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peachy-panic · 2 years

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Who’s Your Friend?

Jaime/Leo AU (pt. 1)

This is Part 1 of a 2 part story. PART 2 is up on @hold-him-down’s account now!

We have wanted to write something together for the longest time, and @the-whumpers-soiree was the perfect opportunity to put our boys in the same room.

Both parts were an entirely collaborative effort. Viewer Discretion advised.

Leo is from @hold-him-down’s The Fighter.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, implied noncon/forced prostitution, brief blood mention, panic attacks, rich people being awful

The echo of string music and clinking glassware chases Leo all the way to the kitchen. He makes it only as far as the counter before he caves. The moment the door swings shut behind him, creating a barrier between him and the watchful eyes of the party guests, he gasps for air, hands clutching desperately at the cool marble to keep himself upright. A swell of nausea rolls through him and he swallows, squeezing his eyes shut.

His shirt collar constricts his throat in just the wrong way, reminiscent of an entirely different weight around his neck. It takes everything he has left not to yank the fabric away from his skin. He could feel it the second their eyes met across the room, the memory of a white-hot shock so inextricably linked with the darkness in that expression, in that tight line of a smile, and he—

He’s fine. He’s going to be fine.

“Hey.” He doesn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps at his side and only flinches slightly when a hand lands on his arm. Immediately, the fingers are withdrawn. Leo looks up to find a pair of golden-brown eyes staring back at him. “Sorry.”

The worker looks to be a few years younger than him. He’s dressed head-to-toe in the same all-black catering uniform as Leo, but the starkness of the fabric against his pale complexion and blond hair makes him look… smaller, somehow. All sharp edges and translucent skin and dark circles.

“Is there anything I can do?” The directness of his question startles Leo. It makes sense, though, when he thinks about it; the instinct to skip past the formality of ‘are you okay’ when the answer is ever unchanging and the asking itself borders on cruelty in a situation like the one they share.

The unexpected kindness loosens some of the tension in his neck, but lodges a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow down. For a moment, it’s a different pair of brown eyes staring back at him, but Leo blinks away the memory of Will as soon as it surfaces.

He can’t do that here. He has to keep it together.

“No,” he answers automatically, moving his gaze to the countertop. “I don’t– I–” He sucks in a breath, forcing himself to focus. “No.”

He expects to hear the soft retreat of dress shoes on the tile, but the other worker doesn’t walk away. Instead, he asks earnestly, “Were you hurt?”

Leo knows he means just now. The alternative is as obvious as it is pointless. He manages a subtle shake of his head. The boy at his side shifts, and Leo looks up, following his gaze to the one of the men standing guard at the back of the kitchen. Even out of uniform, the posture and the cold gravitas of a handler is instantly recognizable. There are at least a dozen of them scattered throughout tonight’s event, shipped in from all different Northeast facilities, much like the borrowed labor. Leo can feel their eyes like a heavy weight on the back of his neck at all times.

The other worker must feel it too, because he quickly grabs an empty tray and a bottle of champagne and slides it toward Leo. “Help me fill these?” he whispers, reaching under the counter and selecting several crystal flutes.

They work in silence, Leo filling the glasses and handing them off to the other man to load onto the serving tray. He recognizes and appreciates this for what it is– the silent camaraderie in the midst of Leo’s internal breakdown, the companionship under the cover of work when there is little else he has to offer. When he has no obligation to Leo to offer anything at all.

“I saw someone I know.” The whispered words spill out of Leo before he can stop himself. “He used to…” His jaw works around the words he could use to describe whatever Parker was to him, but a low, threatening voice speaks over him.

“You two. Separate,” the handler barks, then adds in a louder voice, to the rest of the kitchen, “No talking. Get back to work.”

Leo nods, ducking his head apologetically as he makes to step away with the tray. Before he does, the young man places one last champagne flute at the edge. When he pulls away, he lets his pinky brush over Leo’s. Just a ghost of a touch. A silent apology for something that’s not his fault.

And probably, if Parker Destin’s hungry stare from across the room was any indication, it’s the last kind touch he’ll feel tonight.

✥ ✥ ✥

The penthouse fills out as dusk bleeds into inky-black night.

Leo keeps his back to the wall as often as he can get away with, scanning the room with a tray of drinks balanced on his hand. All around him, contracted men and women slink by, draped in black mesh and heavy eyeliner, a familiar glaze over their eyes. A few of them stumble as they move, but there’s always a pair or two of greedy hands to catch them before they fall. Leo tries not to watch the casual, possessive touches.

The blue glow of their bracelets reflect brightly in the windows throughout; Leo resists the urge to tug his sleeve down over his own.

One after another, Leo watches them disappear down a long, shadowed hall at the other end of the penthouse. Sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always led by the eager hand of one of tonight’s patrons. Leo understands without doubt that there is a far worse role he could have been forced to play tonight.

Not that he is under any allusion that his catering uniform will protect him. Not by a long shot. Not with the glowing, blue circle around his wrist, marking him as a target available for the taking, the moment he catches the wrong eye.

Parker hasn’t approached him; not since that first meeting of eyes from across the room. But Leo knows better than to think that’s the end of it. More likely, this is all part of the game. Parker loves the buildup. He loves watching the anticipation; he loves watching Leo squirm.

He hasn’t seen him in close to an hour, either lost to the growing crowd or intentionally making himself scarce, but every draft of air across the back of Leo’s neck, every brush of fabric against his arm, his back, his hand, is a reminder of his proximity.

His muscles are taut from a slow build of panic when a loud clatter draws the attention of the room to a cluster of bodies beside the window. Leo shifts his eyes toward the sound, and his stomach goes cold when he finds the worker from the kitchen at the center of the commotion.

It only takes a few seconds to put it together. Through the blur and shadows of bodies, he can make out the shape of a pale hand on the boy’s ass, roughly pulling his lower half against the man’s body. The half-full tray of champagne glasses he had been carrying lay in puddled shards around their feet. A chorus of amused laughter skitters through the nearby crowd, but Leo only has eyes for the hard stare of the handler who zeroes in on the scene.

Against his better judgment, Leo feels his legs moving underneath him. He sets his own tray down on a tabletop as he crosses the room, weaving as unobtrusively as he can through the crowd. As he gets closer, he can make out the whispered words spilling from the worker’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, over and over, as the older man nuzzles a kiss against his jaw. Then, “Please.”

He’s falling apart. Leo knows the feeling.

He also knows that helping him without explicit permission to do so could land him in trouble alongside him, but this stranger had reached out to Leo when he needed someone to ground him, and he had done so at the risk of his own punishment. For the second time tonight, he finds himself thinking about Will. And that’s all it takes. Leo can’t stand by and leave this guy to the circling wolves. He won’t.

Without allowing himself to hesitate, Leo drops into a crouch beside them, gathering as many pieces of glass as will fit in his palm. He ignores the idle sting of the sharp edges against his skin, and eventually the man in the suit releases his hold on his prey, who immediately drops down beside Leo to help.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, over and over. It’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking. Leo doesn’t miss the tremble in his hands as he picks over the shards.

“Take a breath,” Leo tries, keeping his voice low enough to evade the listening ears above them. He doesn’t seem to hear him.

Even with the heavy boots swapped out for something black-tie appropriate, there is no mistaking the menacing footfall of an approaching handler. Both of their bodies stiffen in time with each other, both of them bracing for the worst.

Wordlessly, the handler reaches down and snatches Leo’s companion by the bicep, yanking him to his feet. Leo hears a faint crunch and looks up, his features arranged in careful disinterest. A trickle of blood seeps out from between the fingers of the boy’s closed fist; a handful of red-stained glass falls to the floor.

“Let’s go.”

