Disclaimer: This fic is roughly PG-13, for overt m/m relations, some language (I think), and a pinch of angst. The Harry Potter series is created and rightfully owned by J. K. Rowling.

This fic is for BlueNeko, who forced me to read this stuff. No, Blue. No lemon. See? I'm a nice, wholesome writer. Really.

He had been separated from him for years already, and that's why he agreed to it. After all those years, what was more time? What did it matter for his lover to stay on the run, while he sat on the greying couch and watched out the window of the lonely muggle apartment, waiting? Waiting for him?

It seemed wise enough for Sirius to stay on the run--it was the only way, wasn't it? He could hardly do to stay in one spot at any place. He needed to hide. He needed to stay wherever he was and not come back for as long as it took.

But that need didn't negate the pain. Yes--they had been apart for years already. But now that he knew that Sirius was innocent, now that he knew Sirius was out there, somewhere, Remus felt he needed him more. He was tired of being alone.

It was hard enough in the beginning. He could still remember the way Sirius was becoming more and more distant those last few days, the way he made love like an apology before leaving one last time into the night, the way he just steeled his shoulders against the pleas to stay. He could remember--too clearly, far, far too clearly--the nights, the days afterwards, the way that Sirius never came back, and the next time he heard of him there was a photograph of a crime scene in the Daily Prophet The way it seemed like everyone skittered from his path on the streets. The way it seemed like nothing in the world could ever be trusted ever again. Sirius was gone, and so was everything else, it seemed. James, Lily, Peter, his own happiness... God, so much was gone in such a short time.

But now... now at least he was back, and maybe he could learn to trust again.

Maybe.

For now, though, all he could do was sit on that god-awful sofa and wait. Wait for him to come home. Wait to learn to trust, to feel, to just live once more. Hadn't it been enough yet? Sirius had to hide--his logical side told him that--but, at the same time, he couldn't help thinking that maybe he'd be just as safe here, in this Muggle place--provided he stayed inside. And that was why he really let him go, Lupin supposed. To trap someone as wild and free spirited as Sirius anywhere... especially just after he got out of That Place...

Tracing his fingers over the cold glass of the window, Lupin sighed at the sky, as if it held an answer to this mess. The sky just ignored him and continued its usual grey-streaked rain. In all truthhood, he knew he had nothing to complain about. Those years, as painful and lonely as they may have been, had at least been spent in freedom. He wasn't the one kept in the darkness and away from joy, love, and a souped-up, illegally magical motorcycle. How selfish could he be, to want Sirius here? What the hell kind of lover was he?

//The kind that didn't trust their own love,// he thought, pushing out of his seat and shaking his head, laughing sardonically. God--the things that world came to, back then. The things people had to do. The way you would look at your lover's arm in the middle of the night while he was sleeping fitfully--dreaming of you having the same mark you were searching for yourself. //And we accepted it.//

Remus moved slowly to the kitchen--mostly because he was still trying to watch out the window. Filling the gleaming teakettle with water, he thanked, not for the first time, the fact that his mother had been the child of a muggle family and had insisted he learn how to do most things nonmagically. It came in convenient more often than he had ever thought it would. Back then, he'd just put up with it as being novel and amusing. Now, he realized the soothing nature of all these little things. Sweeping the floor with a non-magic broom, boiling water, dusting a table, trying to repair a leak... these were all a mainstay for those years alone. It still was, as he poured the steaming water into the mug, watching the teabag bob lazily. The steam rose up from the cup in a warm caress, and he inhaled the scent of mint--somewhere along these years alone, he'd found himself hopelessly addicted to peppermint tea, and now, as always, that strange warm-yet-freezing smell comforted and enveloped him.

Smiling once again now, he allowed himself to think a little more optimistically about this whole mess. Sirius was innocent, after all, and someday, someday he would come home and wrap Lupin in his arms, and Lupin wouldn't be soothed by that domesticated timid peppermint, but rather that wild smell of mud and pine and leather that was his Sirius.

Sitting back at the sofa, tea placed carefully on the end table, Lupin leaned his body back and waited, waited for the tea to cool and for Sirius and for the world to be sane for once.

The tea cooled.

