants to scream because that’s not what he meant, but words are too hard at the moment. They sit in silence for a few minutes whilst Sirius tries to get his fucking shit together, and then Remus leans forwards again nervously.

“We don’t have to, Pads,” he says quietly. “It was just a suggestion, we can-“

“Can you – uh – “ Sirius scrubs at his face. “Can you, like, look at my portfolio? I’m not asking for like – praise – I’m not trying to be modest – I just – all I can hear is my dad screaming at me that I’m not enough and ripping up my art -and I – I just need- “

“Padfoot, I’d love to see your art. Anything you want to show me.” Remus brushes a reassuring thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand, and reaches for the portfolio leaning against his satchel.

Sirius watches Remus open the folder, but then looks away quickly, unable to watch Remus’ expression change. Objectively, he knows that it’s good – he didn’t get a first for nothing, he knows that the bold colouring, the quirky characters, the attention to detail – it’s all good, he is good. But is he good enough? And what if it’s too similar to the stuff they already do? He took inspiration from Queerllustration for his final project after all; they might decide he’s just an overenthusiastic fan with no real creative talent of his own. He tries his best to shove down the voice that sounds a lot like his father’s, and picks at the remaining tomato seeds, feeling like he’s awaiting a criminal sentence.

Remus lets out a little gasp, and Sirius can’t help but look up sharply. Remus’ expression is – a myriad of things: warmth, awe, surprise, delight – and he leans over the pages to look closer, shoving his glasses further up his nose. He’s stopped on a city scape scene – it’s London by night, the silhouette of a caped and masked figure standing clearly against the night sky, and Remus is currently tracing the tiny shimmering stars, with his mouth in a little ‘o’ shape. He glances up, catches Sirius’ eye, and shakes his head disbelievingly. “Every time I think you can’t get any better, you blow me away, Pads." He runs a finger over the tiny details of the golden streetlights, the miniscule red buses, the shadowy skyscrapers with their hundreds of minute windows, and looks back up with a beam. “This is stunning. And-“ he flips back a few pages, to a watercolour of a collection of animals. (Watercolour isn’t his strongest medium, but he was particularly proud of how these turned out – the gentler shades allowed for a dappled light effect – and besides, it was important to show he could be diverse). “I love this, it feels so… familiar in a way? It’s just so lovely, I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I think this is one of my favourites.” He reverently presses his fingertips against where the wolf and the black dog are touching snouts, at the way the rat is scampering up the buck’s back.

(Sirius can’t quite explain what Remus’ words are doing to him. It’s almost like he’s being punched in the gut, but with a warmth and an affection so strong that it takes his breath away, something soft and fragile blooming in his chest and pressing back against the panic nestling in his lungs).

“Do you mean that?” he croaks out at last, whilst Remus continues to pore through his artwork – the costume designs, the portraits, the fight scene – with occasional exclamations of admiration.

Remus looks up, his expression earnest and kind. “Of course, Pads. I don’t – you’re so talented. I just – you’re phenomenal, and I mean – I don’t know anything about art,” he smiles a little self-deprecatingly, “but I know that Queerllustration are fools if they don’t hire you.”

Something akin to relief sparks in Sirius’ heart, and it’s not enough to quench the anxiety still resting there (nothing is ever enough), but it loosens its grip a little, it plants a brittle seed of hope there, and Sirius can smile without feeling like he’s about to shatter. He idly pops a mozzarella slice in to his mouth from the small, final heap of food, and returns Remus’ grin as best as he can.

“Thank you,” he says softly, wishing he could convey exactly how much Remus’ reassurances mean to him, how much Remus means to him. (It’s not like James and Lily and every single one of his friends haven’t offered their own reassurances, of course they have. It’s just that there’s something about Remus’ compassionate smile, his kind honesty, his general Remus-ness that makes Sirius feel like he could accomplish almost anything).

“Of course,” Remus says, giving him a look that’s so full of care and warmth that Sirius can actually feel the glow it bathes him in. He bites his lip, and then says, “can I ask – what is it that you’re most afraid of? Like, I completely understand why you’re anxious – I just – what – argh,” he flaps his hands in frustration, “I’m fucking this up.”