Leo stands as the handler pushes the worker forward, prepared to follow a similar order, but his whole body freezes as a different hand lands on the back of his neck. The scent of his cologne reaches him first, but nothing can stop the gut-punch of hearing that voice again for the first time in nearly two years.

“Leo Evans,” Parker says, a hint of amusement underneath the subtle command. Leo stands statue-still, held in place by the fingers at the nape of his neck, staring desperately into an invisible spot on the floor. It isn’t real. It can’t be. “God, what’s it been? Years, right? You don’t know how nice it is to see a familiar face here.”

He forces his head into some semblance of a nod. “Parker,” he says.

“Who’s your friend?” His attention shifts to the boy in the handler’s grasp.

Leo swallows back the tension, lifting his eyes slowly, preparing himself for the intrigue that he knows he’ll find staring back at him. Instead, Parker looks affronted. He takes a smooth, easy step forward, dismissing the handler’s hold on Leo’s silent counterpart with the wave of a hand.

“Jesus. Look at your hand.” Parker’s voice noticeably shifts to the cool, helpful, genuine facade that he so often wears. Leo tenses as Parker reaches forward. “Can I?” he asks earnestly, already lifting the boy’s wrist gently to inspect the damage. His eyes are wide, tracking Parker’s every move.

Both of them let out a breath when Parker turns his attention to the handler. “Grab me a first aid kit?” he asks, though it sounds like more of a demand. “Doesn’t look too deep, but we need to clean and wrap it, at least.”

The handler, looking disgruntled at the prospect of being ordered around by a twenty-something in a designer suit, nods tightly and retreats. Parker smiles, still holding the boy’s hand loosely. “We’ll get you patched up in no time,” he says. “I think there might be a room open at the end of the hall. We can give ourselves some space to breathe.”

Alarms bells are firing off in Leo’s brain, but he knows it’s too late. He knows that look in Parker’s eye from all the time he spent withering under it. Parker smells blood in the water. He has set his sights on someone vulnerable, on someone he can use as a knife to twist in Leo’s stomach, and he’s not letting go.

Leo is sure of one thing: Parker will get what he wants tonight. He always does.

PART 2 >

***

(Since both authors had an equal part in writing this collab, we combined both of our tag lists. If you’d rather not be tagged in part 2, just let one of us know).

@whump-cravings, @afabulousmrtake, @crystalquartzwhump, @maracujatangerine, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @distinctlywhumpthing, @thecyrulik, @highwaywhump, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @finder-of-rings, @dont-touch-my-soup, @skyhawkwolf, @suspicious-whumping-egg, @also-finder-of-rings, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @prodigal-zoe, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @urban-dark, @nicolepascaline, @quietly-by-myself, @seasaltandcopper, @angstyaches, @i-msonotcreative, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @anonintrovert, @whump-world, @whumpervescence, @shiningstarofwinter, @whumptywhumpdump, @anotherbluntpencil, @insaneinthepaingame, @inpainandsuffering, @cicatrix-energy, @quietly-by-myself, @whumpsday, @extemporary-whump

#the-whumpers-soiree #the-whumpers'-soirée #Leo Evans #Jaime Quinn #Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #The Fighter #implied noncon #BBU #BBU-adjacent #whumplr #whump writing #Parker fucking Destin

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fruitcoops · 1 year

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Falling for Forever

Two for two on deadlines, baby! Ignore the fact that it’s been 11 months. This fic put me through the absolute wringer and now I get to stand on it and witch-cackle in victory. Almost 11k words of physical, mental, emotional, and...all those other types of healing. Bon appetit, babes! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, to whom I owe my heart and soul for building this universe.

TW for past injury/ memory loss, working through trauma

Part One: What You Have, What You Hate (the amnesia fic)

Part Two: Sirius Love Yourself and Remus Get Therapy, Electric Boogaloo

It just wasn’t fair.

Sirius was fine. Honestly, genuinely, from the bottom of his heart—he was fine. Sure, some days his head hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d wonder where he put his phone when it was still in his hand, or enter a room and forget why he went there in the first place, but those weren’t new occurrences. He could walk and talk and remember just about everything from his life, with the notable exception of the ten minutes before the hit.

But Remus hadn’t slept properly in days, and Coach wouldn’t let him back out on the ice, and the whole damn thing just reeked of pity he didn’t want. Pity he didn’t need.

Remus’ hands flickered over him, tucking and retucking the sheets until Sirius caught his wrists and pressed a kiss to each pulse point. His broad shoulders sagged. “I’m being a bother again, aren’t I,” Remus muttered. He shook his head without waiting for a response. “Fuck, I am, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being a bother.”

“No, I totally am—”

“You’re not,” Sirius repeated. The shadows under Remus’ eyes lightened every day, but still lingered. He looked threadbare, his voice thin, like someone had taken an eraser to his edges. He held Sirius tighter at night than he ever had before. The worried crease between his brows smoothed when Sirius pulled him down to sit on the mattress with a small smile. “Lay down, I’m cold.”

Tension had been holding Remus up like a second skeleton for days now, ever since they had been discharged from the hospital and promptly collapsed into bed for ten hours. Sirius had only seen it release him in deep sleep—a fleeting event at best. It was like the hospital had followed them home and seeped into the walls, staining Remus’ vision until they were right back where they started.

Remus turned out the lamp and curled into his usual spot against Sirius’ chest, shuffling around until he was comfortable; Sirius splayed a hand between his shoulder blades and tucked his nose into soft curls. Of all the aftershocks he had prepared himself for, the fatigue had snuck up on them both. “Bonne nuit, mon coeur,” he whispered.

“Night, baby.” Lips brushed the peak of Sirius’ cheek before Remus snuggled up once more.

Kiss me, and I’ll know, Sirius had said into the inch of space between them on a paper-thin hospital pillow. And Remus had, because he was made of everything light and good and kind in the world. It had been six days since they came home; two weeks since the hit. That remained the only time Remus had kissed him on the mouth. Sirius closed his eyes against the ache in his chest and readied himself to try and rest.

That first night home had been distilled bliss. They showered together—showered, dear god how Sirius had missed that—and Remus had washed his hair and the spots he couldn’t reach with reverent hands. They were both so, so tired from the endless discharge paperwork and so, so silently afraid to step away from each other for more than a few seconds. Remus was shaky, but happy. Contented. Solid in Sirius’ arms when they finally laid in their own bed after days upon days. They spooned the whole night and into the morning, neither budging an inch.

“We should eat,” Remus had sighed when the sun was finally too high to ignore. His hand moved in slow strokes, tracing from Sirius’ hand to his elbow and back again, just to touch. The intimacy of the movement settled something deep inside them both if his drowsy smile was anything to go by.

They stayed in bed for another hour in comfortable silence before their empty stomachs won out. Even in the kitchen, Sirius had hugged Remus from behind with his chin propped on a well-muscled shoulder to watch him cook. “Mon coeur,” he murmured into the shirt that had once been his. The smell of the hospital was long gone and the fabric was soft. “Mon loup, mon amour.”

He had trailed his mouth along the curve of Remus’ neck and held him close. The frayed edges began to ease.

The routine came easily. Nothing else did, so Sirius had to be a little grateful for it. They left social media to its conspiring and only spoke to family, face-to-face on the doctor’s orders. Leo meal-prepped like a madman; they could hardly keep Dumo out of the house; Lily brought Harry over in an obvious ploy to distract Sirius while their husbands fixed the leaky faucet, though he wasn’t offended by their caution. If it were James on the injured list, he would have swaddled him in bubble wrap at the first opportunity.

“Hey.” A kiss feathered Sirius’ temple and he looked up from his crossword, blinking back the memories. Remus perched on the table with a smile he couldn’t help but mirror, clad in a sweater that brought out the hearth-warm brown in his eyes.