As Remus brought the cup up to his lips, a wild tapping sound attacked the window, causing him to nearly spill all of the tea in his lap, which would have made the day that much more unpleasant. Turning, tea still in hand, he saw it was a bedraggled-looking tropical bird of some sort, looking extremely irked that she had a letter stuck to each leg, and was getting more angry every second Lupin dawdled in removing one of these humiliations. Laughing (and noticeably taking his dear time) Lupin placed the tea back on the end table, and opened the window. The bird flew in and helped herself to the tea before Lupin could even attempt saving it.

"Well, then. I suppose since you brought me the letter safely..."

The bird tactfully ignored him.

"Fine, I'll just, ehr, take it then." He approached the bird with some trepidation--Sirius seemed to have an affinity with birds that liked playing "Peck Lupin's Hands" and other fun games--carefully untied the letter marked "Moony" in Sirius' lazy scrawl, and double-checked to see that the one saying "Harry" was still secure.

He just held the letter at first, watching that egotistical bird and waiting for her to leave. These letters Sirius sent him were too important, too personal to read in front of anyone, annoying tea-stealing birds included. These letters always came, and every day Lupin dreaded and feared that one would not, but they always, always did. And every time he got one, he couldn't help thinking that they were the only reason he wasn't going out and hunting down Sirius himself.

The bird was taking too long. Lupin could understand the poor thing needing a rest, but, honestly, if she was stealing his tea, couldn't she steal it a bit faster? Sighing, Lupin sat down next to the bird all the same, and took a while running his fingers over the coarse surface of the envelope, feeling the imprint of his name in a sure, firm hand. Sirius.

Why hadn't he really noticed that before--the strong press of Sirius' writing? It was so strange--their only communication was these letters and yet he never really stopped and dwelled on how surely the word "Moony" was written, as if Sirius placed all of his confidence and love and strength into five simple letters. Five common letters with the unusual slant of being written with a left hand, with the smudge of a sputtering quill, with the deliberance of someone not rushing to write, but having all the time in the world to do so--just five letters, so strongly imprinted. Sirius' writing was always so strong; he knew it was just a case of him not noticing.

Sirius was like that--strong, determined--he wasn't someone who would write with wispy or superfluous penmanship. Sirius had strong hands, too: he was always having to get new quills because he would bust the tips. Lupin remembered those hands, firm and a bit callused from fixing that godforsaken motorbike the muggle way, hands that were always doing something because Sirius was so energetic. They were always creating new explosive powders with James', or busting Severus' jaw, or tapping on the counter (much to Lupin's annoyance) or pressing, with that same deliberance of his writing, against Remus' thigh or chest. God, Lupin missed those hands.

Hearing a flutter of feathers, Remus looked up. The bird had flown out the window. Smiling to himself, he closed and secured the window behind the damn thing, and sat back down, opening the letter with the barely-restrained excitement of a child forced to open Christmas presents in a way that would keep the paper useful for next year. He removed the letter slowly, unfolding it, smelling the way it smelled like Sirius and warmer weather and a bit like rain. Folding his feet up on the sofa beside him, Remus started to read.

Dear Moony,

I hope you get this letter all right. This bird seems a little dim-witted, I hope it doesn't get lost, or try to go to Harry first. Wouldn't that be an amusing way for him to find out about us?

Anyway, how have you been? It's been far too long since I've seen you, my Moony... It was bad enough in Azkaban, but here, with all my good memories back, it's almost like I miss you more. I can remember all those great things we did together now, and not just all the sadness that happened to us, so it's at least as painful... I still am happy for the memories, though. I always thought in there that you had it better--sure, it was painful for you, Moony, but at least you could remember something more of us than arguing and leaving. Now I know it was hell for you, too. I guess you always think the grass is greener. So I'd like to say that I'm sorry you're just sitting there waiting all the time, you know. I promise I'm safe, and that I'll get home to you as soon as I can--don't need you growing more wrinkles, do we?

As to what you wrote yesterday, yes, I am very nice and warm here. Buckbeak doesn't seem to fancy the climate, but I find myself lounging in the sun more than enough these days. By the time you get me back, I'll have a wonderful tan. You'll probably fuss and say I'll get melahnouma melanouma mela skin cancer.

I've been trying to eat well enough. It's hard, I usually have to kip food from wherever is near, and that can be a bit risky. I'm surviving though, and I promise I'm getting at least one meal a day. I will not say weather it is a good meal, but it is a meal.

