"You are," Remus managed to reply, smile tenuous but increasingly real as it spread across his lips. His own fingers smoothed up Sirius' back, one hand rubbing in small, nonsense circles as if Sirius was the only one who needed soothing, the other tangling again in Sirius' hair as he responded to that hug. Sirius felt warm and solid and smelled frankly terrible, all ash and fear and sour, sour sweat.
But he was real, in his arms. This wasn't a boggart or some sort of illusion (or worse, some sort of delusion). And Remus drew strength from others as he always was, safer in the knowledge that he could distract himself with someone else's worries. (Considering Sirius had rather a lot of worries, he'd always been a boon.)
Squeezing Sirius closer to him for a second, he pulled away before his body reacted inappropriately to the warmth and closeness. "Let's get you to bed," he offered. "I've got a pot of sleeping draught in the bedroom, if you need it." Because there was no way he'd let Sirius sleep on the couch.
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toujours_impur's journal
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Date: 2016-04-21 09:57 pm (UTC)From:But he was real, in his arms. This wasn't a boggart or some sort of illusion (or worse, some sort of delusion). And Remus drew strength from others as he always was, safer in the knowledge that he could distract himself with someone else's worries. (Considering Sirius had rather a lot of worries, he'd always been a boon.)
Squeezing Sirius closer to him for a second, he pulled away before his body reacted inappropriately to the warmth and closeness. "Let's get you to bed," he offered. "I've got a pot of sleeping draught in the bedroom, if you need it." Because there was no way he'd let Sirius sleep on the couch.