“Bonjour,” he managed, a little breathless.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Really?” The doctors’ definition of his permitted ‘minimal exercise’ amounted to literally walking up and down the stairs—even a wander around the block was pushing his luck. Sirius had tried extraordinarily hard not to be jealous when Remus took Hattie out every few hours so she didn’t destroy their couch pillows with excess bursts of energy, but it felt like he was a toddler in time-out. “A real walk?”

“A real walk,” Remus confirmed. He ran his fingers through the hair above Sirius’ ears and Sirius nuzzled into it with a kiss to his palm. That touch had kept him grounded at his lowest point. He knew better than to take it for granted, now.

“What about a run?” he asked, cracking a grin at the eye-roll it earned him.

And Remus laughed. The sound sent butterflies careening through his stomach; it hadn’t been absent since his fall, but it had been…well, a little rare, if he was being honest. More rare than his mostly-reliable memory told him it should be. Remus was joy incarnate, but he had been so tired lately. It was good to see him shine again, even for a moment.

Sirius pulled him in by the sleeve and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting the last bits of humor that lingered there. Not the lips. Not until Remus was ready. “I love you.”

Remus turned until their foreheads rested together and their noses bumped. He was smiling softly. “Love you, too.”

“Baby?”

Sirius made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t budge. His hands were warm in his pockets, and the sun was hot on his windburned face. Hattie’s collar jingled; he smiled when her nose pushed into his thigh and Remus’ arm looped through his own. “Hey. Good run?”

“That hydrangea was a real threat to our safety.”

Sirius grinned and opened his eyes to kiss the top of Remus’ head. Fresh air seeped into his blood, replacing the stale sludge he had been dragging around all week. Finally, he felt human. “I’m sure it was.”

“Excuse me?”

They both startled, stepping apart. “Yes?” Remus said, his tone curious but a little tense. “Can we help you?”

A young man shifted from foot to foot, as if he couldn’t quite believe they had acknowledged him. It seemed whatever (certainly invasive) question he was going to ask had become stuck in his throat. Sirius arched a brow and saw him swallow hard. “Are you—are you okay?” the young man finally got out.

There it is. Sirius forced a smile and knew it came out tight by the sudden regret on the other man’s face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

I’d be a lot more sure if you fucked off and let me enjoy my walk. “Very sure,” he promised.

The young man’s dark eyes flickered between them before settling on Sirius’ forehead. His beanie covered the small bandage, but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from staring. “You were in the hospital for, like…a while.”

“Just a few days,” Remus assured him. Sirius felt a light squeeze on his hand and returned it in a silent request; a gust of wind snuck down the back of his coat and raised goosebumps along his arms.

“Will you play at the next game?”

Sirius exhaled slowly through his nose as something bitter crawled up and stained his teeth. “We’re waiting on the go-ahead from the doctors,” Remus said placatingly. “Better safe than sorry. Thanks for your concern, though. Enjoy the weather.”

They were walking before the man could open his mouth again—Remus’ knuckles were white on Hattie’s leash and she had to trot to keep up with them, her fluffy tail bobbing happily. Sirius ground his back teeth so hard they squeaked. “Remus—”

“Don’t,” Remus murmured, clear and clipped. “Don’t go there, baby, it’s not worth it.”

“I need to play.” He did. He needed to play. He needed to not sit at home for another week, two weeks, a month, and pretend he was alright with it. Six days were manageable. Six more would send him over the edge. If he had to spend another beautiful afternoon cooped up in the house...

“You’ll play when you’re ready.”

“I am ready.”

Remus stopped cold, jostling both him and Hattie. He took a fortifying breath, mouth pressed into an unhappy line. “Please don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Sirius, just—don’t. You know I hate being the bad guy with this kind of thing.”

Sirius looked away. He did know that. He had seen how miserable Remus was when he had to bully Sirius into doing his exercises when his ribs were broken, how it had killed him when Sirius couldn’t put his fatal fucking pride aside for two seconds to heal. Guilt made his stomach squirm. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “But I—I need to play.”

“I know.” Remus’ eyes found his own then, gloved hands wrapping around Sirius’ wrists with something like desperation. “Believe me, I get it and I’m sorry and this has got to be the worst feeling. But this is different than your ribs, okay? We can’t afford to backslide. This isn’t some sort of—fucking punishment, I promise.”

God, he hated spoiling perfectly nice days because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His winter clothes made his skin prickle. “I feel fine, Re.”

“But you’re not.” Remus turned Sirius’ face back with a touch to his jaw and he went willingly, even though he wanted to see anything but the hurt in Remus’ eyes. Since when was he so terrible at listening? “Not yet. We’ll start here and work our way up. I won’t talk to the press about it after games. You don’t owe people like him a thing. Don’t make this harder for yourself by letting them get under your skin.”

Sirius took a deep breath. The steam of his exhale clouded the curls spilling out from under Remus’ hat. He had known this would happen the second someone asked about his health—it was his rookie season all over again, shooting pucks in the basement because he didn’t know what else to do. Remus deserved better than what Sirius had done to himself. “Let’s do another loop around the park.”

Remus had cried the third night. The days were easy; they could cuddle and cook and Remus would read to him while he napped, still drained from a week of hospitalization. They could watch one TV episode every evening and got permission to throw their diet plans out the window to enjoy some treats in celebration.

At two o’clock in the morning, Remus had bolted upright in bed and shaken Sirius awake, rattling off an endless stream of questions that Sirius couldn’t respond to. Not because he didn’t know the answers, but because he had been unconscious about four seconds prior and was still technically concussed.

“Non,” he had mumbled, grappling against waking and batting sleepily at the thing holding his shoulders.

A strangled sob had answered and Remus’ touch disappeared like he was touching hot coals. By the time Sirius registered enough of the world to attempt reassurance, all he could do was hold Remus and silently curse himself. Do you know me? Remus had asked. Sirius had given him the one wrong answer. Done the one wrong movement.

It was three o’clock when Remus finally let sleep take him again, slumping into Sirius’ side with tears drying on his face. Sirius laid them down and watched light play over the ceiling from the street. When Remus woke again at nine, he didn’t say a word about the nightmare, just turned into the hollow of Sirius’ neck and let his hand rest above his heart. Though Remus slept fitfully over the following nights, he hadn’t cried again.

They were working on it.

“Out.”

“But I—”

“Out,” Leo repeated, making a shooing motion with his spatula. Sirius muttered something under his breath and trekked back into the living room with a last kiss to his husband’s cheek, working up a scowl like he was getting paid for it.

“Impressive,” Remus remarked around a mouthful of chips from his seat on the counter; his gaze lingered on Sirius’ retreating back while Leo poured sauce over the stuffed pasta and popped the whole pan in the oven.

Leo set a timer, wiped his hands on his pants, then cast one more look out the kitchen door to make sure their respective boys were out of sight before turning to Remus with his arms crossed. “What’s up?”

Remus’ chewing slowed. “Just…having chips.”

“Loops.”

“Did you want some?”

Stubborn bastard. Leo pushed himself onto the counter next to Remus and gave him a look his mother would be proud of. “What’s going on? I’m worried about you, man.”

But rather than throwing the chips aside and spilling his heart out—not that Leo was expecting it from Remus ‘Brick Wall’ Lupin, though a guy could dream—Remus closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “You are the third person to say that in 24 hours, Knutty. I’m good. If I wasn’t, I would talk to someone about it.”

“See, if you had ever done that even once in your life, I would believe you.”

“I’m doing great,” Remus insisted. Leo wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Sirius is home, he’s healing, he’s making progress, we’re fine.”