Moony, I really do miss you, and I don't think I can ever say that enough. I mean, whenever I'm with you, it's just so much easier to show you how much I love you, but now that we're apart like this, I have to tell you. And I've never been the best with words, you know that. You wrote half my reports to keep me passing history. But here I am, in the ass of nowhere, and I have to somehow let you know how much I love you. It's easier writing it than saying it, sure, but it's still hard to write all this sappy stuff. I mean it all, but it sure is hard keeping up my tough biker exterior while writing you long perfumed letters. But you're such a softie (and I mean that in the nicest possible way,) you need long-winded fluffy things. I guess I would be lying to say I didn't, though, so I'm one to talk.

Here's your long fluffy section of the letter. You know I spend all day trying to think of how to put what I feel for you into words, don't you? I guess that's half the reason it takes me so much to tell you this all, that I love you and you're the best thing that could ever happen to a guy and all that mush. It seems somehow too big and grand to put into these little words, you know? You're so articulate and stuff, and you write the best letters (Buckbeak is probably annoyed at the weight of my bag by now) and here I am trying to scrounge up something decent to say.

God, I can't wait until I'm just there with you. Harry, too. He's such a great kid. I used to dream about living the most daring and exciting life in the whole damn world, and now all I want is a little house with a picket fence and a proper garden, with you and Harry. Granted, we'll have to be really quiet snogging in the summer, but that's one of those facts of life. Harry's writing a lot, too, and he's doing okay, for being locked in his room by a bunch of fat muggles. I much imagine he'll love living with us. The kid reminds me so much of James, though, that it hurts. It was probably pretty hard for you to be his teacher. I mean, he even gets into almost as much trouble as James, and that's quite a feat. It hurts, though, to remember our old dreams. I mean, we had it all planned to save enough money to live right across the street from James and Lily, and I could be a bad influence on their kids, and Lily could gripe to you about troublesome loves. It was going to be the best, and now it's just gone.

Shit. Sorry, I got all melodramatic there, Moony. You don't need to hear all that, we both know all our old dreams are just rubbish now. So I gotta shut up and just focus on our new dreams. Harry will have a great home if it kills us, and I can't wait for that. Can't wait for you, either. I miss everything about you. I miss the way you smell and the way you laugh at my jokes--even the quite bad ones--and your little lopsided smile and the way you'd make tea that nice slow muggle way, and your cold feet pressing on my legs in the middle of the night, and the way you'd yell at me for tracking motor oil into the flat. I miss it all, Moony. And damn it, when I come home, I'm going to just take a few days to show you that. You won't be able to sit for a week. I think about you like that every single night, you know. More than a decade without sex, Moony. Being in Azkaban and trying not to go absolutely nuts kind of killed off the sex drive for a while, but now it's back with a vengeance. I can just imagine how you feel. I know you like these letters because I always write something dirty in 'em, so I imagine you're still pretty frisky.

I wonder how it'll be, our first time back together. Will it be like our very first time? I mean, I can still remember the way you blushed like mad when I took my robe off, and how you just squirmed in my lap when I held you to me, all naked and shy. You never really did stop blushing like that, which I always will find so sweet... Will it be like that, all slow and languid and a little awkward, or will it be like how we made love when we got back from summer break? Remember that one break when I didn't get to see you the whole time, because your parents took you abroad? Man, James kept laughing the morning after we got back, because neither of us sat right. I had to knock Snape out for laughing that day. It was great. But any way it is, I can't wait. 'Til then, I'll just have to remember the way you feel in my arms.

Well, I guess I'm running short of writing space here. So I'll just save some more scandalous things to say to you for tomorrow, okay?

I'll be home soon. Until then,

Lupin smiled--this was the one time of the day when he really could smile, this time with a letter and memories of Sirius all that was there to worry about--and folded the letter back into the envelope after reading it three times. Retracing the firm letters of his nickname (a name Sirius had given him, and therefore it was special, too, like everything Sirius had ever given to him) he sighed.

It was one more day. There may be many more. For now, though, he had a letter.

And, sitting on the couch, looking out over the world, he thought of what to write back, and waited for another day to pass, and another letter to come, and one day, one great day--Sirius.