“You’re not,” says Sirius quickly. “I get what you’re trying to say.” Remus looks relieved, as Sirius chews on his mozzarella thoughtfully. “I think the thing is that if - if I – uh – if I fuck this interview up, I – everything my parents ever said about me is-“

“Still all filthy, awful lies,” says Remus fiercely. “Nothing they have ever said about you is true, none of it, Padfoot, I swear it.”

The protectiveness causes the little seed of hope in his chest to swell, and he finds himself blinking back tears again. (Remus is a better friend than he deserves – better than anyone deserves).

“Did you talk to your therapist?” Remus says, more gently.

Sirius looks down, feeling the guilt drop in to his stomach like a stone.

“Hey, no, it’s okay if you didn’t. I was just asking.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Sirius begins.

“Never,” says Remus vehemently.

“- I, uh, I maybe haven’t been to therapy in three weeks?” He’s too ashamed to meet Remus’ eyes – whilst he hasn’t lied directly to any of them, he’s been feeling awful about this ever since the first time he got to the office and couldn’t face walking through the door. He’s been longing to tell someone honestly – but they’ve slowly stopped asking and checking up on his sessions, trusting him enough to be a fucking adult and get the help he needs. But they didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, and it went on and on, and every time he missed it, he got more and more anxious about going back-

“I don’t – what happened?” Remus doesn’t sound angry, or shocked, or annoyed. Just concerned and a little confused, and it’s the care that gives Sirius the courage to look up at him again.

He shrugs, “the sessions were kind of helpful… but I got so nervous about going, and then one week, I just couldn’t go. And then it sort of… spiralled?”

Remus’ face is kind and understanding. “I get it,” he clears his throat. “I did a similar thing a couple years back. Things were fine until bam, suddenly they weren’t, and I just went straight back home to bed without going to my appointment, and I couldn’t bring myself to get out again.”

(Remus gets it. He actually gets it – and as much as Sirius loathes the idea of Remus suffering in any kind of way – physically, mentally, emotionally, whatever – the fact that he gets it and he understands makes Sirius feel less alone, less ashamed, less like a fuckup).

“What did you do?” Sirius asks, because he vaguely remembers this, but Remus used to struggle far more frequently than he does now, and he knows that as a group, they handled some of them better than others.

“Some pretty great friends told me that I didn’t have to stick with that therapist if it wasn’t the right fit. That there were other options. That they would still love and support me, no matter what.” His voice wobbles a little, but he looks determined. “The point is, the same applies here. You can try someone else if you like. Or look in to other treatments – maybe your meds need adjusting? But whatever happens, we all love and support you, and – uh – I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us before.”

“It wasn’t that,” says Sirius hastily, “it was more that I was just embarrassed I couldn’t function like an adult. Like – you all have real jobs, and you all manage everything, and have your shit together, and I’m just a hot mess-“

“I promise you, we don’t have our shit together,” says Remus. “Yesterday I cried because I couldn’t pick which pair of socks to wear. Alice rang me to tell me she ate an entire box of Coco Pops in one sitting and was freaking out in case they weren’t halal. Wormtail has reapplied for uni four separate times. None of us have our shit together, if that helps.”

Sirius grins in spite of himself because fuck he adores his ridiculous, crazy, wonderful friends. Remus continues, “we could have been better though. So I’m sorry, and we’re all here for you for whatever you need.”

“Ditto,” Sirius says softly, nudging Remus’ ankle with his own, and Remus’ gaze drops, his shoulders tensing. Sirius frowns, “you know that, right?”

Remus doesn’t meet Sirius’ eyes as he says, “yeah sure,” and then gets up to return their plates to the counter. Sirius frowns after him, making a mental note to actually have an honest conversation with Remus about his mental health, but then checks his watch and blanches because he has twelve-hundred-seconds, eleven-hundred-and-ninety-nine-seconds-

“Come on,” Remus is back, and pulling him to his feet, and Sirius goes in a sort of daze. He does feel better than he did before; he’s not losing pockets of time anymore, and the food sitting in his stomach is a weight that keeps him somewhat grounded – though not as much as Remus’ hand around his wrist.