The distant look in his eyes was gone, but something in his face was still too heavy. Leo hadn’t heard him crack a joke or seen a real smile all day. He chewed the inside of his lip and raised his eyebrows, and watched Remus’ resolve crumble. “I didn’t ask about Sirius, Re,” he said. “I asked about you.”

“I’m not the one who had amnesia.”

“No, you’re the one whose husband had amnesia, and that’s pretty fucking traumatic.” Remus shoved another handful of chips into his mouth with an unhappy crunch; Leo hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer until their sides touched. Remus tensed. “I’m not trying to push you, but I need you to know that I’m here and I want to talk when you’re ready. I can’t imagine how hard the last couple weeks have been.”

He had tried, the night he went to get Regulus. Every part of him felt full of pure energy—every red light had made him twitchy as the events of the day replayed in his head on constant loop. But picturing himself in Remus’ shoes, and Finn or Logan shoving him away from their bedside with a stay the hell away from me or that fragile, frightened confusion...that had taken the wind right out of his sails. He nearly turned around to go home then and there.

“It sucks.” Remus didn’t look away from the oven timer. “That’s kind of all there is to it, you know? It happened. It sucks. We’re working on it.”

Leo nudged him, just a little. A single crack in Remus’ careful walls was progress. “It does suck,” he agreed. “Have you been alone yet?”

“I mean, yeah, you guys are the first visitors in a couple—”

“Have you been alone yet?” Leo repeated.

Remus was quiet for a few seconds, then swallowed hard. “I fixed the faucet with James, but I can’t…I can’t. I don’t think either of us can right now.”

“Okay.”

Remus’ eyes flickered up to him. “Okay?”

“I’m not a therapist.” Leo shrugged one shoulder and tried for a smile. “I’m your friend. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not going to force you to do shit right now. I’m going to make dinner for you and a cake and then you’re going to tell me what you need a hand with so you can focus on dealing with this instead of, like, cleaning your windows.”

The kitchen was starting to smell like manicotti, cheesy and warm and full of tomato. Remus set the chips down and tucked his hands under his legs with a shake of his head. Ever so slightly, he leaned into Leo. Success. “I wish this never happened.”

Leo sighed. “Me, too.”

“I wish I had caught him in time.”

“I was closer than you were.” The guilt had been so raw at first, but it was scabbing over. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t fix the present. “Are you mad at me?”

“Fuck, no.”

“There was nothing we could’ve done fast enough, Re.”

Remus scrubbed his hands down his face, then linked them at the back of his neck. “I need to talk to Heather.”

Relief crashed over Leo in a tidal wave; he took Remus by the shoulders and pulled him in for a brief, fierce hug that drew an ‘ope’ of surprise out of him. “I really didn’t want to bring it up but yes, you do, and I will drive you there myself if you want.”

Remus laughed weakly, but didn’t try to pull away. “Is it bad that I want to lay on the floor for at least twelve hours?”

“I might suggest the couch instead, for the sake of your old-man joints.”

“Watch it, Knut.”

“Keep that up and you’re not getting extra sauce.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but it was worth it for Remus’ snort of amusement. Leo squeezed him in a quick pulse. “Fuck, dude, I missed you.”

Leo felt some of the iceberg-sized worry slough away at the tentative press of Remus’ hands on his back. In the other room, Logan and Sirius were already laughing. “Will you hide some of the manicotti so I can reheat it later?” Remus mumbled.

“There’s a whole pan in the back of the fridge behind your gross coconut water.”

“The kind Sirius hates?”

“Pre-cisely.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“I get that a lot.”

Lily sipped her tea with the same energy as a wolf watching a lame, juicy rabbit from across a riverbank. When Remus said as much, she cracked a smile. “Just thinking.”

“Huh, there’s a first.”

“Fuck you, too.” He felt a light kick to his shin under the table and feigned injury, just to watch her face scrunch in a snort. “Spoke to the hubs.”

“Yours or mine?”

“The less hot one.”

“And how is Pots today?”

“Looking DILF-ier every minute. That man needs another baby. But actually, Re, I think you and Sirius should talk.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Sounds like somebody has been squishing all those gross, nasty feelings back into the little box he just got them out of.”

“Oh, Jesus, it is not that bad—”

He jumped when Lily touched the back of his hand. Something knowing had overtaken the laughter on her face. “Remus, you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m seeing Heather on Thursday.”

“Good.” She set her teacup down and took his hand between both of her own, twisting his ring. “I’m worried about you.”

“Take a number.”

“Can you stop for, like, two seconds and let me try to help? I’m bad at this. Have some mercy.”

Something wriggled with discomfort inside him, but he put his cup on the table. “Lils…”

“Calm down, we’re not here to therapize each other. We’re here to have fun and watch bad TV and you’re going to let me paint your nails later. But—” She held her hand up when he made a face. “But first, I’m going to do my job as your best friend and tell you that some people think the patented Remus Lupin Avoidance Tactic isn’t going to work with this extraordinarily terrible event.”

“What people?”

“You know what people.”

Unfortunately, he did. Sirius, Talker, Leo, Lily…the side effect of a supportive family was having all kinds of people up in his business. Even more unfortunately, they were probably right. “Leo talked to me,” he admitted. “It helped. And I really am going to see Heather, and I’m going to try to—I don’t know, let go a little.”

Lily laced their fingers together the way he had done for her the night she found out about Harry. Her next breath came out less steady. “That means you have to let us take care of you, okay? Even if you’re busy taking care of Sirius. He’s got medical experts to do the heavy lifting. You’ve got Remus experts.”

“Lily, I’m not the injured one,” he said quietly.

“This hurt you, too.” The green of her eyes looked a little misty before she glanced away. “Holy shit, Remus, this hurt all of us, but I don’t ever want to watch you hurt like that again. I love Sirius to death but he’s got stuff to work through that you can’t fix. If you’re so worried about helping, then please let us help you.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“That’s why I’m offering.”

An exhale got stuck in his chest and he coughed lightly; Lily tilted her head back with a sniffle. Christ on a crutch, this whole vulnerability thing is harder than it sounds. “Leo made us dinner the other night. Talker and I are going skating on Saturday. I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you are. But if it had been James that fell, and I was the one in your spot, what would you do?”

I wouldn’t leave your side. He started to answer, then faltered. Lily’s mouth turned down at the corner. “Oh, shit,” he said thickly. Across the table, Lily nodded. “Oh—I have been awful to you.”

“No, no, no, I’m not mad.” The pressure of her hands on his own increased, like she was trying to push it into him.

“I’m scared.” His voice wobbled and he blew out a sharp breath. In the blur of his vision, their hands were the same vague lump. How could he be so self-absorbed? How could he push them all away without even knowing it? He opened and closed his mouth. I need help. I need help. It was right there, but all that came out was, “Lily.”

She tugged on his sleeve; in the space between breaths, they were hugging. Her breaths hitched under his hands a few times before calming, and Remus shut his eyes tight and held her closer. I hurt you. I’m sorry. He knew she wouldn’t accept an apology. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think it with all his heart. Somehow, she would hear it.

“All you have to do is let us be there,” she rasped, pulling away to hold him at arms’ length with a light shake. “We want to. You’re scared and that’s fine and nobody is angry with you. Just talk to us. Talk to Sirius.”

He nodded mutely. When Lily brought him close again, he didn’t pretend he needed anything else.

The isolation was what killed him most. They were given no privacy—fuck the media and fuck the inventor of cell phone cameras, motherfuckers the lot of them—and so Sirius saw it all. Everything he didn’t remember. Everything he had tried to forget. Remus, pale and frightened with Sirius’ blood on his fingers. Remus, unable to let go of his hand when the medics pulled Sirius onto the stretcher until James pried him off. Remus, tucked in on himself in the lobby outside Sirius’ room looking like he had been flayed inside out.

