Chapter Text
“So, you’ve started baking?” Heather looked up as Sirius nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. It still smelled a little like Remus from the last time he stole it, but not nearly enough to drown him in comfort. “That’s awesome. If you don’t mind, can I ask why you chose that as a hobby?”
“It’s—” Stupid. He bit the words back at the last second; Heather never liked self-deprecation, and they had been working on positive self-talk for…as long as Sirius could remember, really. “Uh, I helped Re’s mom make a pie over the holidays and I just have good memories associated with it, I guess.”
Heather jotted something down, her soft smile never faltering. She was wearing a sweater the same color as her name—it was distilled comfort, and Sirius felt some of the tension release from his back. “You said you do it when you’re stressed, right?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does the rhythm help, or is it something else?”
He stared at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the callus from his favorite spatula that was beginning to form. “I think…” he trailed off and bit his lower lip. Honesty always wins. Why do you like it so much? “The rhythm helps quiet my head down, yeah. And it smells like home. And—and if I do it right, I can’t screw it up.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If I follow the recipe, it works. Every time. I can read the instructions as many times as I need to, and I can focus on that until everything up here—” He gestured vaguely toward his head. “—shuts up for a bit.”
Heather nodded; the room was quiet for a moment while she wrote before she settled into her chair and let out a slow breath. “I’m really happy you started doing this, Sirius.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. We’ve talked about finding healthy amounts of control and tethers in your daily life, and from what you’ve said, this makes you happy in addition to helping you calm down. What do you do with everything you make?”
He shrugged. “Give it away, mostly. It’s healthier than store-bought stuff, and the guys like it. Re and I can’t eat it all ourselves.”
“How often do you stress bake?”
“Oh, probably three or four times a week.”
Shit, shit, shit. Heather’s eyebrows crept upward. “Oh?”
“…yes.” Can’t take it back now.
“Okay.” She made a quick mark on her clipboard—for the hundredth time, Sirius wished he could snatch it and run. “Interesting. Why are you so stressed?”
“It’s not like that all the time,” he said quickly. “Just over the past couple weeks.”
“What’s been going on?”
“Everything?” he said. It sounded more like a question. Heather made another note. “It’s—well, Jules got the flu two months ago and Re wasn’t sleeping because he was worried, so I got nervous and started staying up later so I’d be tired, but then I got bored and worried about both of them so I texted Hope about her pie recipe—"
“Sirius,” Heather interrupted gently. He closed his mouth and tucked his hands into his sleeves, palms itching. “Deep breaths, then tell me what’s been going on these past couple weeks specifically that was stressing you out.”
He obliged, counting ten before speaking again as his brain stopped feeling like someone poured pop rocks into it. “Right. So, this whole habit thing started two months ago, and we’re getting closer to you-know-what—”
“The playoffs?”
He made a quiet noise of distress and tapped the wood of the chair. “Oui, that. There’s a lot of pressure from last year, and when my friends are stressed, I get stressed, and baking is easy and fun so I just…didn’t stop. A lot of things are happening right now, and this feels like the only one I can control.”
“There you go,” she said with a proud smile. “Thank you.”
“What did I do?”
“You’re being more open and honest with yourself. It’s good to see.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned slightly forward. “You’re a really, really good captain, Sirius. You are so in-tune with the other people in your life, but you’ve got to remember to step back and do things for yourself sometimes. Right now, baking is your stress relief because you can’t control your friends’ lives or emotional states. Try to find more things like that.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Are you diagnosing me with ‘needs a hobby’?”
“In a sense, yes. You have done an incredible job over the past few months of letting your world revolve around things other than hockey. Branching out to baking was an excellent choice. Now it’s time to find other things that give you similar comfort, okay?”
“Alright.”
“Fantastic. Let’s brainstorm.”
Sirius dropped his bag next to the shoe rack and immediately leaned back against the door, closing his eyes with a sigh. Therapy was always exhausting, but usually in a good way. Already, he could feel the weight of the last three weeks lifting off his shoulders. “I’m home!” he called.
Remus materialized from the living room and padded over in his fuzzy socks, planting a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks. “You look tired. Good or bad?”
“Good,” he assured him. “We worked on finding a hobby.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently, baking every other day isn’t a great long-term coping mechanism.”
Remus kissed him lightly on the lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
Sirius pulled back with a frown. “I thought you liked my baking.”
“I do. I also worry about how much space we have in our kitchen, and how much you sleep.” He gave Sirius a squeeze around the waist and patted his hip. “Now c’mere, I have a surprise.”
“What kind of surprise?” Sirius asked warily as he allowed himself to be pulled toward the living room. “Do we have company?”
“Does Hattie count?”
The dog in question barked when they entered the room, though she was buried beneath a mountain of blankets and only her nose and tail stuck out. In the hour and a half Sirius had been gone, the living room had transformed into a massive fort—the couch cushions were propped up around a nest of pillows and blankets, and low amber light fell over everything from the side table lamp. It radiated coziness and warmth; he felt the last bits of his exhaustion settle into contentment. “Wow.”
Remus beamed at him. “Do you like it?”
“I love it.” He cupped his face in his hands and nudged their noses together. “And I love you. So much. I’m going to go rinse off and change, but can we cuddle afterward?”
“What do you think this is for?” Remus teased. “You took my sweatshirt.”
“It’s too big for you anyway.”
“How long until I find it in my laundry pile because it doesn’t smell like me anymore?”
Sirius pretended to think for a moment, though he couldn’t keep his smile down as happiness bubbled through every vein. “Tomorrow.”
“Go take your shower,” Remus laughed, then kissed him once again. “I’ll see if I have anything else that’ll fit you.”