"They're fantastic." It seems to be the first time that a sudden smile from Sirius hasn't been forced today, and he grins a little at the memory of sitting in the living room after a glorious shower to eat pizza with the two men he now considers dear friends. "Radar is easily the kindest person you'll ever meet. I'd say he was a literal saint but don't let him trick you into playing a game with him of any sort, he cheats." The smile doesn't fade, but in fact, grows a bit more. "I think the portal gave him premonition. He does this thing where he finishes your sentence for you sometimes without realizing he's doing it, it's entertaining once you get past the strangeness of it. And Klaus..."
How does one explain Klaus Hargreeves to someone who has never met the man? "He's not a flatmate. He's an experience." The smile softens a little into something more contemplative as Sirius sits there to consider everything that the two of them have done for him, and not out of a sense of duty or purpose, but simply because they're good men. "I don't think I'd be as whole as I am if I didn't have them here." The admission isn't necessarily easy, especially to Remus, but it's one that Sirius feels they deserve for him to give. The bitterness that previously existed when he spoke of Azkaban is gone, and this time he speaks to Remus as he would to the close friend he is, instead of the person who left him there.
"It's hard for me to talk about it." If one listens closely there's almost an edge of apology there, an audible sign of regret as to how Sirius had responded before, too sharp, too angry, too off-putting in a way that would give Remus an excuse to leave. "And they never push, but when it... you know, when it builds up, and I have to, they're always there to listen. I'm very fortunate to have them." And you, he wants to say, that thickness in the air built upon all unspoken still heavy enough for Sirius to feel it on his shoulders, but he can't bring himself to do it. It almost feels like begging Remus to stick around, and that suggests a level of raw openness that he can't allow. His heart quietly aches at the realization. It's never been like this.
The compliment on his mirror sends a little flutter in Sirius's chest, because a compliment on spell-work from someone like Remus is not something given lightly. And the stupid, insignificant, vapid, absolutely nothing comment about his eyebrows makes his ears burn a little and he hates himself for it, because he's Sirius Black, and he doesn't get flustered when people mention his fucking eyebrows. Especially if that person left him in prison, attended the funeral of a man he considered a brother without him, felt like he could move on with his life while Sirius stayed in the same place.
And yet here he is, ears pink, sweeping a hand in the air to brush the comments aside as if they're nothing. "It wasn't that hard, I can show you at some point if you want. And of course they suit me love, everything suits me." This is the real issue, isn't it? Sirius wants to hate Remus for what he did, and he wants to scream and demand an explanation, but how is he supposed to do that to a man that he holds in such high regard? Screaming at Remus would be harder than screaming at Albus Dumbledore, because status aside, only one of them still hold a place within the confines of Sirius's heart, and it isn't the one who stole his kid.
If Sirius doesn't forgive him then Remus is gone all over again. How is he supposed to handle that twice without unraveling completely from the inside out? The whole thing makes him feel pathetic. "You may have flatmates of your own to meet. I mean they won't be as good as mine," he points out with a sort of casual confidence that's obviously not serious, "but they might be all right. Everyone here seems pretty all right, from what I've come across at least. And I've come across a lot of them. Popularity suits me."
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How does one explain Klaus Hargreeves to someone who has never met the man? "He's not a flatmate. He's an experience." The smile softens a little into something more contemplative as Sirius sits there to consider everything that the two of them have done for him, and not out of a sense of duty or purpose, but simply because they're good men. "I don't think I'd be as whole as I am if I didn't have them here." The admission isn't necessarily easy, especially to Remus, but it's one that Sirius feels they deserve for him to give. The bitterness that previously existed when he spoke of Azkaban is gone, and this time he speaks to Remus as he would to the close friend he is, instead of the person who left him there.
"It's hard for me to talk about it." If one listens closely there's almost an edge of apology there, an audible sign of regret as to how Sirius had responded before, too sharp, too angry, too off-putting in a way that would give Remus an excuse to leave. "And they never push, but when it... you know, when it builds up, and I have to, they're always there to listen. I'm very fortunate to have them." And you, he wants to say, that thickness in the air built upon all unspoken still heavy enough for Sirius to feel it on his shoulders, but he can't bring himself to do it. It almost feels like begging Remus to stick around, and that suggests a level of raw openness that he can't allow. His heart quietly aches at the realization. It's never been like this.
The compliment on his mirror sends a little flutter in Sirius's chest, because a compliment on spell-work from someone like Remus is not something given lightly. And the stupid, insignificant, vapid, absolutely nothing comment about his eyebrows makes his ears burn a little and he hates himself for it, because he's Sirius Black, and he doesn't get flustered when people mention his fucking eyebrows. Especially if that person left him in prison, attended the funeral of a man he considered a brother without him, felt like he could move on with his life while Sirius stayed in the same place.
And yet here he is, ears pink, sweeping a hand in the air to brush the comments aside as if they're nothing. "It wasn't that hard, I can show you at some point if you want. And of course they suit me love, everything suits me." This is the real issue, isn't it? Sirius wants to hate Remus for what he did, and he wants to scream and demand an explanation, but how is he supposed to do that to a man that he holds in such high regard? Screaming at Remus would be harder than screaming at Albus Dumbledore, because status aside, only one of them still hold a place within the confines of Sirius's heart, and it isn't the one who stole his kid.
If Sirius doesn't forgive him then Remus is gone all over again. How is he supposed to handle that twice without unraveling completely from the inside out? The whole thing makes him feel pathetic. "You may have flatmates of your own to meet. I mean they won't be as good as mine," he points out with a sort of casual confidence that's obviously not serious, "but they might be all right. Everyone here seems pretty all right, from what I've come across at least. And I've come across a lot of them. Popularity suits me."