Crimson rivers

Shit 11

Remus stares at the door in front of him, the inside of his bottom lip caught as he worries it between his teeth. It's such a simple thing—just lift his hand and knock. He does it all the time, but never in the last five years has he done it of his own free will, just to show up and seek someone out.

It infuriates him that there's fear mixed up within him for doing one simple thing. He's been trained—conditioned—to not do this, and he hates that he's struggling with it now. A self-imposed restraint that he would have snarled at and shook off only five years ago. Now, he can't even knock on a door.

Remus takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, waiting for the anxiety-induced racing of his heart to slow. In and out, he breathes, looking down at his feet. There's trust in this, too, and it's Sirius. It's Sirius, who has been nothing but kind to him, who has given more reason to trust him than anyone else ever has in the last five years. Sirius even told him he could do this, could come and go as he pleases, so there's no need to restrain himself. The worst that happens is that Sirius turns out to be a liar, and Remus ends up dead. Or worse.

Well, that didn't help at all. Remus squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated beyond measure, and he starts to turn away before he forces himself to stop. In all of this, Remus never wanted to lose himself; he never wanted to let them win. This? This would be letting them win. The fear means they already have.

Clenching his jaw, Remus lifts his hand and holds his breath as he knocks. He only does it twice before he's snatching his hand back, his heart racing, nerves pulled tight enough to snap. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't—

"Remus," Sirius blurts out as soon as the door swings open, his tired eyes immediately growing wider and filling with a startled spark. His hand fumbles on the doorknob, nearly making him stumble, and he violently clears his throat as he straightens up, a weak smile working onto his face.

And, just like that, Remus isn't scared anymore. It's strange what a sense of identity can do for someone, and Remus feels more real each time Sirius says his name. "Sirius. Hi."

"Hi. Hello. Hi," Sirius says, then huffs out a breathy laugh and scrunches his nose. "I—ah, I said hi twice."

"You did," Remus confirms, lips twitching.

"Right. Sorry. Hi," Sirius tells him, then squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks stained red. "Sorry. That's—um, that's probably the last one. Maybe." He coughs and lifts his head again, a sheepish, mortified half-smile on his face. "Is—did Pandora send you? I didn't request more towels."

"No, she didn't, and no, you didn't," Remus agrees, and Sirius blinks at him. Remus wavers, suddenly unsure how to even explain what he's doing. It's been too long since he's had any social interaction, honestly. He thinks, five years ago, he would have been more discreet, maybe less blunt, but now... Well, now he's a lot more direct. "I came here on my own."

Sirius blinks again, and then his whole face lights up. "Oh. You did? That's—that's great! I mean—" He rocks back on his heels, grinning broadly. "Sure, of course. Not that you can't, you can do whatever you want, but...why? Just—do you need something specific? Can I help you with anything?"

"No," Remus says, then chuckles. "I mean, unless you feel like helping me with laundry, which I doubt, so—"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean, I'd love to. Help. With that," Sirius bursts out, then inhales sharply and stares at him.

Remus struggles so hard not to smile, and then he wonders why he's fighting it. He lets it bloom on his face slowly, feeling it, the freedom of it. "You want to help me with laundry?"

"Well, if you're offering..." Sirius reaches up and scratches at the side of his neck, shrugging. "I've the time."

"Alright," Remus says slowly, cocking his head. Not exactly his plan, if he's honest, but there's something nice about that, about not knowing where he might end up, going with the flow and seeing the freedom in surprise. "Alright, come with me, then."