Remus thinks that maybe they were in love. Just maybe: the night is cold and his sheets are all too thin and the bed is all too big now that it's only for him, so everything in the world is full of probabilities: then, it's just a maybe. He is curled to his side, giving his back to the window and to the empty space besides him, hands clutching paper thin sheets and trying to convince himself that the shivering is truly and only because he is cold.
He doesn't like cold. Not even if it means snow: he'd always stayed indoors whenever he could, in front of the fire with jumpers and tea and a nice book to read. He remembers summer: Sirius' hands teasing at his waist, growling playfully without even needing to turn into Padfoot, whispering into his ears all the hot, unmentionable things that he was going to do to him in the dark of the bedroom or the closet or wherever he could. Remus knows he smiled then, raising eyebrows and making that damned Black follow his words. Yes. He was maybe in love. Crazily, completely and idiotically in love. Maybe.
It's just a maybe because he is cold. He sees the moonlight starting to creep over the bedroom: only a week until full moon and the bed is to empty with sheets that aren't meant for the winter. The bedroom is just too quiet: there aren't snuffling or twitching or snores or just another breath next to him: Remus thinks that maybe once he had complained about so much noise and he can't quite believe it was him who did that because if he had been in love (maybe) then he shouldn't have complained. He knows he wouldn't have, if he had known how lonesome the silence truly is.
The biggest part of him wishes he could forget of all the maybes: if he did, he could change the sheets because the lingering smell wouldn't have to be enough and the silence wouldn't bother him as much as it does: he'd talk again and wouldn't be expecting ghosts to enter his home. The rest of him knows that he never will forget and although he's going to change the sheets soon, he's still going to hold onto de lingering smell of summertime before everything went cold.
Because he knows (without the maybe) that he had been in love. He doesn't want to right now.