So he understood. He got it. The trauma, the pain. What he didn’t understand was why Remus wouldn’t let him in anymore.

It hurt a little (a lot) to hear Remus rustling around and know he wouldn’t get a kiss even if he asked. And when he did ask, his request would be met with a wan smile and a brush of lips to his cheek, chin, forehead, everywhere but his lips. There was love in those touches—he could feel it radiating—but the reckless abandon was gone.

It was like Remus wanted to melt into the walls. It was like he wanted to melt and leave Sirius behind entirely.

God, it was always him, wasn’t it? Always his fault. Everything that went wrong in Sirius’ life would track right back around in an endless circle to the laundry list of wrong decisions. The ache of knowing Remus didn’t want him anymore was constant and painful like a broken ankle, but the absolute fucking terror of being shut out was a killstroke Sirius had never wanted to imagine.

He didn’t like the person he was before Remus. He didn’t want to know what would happen if the frosted front was permanent. How could he be real and solid when the one thing that reminded him he was alright was…

Was not alright. So deeply not alright in every curve and angle of his body. Sirius wasn’t foolish enough to think Remus would willingly talk about his feelings, especially at a time like this, but some silly, devoted part of him had thought Remus would at least try. He had mentioned something similar (if kinder) to Lily over crepes and hot chocolate, and a funny expression had come over her face. She had touched his wrist and smiled, but a troubled shadow remained through the rest of their lunch.

When Remus came home after their day together and said, “I asked for help” before anything else, he knew that shadow had found its mark.

“You did?”

“I did.” Remus took his time with his winter layers, hanging and folding each one with unusual care. “Lily and I had a good talk.”

“That’s—”

“I haven’t been fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sirius blinked. Lily, what did you do? “… for what?”

“I’ve been all over the place.” His words were coming just a touch too fast. Remus’ hands were cool on his face, but his lips were warm when he left a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks, like he had been biting them again. “I was trying to do too much for you, and I should have backed off. We both needed some space to process.”

“Um. D’accord.” He kissed Remus’ forehead and felt him melt. His shoulders relaxed. His hands came to rest on Sirius’ hips. Sirius left another tentative kiss by his temple; he would take every bit of affection he could get. “Is everything okay?”

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Remus repeated.

“I—no, I heard that part.” Sirius rubbed his back carefully. Remus had grown thinner over the month, though from stress or distraction, he wasn’t sure. The notches of his spine ran in a ladder beneath Sirius’ fingertips as he gathered him closer. Perhaps Lily had succeeded where he had failed. “You’ve done more than I could have asked for, loup.” More than I deserved. Yet Remus wasn’t pulling away from him, wasn’t showing the slightest sign of discomfort under his hands. “I picked up some zucchini. And made a cake.”

Remus made a faint noise of interest where his face was pressed close to Sirius’ collarbone.

“It’s chocolate.”

That got him a pleased mumble.

Sirius risked a kiss to the top of his head and got a happy sigh in return. “Come cook with me. We’ll talk. Tell me about Lily.”

Remus blinked slowly when they parted; the nervous buzz of energy had trickled to a hum. “What about Lily?” he asked. “You just had lunch together.”

Did she tell you I moped about you? “Ouais, but you talk about other things.” He left his hand on the small of Remus’ back as they crossed the short distance to the kitchen and found no protest. Perhaps it was time for a bigger question. “You look better, mon coeur. It seems like she helped.”

Tension twitched against his palm before settling down again. Remus stretched his arms out with a groan, then went for the cutting board drawer. “She did,” he admitted after a moment. “I was—yeah, no, she helped a lot. There was a lot happening in my head that I didn’t have words for.”

“I know the feeling,” Sirius half-laughed, passing him a knife. This was good. This was progress. Before the fall, they cooked together every night. His body knew the motions even if his thoughts were a whirlwind. Remus knocked their temples together lightly. Next step. “Like what?”

“What?”

“What didn’t you have words for?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder and began slicing the stems from the zucchini. “Just…stuff. Oh, you found really good ones.”

“I’m glad.” Sirius watched him work in silence for a few seconds, stirring olive oil in a pan with no heat under it. Remus didn’t appear to notice. “Re?”

“Mmm?”

“Were you angry with me?”

“Oh, god, no.” Remus jerked his head up, his brows pitching. Something in Sirius’ expression must have given him away, because his gaze softened. “I was just scared, I think. It’s been a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” he joked.

But Remus didn’t laugh. His cheeks flushed and he turned back to the zucchini with an uncomfortable cough. Fuck. Remus tugged his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at it in a tic Sirius had been trying so hard to break him of. “I couldn’t help you. At the rink, I mean.” The knife accentuated each word with a clack. “But I could help here, and so I was trying too hard. That’s kind of my—um, that’s kind of my default.”

“Je sais,” Sirius said quietly.

“So, I’m sorry for spiraling into you when other people know how to help better.” Remus let out a shaky laugh. “God, this is hard. I’m trying to be brave about it.”

“You were brave for me.” The words were gentler than expected. The chop-chop-chop of the knife slowed, and stopped. “You stayed in a hospital for three days. You were brave for me.”

A wobbly slice of zucchini fell on the cutting board. There was a slight tremor in Remus’ hand, now. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You were brave,” Sirius repeated. He reached out and stopped the knife, folding Remus’ fingers into his own. “I can’t imagine what that was like. Thank you.”

His shoulders shuddered. He still didn’t look up. The tremor had spread to his arms, fine and delicate under his sweater. “I would do it all again.”

“I know.” Remus sniffed at that, pressing his sleeve under his nose as if he could hide it from Sirius. A droplet hit the edge of the cutting board, staining the wood. “Mon loup.”

“For you, I would do it all again.”

“Remus,” he murmured, turning him by the shoulders until he could see Remus’ bottom lip quivering despite the turn of his handsome face. A noise caught in Remus’ throat when Sirius cupped his jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb over one damp cheek. “Re, I need you to talk to me.”

“I can’t do it,” he choked out with a slight shake of his head. “Not without you. I wouldn’t want to.”

And, fuck, if that didn’t just carve at something deep in Sirius’ insides. Remus couldn’t even look at him, his gaze somewhere between the cabinet and the floor, hidden under his too-long hair that was just starting to curl.

His next breath was almost a wheeze. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can.” Sirius gave his arms a light squeeze. Remus was strong and solid and more grounded than anyone he knew.

The sniffs came faster, his chest hitching over and over until it became a constant shiver; he swayed forward, hands slipping from Sirius’ elbows to grip the back of his shirt like it was the only thing holding Remus on Earth, his face pressed flush to Sirius’ chest as tears began to soak through it. Sirius caught him. Held him. He tucked his face against the side of Remus’ head and let him leave all that heavy burden in his arms for just a moment longer.

“I could,” Remus admitted, so miserable Sirius had to close his eyes. “Fuck, Sirius, I could, but I would hate every second of it.”

It should be impossible to feel heartbreak for something that never happened. And yet.

Sirius shifted to rest his chin on Remus’ head while sobs turned silent in the sleeve of his shirt. He would give anything to take that pain away. His fame, his money, anything in the world—whatever it took to make sure Remus never had to wonder if he would have to keep going alone. Sirius would be dead before he left him. But he supposed that was exactly what Remus feared most.

“You don’t have to.” He whispered the promise into the soft golden hair above Remus’ ear like the greatest truth. “You don’t have to, I swear. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I want you, and I care about you, and I’ll never leave you.”

The big talk could come later. He was more than willing to wait.

Remus woke in the middle of the night to the blankets shifting and a familiar weight absent from his side. Rather than giving in to immediate panic (a far-too-frequent habit, though he hated to admit it), he reached out with a sleep-slurred question and felt around blindly until Sirius’ hand caught him. “I’m here,” Sirius said with a laugh in his voice and a kiss to his wrist. Remus hummed. Of course he was. Sirius had never left him before. “Re?”

