Chapter Text
“It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
“Baby, it’s okay.”
I’m not—
“Just hold onto me. You can do this.”
Sirius gasped for breath, his chest aching and vision sputtering. His neck burned with an itch he needed to scratch, but one hand was still locked tight around cold fingers and the other was paralyzed next to him. The itch spread to his collarbones, his ears, his chest, his knuckles hurt from the tension he was going to break, shatter right into a million pieces if he couldn’t get one more fucking breath.
“One more deep breath.” Some strangled noise tried and failed to escape him. The gentle hold at the nape of his neck pulsed. “For me, baby. Try one more for me.”
That wasn’t fair—it wasn’t fair to ask that of him, Remus you know better— “Non,” Sirius choked out around his leaden tongue. The shivering wouldn’t stop, his body frozen as the air from the open window cooled the sweat drenching him. Blackness crept in.
“One more.” Remus shifted, pressing their foreheads together harder. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve gotta try one more.”
Left skate, right skate, tap-tap-tap-check, tap-nametag-stall, water, jersey, walk, bumps, out.
Left skate, right skate, taptaptapcheck, tapnametagstall, water, jersey, walk, bumps, out.
Leftskaterightskatetaptaptapchecktapnametagstall, water, jersey, walk, bumps, out.
His stomach flipped and he clenched his eyes shut, his jaw, his fists, anything to stop the jerk of his body. Remus made a soothing noise; there was a hand between his shoulder blades. Do not throw up. Do not throw up. A forced inhale through his nose would have to be enough.
Fucking pharmacy, closing early. Fucking doctors, inputting the wrong pill count. Leo fucking Knut, putting everything off schedule because he needed an extra run that damn bad.
Sirius’ own horrible, useless brain, unable to function without a perfect routine. Heather had promised he was getting better. She promised.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Remus Lupin, lying to his face because nobody in the world could be proud of a shaking wreck.
“Non.” His voice broke. He didn’t loosen his grip on Remus’ threadbare sleeves.
Remus’ thumb pressed into the divot at the base of his skull and another tremor rocked through him. “I am,” he said into the space between them. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re doing great. You’re almost done.”
A sob became a wheeze halfway out of his throbbing lungs and Sirius clung to him, moving to push his face into the folds of his hoodie. There was one hand clasped between them. The other pressed tight to Sirius’ neck, firm and reassuring. There were no guesses with Remus. No surprises to fear.
Left skate, right skate, three taps check, tap nametag stall, water, jersey, walk, bumps, knock, out.
All of this, the trembling and the crying and the nausea, for a knock on the doorframe. A single superstition in the sea of nonsense his hockey brain convinced him was necessary.
His ears rang as the world shuddered into focus again, blurry even as he blinked. There was the floor. The rug they had picked out together. Remus’ knee, red from kneeling and knobbly. His own skewed legs, denim-clad and stretching out to his ankles, then his socks, those stupid pufferfish-covered things from last year’s Christmas party.
Sirius exhaled.
“Great job,” Remus breathed. “That was so good, baby.”
Inhale. His torso hurt like he had a stitch in it.
Exhale.
“Hey, there you go,” came the half-laugh, dripping with relief as Sirius stared at one of the colorful fish by his heel. Six spines. Two fins. One eye. Remus rubbed between his shoulders and gave the back of his neck another squeeze.
He gulped down another breath. His knuckles were rusted over, a lost cause, but he could wiggle his toes again. Progress.
Sirius made a disgruntled noise when he tried to move and pain shot up one hip. “Am I holding you too tight?” Remus asked. He shook his head. “Do you want me to move?”
Oh, no, Sirius wasn’t sure he would remain a solid person if Remus budged an inch. He pushed his face deeper into the bend of his neck in a silent request and felt Remus relax, his fingertips sliding along the curve of Sirius’ spine.
Remus inhaled like he was about to speak, then let it out long and slow. Sirius didn’t know what he was going to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. There was too much rawness that he wished could stay in the dark.
“How long has it been?”
Sirius’ shoulders slumped. “Deux jours.”
“Oh, Pads.” It sounded like his heart was breaking.
“I can get them tomorrow. A refill. I called.” His thoughts felt too fragmented in his head, but hopefully Remus would be able to put it together. Sirius had been so grateful that the phone call hadn’t sent him spiraling before practice. It felt like forever since he hung up with clammy hands. “They—they didn’t give me the right number. The one on la bouteille.”
“Really?” There was an edge to Remus’ voice and Sirius’ stomach sank; he pulled him in closer by the fistfuls of hoodie he couldn’t bear to release, nuzzling into the worn edge where it smelled most like Remus, soapy and minty and something sharp like arnica.
“I should have checked,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “Desolé.”
“What? Oh, no, I’m—" Remus gathered him closer, one knee sliding out of Sirius’ view to bracket him. “I’m not mad at you. God, no. I’m mad that your doctors can’t fucking count.”
“I should have checked.” It all wound up being Sirius’ fault, at the end of the day.
Remus slowly rested his weight on his heels; Sirius mourned the loss until lips brushed his stubbled cheek. “It’s not your job to check,” Remus said. He tucked a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear and cupped one side of his face, drawing him gently from his hiding place. From the little Sirius could see in his peripheral vision, Remus’ expression was nothing but kind. “They need to make sure you have the right medication. That’s what they get paid to do. This is not your fault.”
Sirius swallowed hard. He pulled his aching legs to his chest and rested his chin on top, then let himself ease into Remus’ chest. Instantly, Remus’ arms came up around him. “I…” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I feel awful.”
“Cuddle?”
“Ouais.” He slid a hand under Remus’ shirt, just for some contact. “And a shower?”
The answering kiss to his temple almost made him smile. “I’ll wash your hair.”