#amnesia 2

Sirius didn’t like how shaky his voice sounded. He didn’t like the tension holding Remus up like a second skeleton, or the constant crease between his brows. They had been home for five days and he hadn’t seen Remus relax once outside of deep sleep, a fleeting event at best. He let his fingers uncurl until he could cradle the side of Remus’ face. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Remus mumbled. Sirius waited, rubbing his fingertips behind Remus’ ear. “Seriously, I’ve got no excuse.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse.” He stilled his movements and Remus leaned into the touch while Sirius studied his expression. “Talk to me, Remus.”

His pale throat bobbed. He blinked his eyes open, but kept them trained on the loose thread he had picked free of the duvet. “I worry,” he repeated quietly. “I am worried. I don’t know what to do.”

Sirius frowned. “About what?”