“Mhmm?” he managed, slotting himself into Sirius’ side and throwing a leg over his thigh. He was warm and wonderful.

Sirius was quiet for a bit, idly toying with Remus’ hair. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Kiss you all the time.”

“On the lips.”

Ah, yes. Exhibit number 204 in the inventory of Remus’ weird hangups in the wake of terrible things. He was endlessly grateful for Leo and Lily—their talks had let him begin to classify the experience as actual trauma rather than dismissing himself more—but it still made him frown into Sirius’ shirt. The truth, while necessary, wouldn’t be pleasant.

“ ’m scared,” he said at last.

The hand in his hair slowed. “You’re scared… of kissing me?”

He finally blinked one eye open and checked the clock. Hours left until dawn, because they had never been able to have serious conversations in daylight. He stretched, bidding the dregs of drowsiness goodbye before he moved his head to the pillow and met Sirius’ troubled expression. Oh, god, I lost him. The words had ripped from him as he knelt on the cold floor of the hospital, disoriented and shattered, his world coming down in pieces. He had never thought it was possible, and that made it hurt even more.

Remus sighed through his nose and kissed the closest bit of Sirius he could reach. “It brought you back to me.” Kiss me, and I’ll know. “I’m still afraid it’ll take you away.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. “You know I was flirting with you, ouais? At the hospital. With the kiss thing.”

“I know, baby,” Remus laughed, a little bubble of happiness sliding all the way into his heart. He had missed their talks. “You were very smooth. But…I don’t know, it stuck with me. I know it doesn’t make sense. I want to kiss you all the time, and every time I try, I think about seeing you in that bed.”

Sirius’ palm nearly covered his whole cheek as he cradled Remus’ face, guiding him in to brush their noses together. “How about this bed?” he said, low and just for Remus to hear. “This is a good bed.”

Remus’ heart skipped a beat. Sirius’ lips were so close they were practically touching; he was comfortable and safe, and the hospital was far in the past. He knew what Sirius’ lips would feel like against his own, how his breath would catch after the first press. Kissing Sirius was a part of life and he loved it with his whole heart.

“You don’t have to,” Sirius whispered. Remus could feel the shape of the words on his own mouth and closed his eyes. “Re, you don’t have to, but I love you and I want you to know you’ll never lose me.”

A shuddering breath left him. He was afraid. But he could be brave at the same time.

Sirius’ breath caught when their lips met and Remus squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, feeling the rough scratch of stubble on his palm when he guided Sirius’ chin down for a better angle. His lips were as chapped and full as he remembered; his smile was just as sweet. Sirius let him roll them over until Remus could hover above him, supported by one elbow because he couldn’t bear to break contact now that it was in his hands again. “Re—”

Remus made a small noise and kissed him harder. No words. Nothing to take them out of this. Sirius curled a hand around his wrist and held it, his thumb rubbing circles over Remus’ pulse. It wasn’t until his lungs began to burn that he leaned back, lips sore and heart racing. “I love you,” he said around the emotion clogging every attempt at speech. A few weeks ago, that kind of kiss would have been nothing but a habit. “Sirius, you don’t even know how much I love you.”

“I know—”

“You don’t.” The memory of bright fluorescent lights bleeding in from the hall pushed at the back of his mind. His whole body tingled. When he licked his lips, he could taste Sirius’ chapstick. “I know you love me because you tell me and we spend time together and you hold me so close, but I don’t know how to tell you so that you understand.”

Sirius’ hands smoothed along his heaving sides. “I know you love me, Re. Have a little faith.”

“I have so much faith in you.” The air didn’t burn with antiseptic; their sheets were washed with plain laundry soap. “I would do anything for you. I love you so much.”

A tumble of soothing French followed and Remus sank into it, letting himself be guided back down and hugged. “This is important, so I need you to listen,” Sirius said with a scattering of kisses to his jaw. Remus forced himself to open his eyes. He would listen. He would do that for Sirius, whose gaze was determined, but not angry. Never angry. “I love you. I always have. I loved you from the second I woke up in that hospital room, even though it scared the shit out of me.”

Sirius had feared him in the hospital, had shoved him back. Get away from me.

“Please look at me.” He found Sirius again in the darkness. His calm eyes, his gentle mouth. “I’ve never doubted your love, Re. I can feel it in everything you do.”

“I try really hard,” he said, far too honestly. Sirius’ hand smoothed down his spine and Remus pressed into him. He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Even being held was overwhelming. Another kiss might make him pass out.

“I know.” Sirius’ voice was heavy. “I’m sorry if I made you think anything else.”

Remus shook his head. He never wanted to leave their bed. “It’s just been a lot.”

“It has. I’m so grateful for you, Re.” Lips touched his forehead. “Mon amour.”

My love. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You can take your time,” Sirius said with another peck to his cheek that made him burn. “With kisses, and with—with everything.”

Hmm, no, please knock me out with your magic lips. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?”

“Ouais, mon vœu.” Sirius didn’t even try to mask the relief in his voice as Remus tilted his head up; his hand was steady under Remus’ chin when it dipped at the delicate kiss. “Fais de beaux rêves.”

He moved to pull away, but Remus chased his mouth and caught him for another. Sirius was right—this was a good bed. The sheets were familiar, the light a soft glow. It was home. They kissed at home.

He left one on the corner of Sirius’ mouth for good measure before settling back down with an arm over his ribs. The bundle of anxiety he had been carrying since they came home felt lighter. “Goodnight,” he sighed, vibrating in every limb. “I love you.”

Sirius knew it would feel good to be back on the ice, but he had never imagined it would feel like this. The puck found the flat of his stick just like he knew it would; the carbon fiber flexed, he squared his shoulders, and the whoosh of it sinking into the net brought nothing but joy to his whole body. Remus was right, per usual—hockey was love.

He took a wide, lazy loop while everyone else fucked around, chirping each other or fencing with their sticks or boxing, gloveless and playful. The ice was smooth under his skates; he let it carry him wherever it wanted and watched spirals form in his wake. His pads fit like a second skin, grounding him with their weight. Even his mouthguard settled just right over his teeth.

“Someone’s having a good day,” James teased, smacking the backs of his thighs as he passed. Sirius grinned, deliriously happy, and let James drag him into a hug; they collided with a familiar thump of pads. “Man, is it good to have you back out here.”

“It’s good to be back.” Five weeks was by far the longest Sirius had ever gone without skating. Even in the summers, he would find a rink or head to the basement when he got the itch. Mid-season, that number was down in the hours. His skates were home. He was finally settled in his skin.

“This captain shit is hard,” James laughed when they parted, eyes bright behind his contacts. “I’ve been doing it for a month, and I’m done.”

“Five years,” Sirius reminded him.

“I know, you fuckin’ hockey mutant.”

Sirius stole a puck out from under Finn and snapped it to James, who caught it with ease. All it took was a twitch of his brow and the game was on, keep-away across the ice with rules they both knew by heart. The cold air burned his face when he picked up speed; James’ crossovers were even better than they had been when they last played together, and Sirius smiled. A month of being captain had done him good.

The shrill chirp of Arthur’s whistle stabbed all the way to the base of his skull and nearly sent him flying into James’ back mid-dive. “Fuck—”

“Easy,” James grunted beneath his weight when he caught him. Concern had replaced the excitement on his face. “Hey, you okay?”

“I—yeah, I’m fine.” Sirius blinked and shook his head. Weird. He hadn’t had so much as a headache in two weeks, but already he could feel a faint throbbing behind his eye. He shook his head again and stood up straight, pointedly ignoring the worried looks several teammates were shooting him. He was fine. He was healed.