It’s slightly better when they get outside – the light breeze coupled with Remus’ nattering soothes his frayed nerves a little, and he takes a few deep breaths, fragile but not shattering, the hope in his heart holding him together. The short walk goes by too fast, and before he knows what’s happening, the two of them are standing outside a building covered in rainbow art.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” says Remus, pulling him in for one final hug, allowing Sirius to cling a little longer than usual. “You’ve got this, we love you, you’re amazing.”

Sirius nods. “I’m amazing,” he repeats, and Remus bursts in to laughter.

“Damn straight you are!”

“Take that back! There’s nothing straight about me!” Sirius says, in mock-affront.

“I apologise,” says Remus solemnly, and Sirius beams back – his head is spinning with how much he adores this man; there are very few people in the world who can momentarily make him forget his troubles like that, who can build him up with compliments and smiles, but Remus is one of them.

“I’ll call you later?” he says, making to walk in through the door.

“Wait,” Remus calls, and Sirius turns back to him. “Come here, let me fix it.” He gestures at Sirius’ tie, and Sirius flushes, but allows Remus to retie it, straighten the knot, and tuck it back in to his jacket. “Very handsome,” he says with a cheeky, dimpled grin, and Sirius sort of melts. “And you’d better call.”

“I will,” Sirius promises, and then strides in to the building, before the anxiety can do so much as hiss that he’s going to let them all down.

Three hours later, Sirius is on the evening shift at the Marauder Corner, when he gets a call from an unknown number. He smiles apologetically at Frank, who rolls his eyes but lets him slip in to the kitchens, and he answers breathlessly.

(The conversation that ensues is brief but it’s enough – it’s more than enough – it’s everything).

The job is his.

(He did it, he actually did it, fuck his parents, fuck his teachers, he is amazing).

He manages to splutter his acceptance, his gratitude and hangs up, then cries so hard he almost makes himself sick, and rings Remus, who sounds all sorts of choked-up-proud-love-care-happiness. When he finally gets home, having spent the rest of his shift in an overjoyed daze, making clumsy mistakes and spilling sugar and coffee grains everywhere, it’s to a surprise party, and he is overwhelmed with happiness and love and warmth.

James shouts out a quick warning before he tackles him to the ground in a hug. Alice, queen of baking forever and ever, has made him a gorgeous rainbow cake, topped with smarties. Peter gives him a flower crown, which Kingsley steals halfway through the night (“because I look so good in daisies, I should just wear them always”) and - 

Remus waits until the excitable chaos has calmed down a little before approaching Sirius. “Hey, you,” he says, dropping in to the just-vacated seat next to Sirius. James has his head in Sirius’ lap, but he shuffles along, plopping in to Peter’s instead, and starting a sign conversation, complimenting Peter’s new violet hair.

“Hey, Moonbeam,” Sirius smiles back at him, leaning his head against Remus’ shoulder. Remus allows him to tuck himself against his side, slipping an arm around him.

“I know I said this before, but I’m so bloody proud of you, Pads,” he says softly, and they’re both watching Frank and Lily dancing, but it’s somehow just as intense as if they were holding each other’s gaze.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sirius murmurs back, finding Remus’ hand, and squeezing it. Remus doesn’t move for a second, and then, very slowly and deliberately, he raises their intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a gentle kiss against their fingers.

Sirius doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, doesn’t move – doesn’t want anything to break this spell, because they are on the verge of something, something is about to change between them –

But then there’s a smashing sound, and Kingsley is staring, wide-eyed, at the floor, looking guiltily at where he’s dropped a mug, which is now in pieces.

And the moment is lost.

Remus extricates his hand, and stands up without looking at Sirius. He walks over to James, who’s fretting a little trying to make sure nobody gets shards of china in their feet, and makes his excuses, claiming a stomach-ache and tiredness.

And Sirius just –

Watches him go.