“I posted the schedule by the bench,” Arthur called, the whistle hanging innocently around his neck once again. “We’re doing fundamentals today, okay? Nailing down the basics is a strength of this team, so I want you to put a hundred percent of your effort into the technicalities. Save any fancy tricks for the scrimmage at the end.”

Sirius smiled to himself. He excelled at fundamentals, and if he knew Coach, those basic exercises would fall right into his wheelhouse. He wasn’t stupid—obviously it was Arthur’s way of saying ‘welcome back’, but Sirius wasn’t about to complain about a chance to show off a little and shake the rust away.

Passing drills? Easy.

Net accuracy? Piece of cake.

Puck handling? Sirius had more than enough trophies sitting at home to do it in his sleep.

He reveled in returning to the routine that had built his entire life. His stick was an extension of his arms and his skates added those few inches of height for the perspective he had been missing, always a bit too short to see things through the right frame until he was back where he belonged. His muscles burned just right; the gloomy fog lurking in the back of his head lifted under the bright lights of his favorite place.

Someone bumped his back just as he was (reluctantly) heading to the bench for a water break, and arms wound around his waist. “Hi,” Sirius laughed as momentum carried them forward.

“Hey.” Remus gave him a squeeze, then ducked under his arm. He was flushed with happiness. Sirius’ heart tripped over itself. “How’re you feeling?”

“So good.” His whole face hurt from smiling and he cast a look around at the perfect chaos. “So, so good.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Got a little wobbly earlier with James. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sirius assured him, tilting Remus’ face up for a kiss on his button nose. But it was for fun, now. They had been allowed more than enough time to figure out their issues, both at home with each other and alone with Heather. Impossibly, he felt better around Remus after a month of recovery than he ever had before. “I’ll tell you if I start feeling bad, but this is good. I needed it.”

“I know you did, baby.”

They made their way back to the bench together, hips bumping with each out of sync step until their skates were on solid ground again and Sirius let himself fall into the mess of his friends without hesitation. Shoulders jostled, elbows knocked—he was at peace. “Good to have you back out there, Cap,” Kasey said with a grin and a clap to his upper arm. “Needed someone who could give me a run for my money.”

“Hey!” Logan complained.

A hand caught Sirius by the scruff and he went willingly into Dumo’s side hug, nudging their temples together. “Thought you could take a break and come back just as strong, eh?”

Sirius grinned. “You know it.”

Dumo tsked and shoved him away by the forehead. “Remus! Five weeks, and you haven’t tamed the ego on this one?”

“Not nearly enough time,” Remus countered with a wink that made Sirius’ stomach flip. “I barely managed to keep him in bed, you think I was paying attention to the real elephant in the room?”

“Yeah, I bet you kept him in bed!” Finn wolf-whistled, earning himself a squirt to the face from Remus’ waterbottle. The conversation devolved rapidly into hollering and playful jabs from all sides, and Sirius gave as good as he got.

Then the whistle blew again, and black spots of pain danced in his vision.

He rubbed the corner of his forehead with the heel of his hand for some relief and felt the textured skin of his new scar pull. He frowned.

“Baby?” The guys were still loud as they flooded back onto the ice—he must have missed Arthur’s instructions, he never missed instructions—but Remus’ voice was barely above a murmur. “Sirius, you okay?”

“Ouais.” The spots faded out. The pain had been quick and sharp, like lightning. “It’s—yeah, I’m good. The whistle startled me.”

Remus had his PT face on, though, and Sirius’ heart sank. He wasn’t getting out of this one easily. “Your head’s bugging you?”

Before the fall and everything that came after it, he might have lied. He might have continued to tell Remus he was fine despite obviously not being fine, and Remus would have let him, but he would’ve been upset and it would take them days to work it out. Hell, six weeks ago Sirius would have cut every corner he found to get back into hockey as fast as possible. And because Remus loved him, because Remus was so goddamn committed to making sure he was happy, he would’ve been able to get away with a lot more before someone called him on his bullshit.

That was six weeks ago. That was before the fall.

“It’s hurting a little,” he admitted. “But only when the whistle blows, and only for a moment. We’ll check it out when we get home. I feel really good for the scrimmage, though.”

Remus nodded hesitantly, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. A frown touched his mouth. “Talk to Layla after practice?”

“I will,” Sirius promised.

And that was that. Honesty, an easy promise to keep, and they were good again. They had both learned over the first few stages of recovery that a lack of communication to salvage one good moment wasn’t worth the inevitable Jenga tower of problems later. Sirius didn’t have to be afraid Remus would leave him over an imperfection, and Remus didn’t have to fear Sirius feeling suffocated by him.

It was such a breath of fresh air.

He lined up across from Dumo, bracing for the puck drop as adrenaline dripped through him and focused his vision. He won the face-off in one quick swipe of his stick and passed it to James, who caught it just like the last million times they had done it.

“Open!” he shouted as the opposing defense closed in on James and Finn. The puck was a blur he knew well, easy to catch, easy to carry. He slipped past Olli and dodged Dumo’s attempted poke-check; Sirius couldn’t stop grinning. His body remembered everything it was supposed to.

He snagged a goal in the first period and two assists in the second. It wasn’t until they were well into the third period that he realized he hadn’t taken a single check.

At first, he wrote it off as a scrimmage courtesy—no checks meant a severely reduced risk of injury. But it lingered in his thoughts and dragged his gaze to spots he normally wouldn’t put that much attention in; Logan colliding with everyone but Sirius, Nado and Kuny’s play-fight, Remus’ quick hits that always shocked the puck from the opponent. Not even one of them came close to Sirius.

He called for the puck again and made a break for the net; Logan was on his ass in a second, but he didn’t make a move to try and steal it away. Sirius extended his stick a couple inches. Nothing. He did it again, giving Logan the perfect opportunity to snatch it away if he just bumped Sirius a little.

“Are you going to take it or not?” he snapped as they swerved around Dumo.

Logan immediately looked guilty. “I…”

Sirius ground his teeth and knocked the puck to James, who attempted a shot he didn’t even try and follow. If they weren’t going to play fair, he didn’t want to play at all. “What the fuck are you doing, Logan?”

“Playing defense.”

“I practically handed it to you!”

“Well, fuck you, too!” Logan said waspishly.

The throbbing behind Sirius’ eye had started again. He wanted to break his stick in frustration, but he didn’t know if he could do it. There were angles and force and—and his head was killing him for the first time in weeks. The others were gathering in little huddles around them. He fixed Logan with a glare. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“It’s a scrimmage!”

“So hit me!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

Sirius almost had him now. “You’ve hit me before! Split my fucking lip, too!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

“I can take it, Logan!”

“Well, I’m not willing to fucking risk it!”

They were close enough to each other by then that Sirius watched Logan’s anger dissolve into instant regret in excruciating detail. The rink was dead silent. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered. The rest of them had the nerve to look surprised when he turned. Surprised and ashamed. “Is anyone here a doctor?”

Skates shuffled, tentative and awkward.

“Have any of you seen my medical information over the past month? Any treatment plans? Anything?” They huddled together like a pack of kicked puppies. Sirius took a deep breath. He was their friend, but he was their captain, too. He had their respect. He wasn’t about to lose it over one injury. “I don’t need you to worry about me. I need you to trust me. I know it’s my first practice back, but I know my body. I don’t need special treatment and I don’t want it.”

James raised his head; where shame tinted the faces of their friends, it found no home with him. “We’re worried. That’s it. It’s not worth the risk right now.”

“I don’t—” Sirius cut himself off before he could say something he regretted and pressed a hand over his eyes. Deep breaths. “Jesus, Pots, did you tell them to do this?”

“It was me.” His heart sank as Arthur leaned on the boards, unapologetic. “I told them to be gentle. You’re a great player and a good man, and I’m not going to risk your health in the first few practices.”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment. “It was a concussion. One concussion.”

“A concussion that had you in the hospital for close to a week and needed a month of recovery.” Arthur met his gaze and did not flinch. “You’re the captain of my team. I need you in top form, and I’m willing to make a little extra time to get you there. This team will not succeed if you throw yourself back in and get hurt again right away. Understood?”

His mouthguard squeaked between his teeth. Sirius looked down. “Yes, coach.”

Arthur tapped his clipboard against the boards. “Good. Scrimmage is over, boys. Do some cooldowns and then get stretching. Sirius, come talk to me when you’re done.”

Someone caught his elbow when he went to skate to the bench. “I’m not sorry,” Logan said, his jaw set. “I know you’re pissed, but I’m not sorry.”

Sirius sighed through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

Back to the beginning, then.

“I know I’m the prettiest person on this team, but don’t look at me. Look at the light.”

Sirius squinted into Layla’s small flashlight; she passed it in front of his eyes a few more times before clicking it off. “All good?”

“Fine and dandy,” she said. “You said your head was hurting?”

“Just with the whistle.”

“Then, yeah, that sounds like normal stuff to me.” She shrugged one shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “Your concussion is healing really well. Your focus was good, your pupils look normal, and light sensitivity seemed low. The auditory stuff is just taking a little longer to settle. How long until you’re allowed to play again?”

Sirius held down a grimace. “Three to six more weeks.”

“Sounds about right,” Layla said, apparently unbothered. “It’s good to have that much leeway, Cap. The noise sensitivity should wear off in a week or two, which means you’ll have plenty of time to get back on your feet at a hundred percent and play your best. If it doesn’t, come talk to me and we’ll fix it.”

“Yeah.” Paper pilled under his fingers as he picked at it. Six weeks would put them right on the doorstep of the games-that-must-not-be-named; he wasn’t exactly looking forward to being thrown into high-stakes competition right off the bat.

The exam table crinkled when Layla sat next to him. She was quiet for a moment, then patted his knee. “You’ll be okay. This is the kind of thing that shouldn’t bug you once you rest and recover. In a way, it’s better than your ankle.”

Sirius smiled wryly. He liked Layla—she had the same lovable good humor and unrelenting optimism in the face of injury as her predecessor. “I think most things are better than a broken ankle,” he noted.

“True.” She bumped his shoulder. “No more moping, Cap. You’ll be out there in no time.”

“Flashlight to the left. Okay, good. Give me the flat screwdriver.” Something clinked, then clattered, resulting in a satisfied hum. “Black tape. You looked excellent at practice today.”

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled. He rummaged in the battered canvas bag until something vaguely tape-textured hooked his finger. “Uh, this one is white.”

“The black kind should be in the side pocket next to the box cutter.” Dumo hummed again when he pressed the correct roll into his open palm. “Merci. Your footwork was especially good.”

“My footwork is always good.”

“I know,” he chuckled. Several more bolts (nuts? Sirius still couldn’t remember which were which) fell into the pan by his thigh like silver sprinkles. “Coach seemed impressed.”

Sirius arched a wry brow, even though Dumo couldn’t see him. “Coach was just surprised I didn’t fall on my face.”

“Non, he was very happy to see you—”

“He told everyone to go easy on me.”

“What, like you wouldn’t do the same if it had been Remus? Or Logan? Or me?” Sirius winced at the thought; with a squeak of wheels and a slight groan, Dumo scooted out from under the washing machine and gave him a look. “I know today was frustrating, but you can’t expect us to beat you up this soon.”

“It’s been a month.” He was well-aware of the slight whine in his voice, and judging by Dumo’s amused huff, he wasn’t alone.

“For you, maybe. Felt like years to the rest of us.” The nut-bolt-screws were cold when Sirius rolled them between his fingertips, scowling. Dumo patted his arm with a grease-streaked hand and began sliding back under the machine. “Give it time, mon fils. They just want you back safe and sound.”

“They need me back for the play—”

“Non,” Dumo interrupted.

“They do!”

Dumo muttered something under his breath before looking up at him again. “Sirius. Come on.”

“James said he had a bad time as captain.”

“Oui, because he missed you. He did great. You should be proud of him.” A screwdriver gently poked him on the kneecap. “This is not about hockey. This is about friends.”

Sirius set the pan aside and stretched out on the concrete floor. His legs ached from being crossed for so long. There were cobwebs between the cupboards and the ceiling, even with the cold weather. “It’s hard for me, sometimes.”

Dumo made an understanding noise and turned back to the screws.

“Falling was embarrassing.” It was so much easier to talk about like this. Heather was a godsend, but the words came easier in French and the soft noise of the garage was far more soothing than a blue room with a suede couch. “It’s like—who even does that? I was tired. That’s it. Now everyone is upset.”

“I disagree with the last part, but okay.”

“Remus is upset.”

“Since when do you count Remus with ‘everyone’?”

He saw Dumo grin at the ensuing silence and covered his face with a groan, letting his head fall back on the cold floor. “God, fine, I’m being mean again and nobody is actually mad at me.”

“Atta boy. Hand over the white tape.”

It got better. Sirius got better. He had daily visits with Layla—they both had a laugh about old habits die hard, but still they laughed—and his weekly appointments with Heather had finally begun to veer back to their usual conversations. Aren’t you bored of my shitty childhood by now? Sirius had teased when they made it thirty minutes without discussing his head.

Heather had scoffed at him and whacked him lightly with a pillow. As if I’d be sad to see you this happy. Don’t even think about more head wounds, puck boy. We’re getting to the root of that next.

Slowly, he admitted that he had been sick when it happened. (It seemed Kasey hadn’t spilled his secret, after all). He told her about the chattering teeth and the brain fog that set in that morning; about the fatigue that had piled onto him until he couldn’t even make it through the gate and had to let it win. He told her about the overwhelming feeling that it was all his fault and that everyone would hate him for taking a break.

The world hates me when I’m good and hates me when I’m bad.

They’re wrong for that.

That had made him smile. Heather rarely spoke in absolutes. I know, he answered honestly. She hadn’t pushed him on it, and he liked to think she even believed him.

Remus was laughing again, moonlight in darkness. The good snacks began to disappear from the pantry once more—Sirius couldn’t be mad about it, no matter how often he considered billing Talker for their monthly groceries. Every bag of chips he never got to taste meant Remus would come home and kiss him and ramble about the day like the most adorable runaway train in the world. “I love you, I love you, I love you” smushed into his cheeks, forehead, lips.

His boys carried them to the playoffs with ruthless focus. His pads still fit and the whistle was on his side. And when he was ready, so fucking ready it made his veins hot, Remus pulled him into the break room with a wicked grin that made him thank every cosmic moment that gave him pregame rituals. He would take every bit of luck he could get. The crowd roaring for him deserved it all.

It came in the dusk of the evening, when the blustering winds had calmed and Sirius’ mind felt quiet at last. It was the relief of a wound freshly bandaged—there was no burn of newness, and yet no itch of a scab. It was just a wide, soft couch and a chest rising and falling beneath his hand. Remus kissed his forehead and let it linger like a dream. “Oh, I love you.”

Sirius breathed in, and out. A single spritz of cologne. Lavender shampoo. “You said you couldn’t do this without me,” he said, keeping his voice low. Remus hummed his agreement. He lifted his head slightly, into the gentle pressure of Remus’ hand in his hair. An auburn brow arched in a silent question; he traced the shape of it with his thumb. “You think I can do any of this without you, loup?”

Remus’ mouth curved in a half-smile. “You can do a lot without me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s where we always end up, eh?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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