Author's Notes: Yeah, so this was originally off my LJ, and as we all know, I have a thing for writing angsty post-Sirius-death Remus/Tonks junk. Hate me, I know I do. :D




Sometimes Remus thinks it's easier being married to Tonks than it was being Sirius' lover.

He would give his lifetime twice over just to have Sirius back, he would catch stars, lose his anything, if only he could kiss Sirius again, but with Tonks, everything is easier.

That sort of love, the sort he had for Sirius, is so consuming and drowning and quenching and parching that sometimes, right in the middle you forget to breathe, and then the only way out is more and you're spiralling until…

Remus was lost with Sirius. Lost and he never wanted to be found.

With Tonks everything is easy.

Remus remembers when Tonks was little and he and Sirius would take her to the muggle cinema to watch animated children's films. She always liked Cinderella, not because Cinderella got the prince, or had cute mice, but because Cinderella transformed with magic too.

Remus remembers what it was like later, too. When Remus was twenty something and Tonks was a surly preteen and she would occasionally escape to crash at her cousin and cousin-in-law's flat. They would play board games until three in the morning and Sirius would paint Tonks' toe nails black (the only colour nail varnish they kept in the house) and Remus would make pizza and chocolate milkshakes and sing Frank Sinatra.

Technically, Remus wasn't her cousin-in-law, but it hadn't mattered and Remus and Sirius were practically married anyway. "Attached at the hip?" Andromeda used to say, picking her daughter up at their house in the morning, because Andromeda knew just where Tonks had gone if she mysteriously disappeared. "More like attached at the lips."

In the Azkaban years, Remus doesn't remember very much at all because mostly is just looks like rain to him, rain and white-noise.

After, there were few precious months and the alcohol and the house and the trapped hadn't mattered because he was just spiralling all over again. Hope was something so beautiful, beautiful like stars, beautiful like Sirius.

And Remus remembers standing in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, making a milkshake because Sirius caught back another memory, a twenty-something memory, one the Dementors had tried to prise from him, and Tonks had walked into the kitchen and had found Remus there, laughing with Sirius, and had said, "sing 'Come Fly With Me.'"

And then Sirius died, and Remus couldn't even be angry, this time. This time there was just emptiness and no getting lost ever again.

That's why it's easier with Tonks.

"I just don't like seeing you so lonely." She said, touching his arm, concerned.

"I don't like being lonely."

Now, she laughs and he smiles, and when he cries she knows why and she doesn't say anything, just shuts the door a leaves him face down in a pillow that smells something like wild roses and leather and thunderstorms.

Now Remus always knows exactly where he is.

Now every breath is something simple and measured. The second looks don't make him feel like summer and gold. Every star he sees is just a distant gaseous cloud. Remus' head stays above the water, and he doesn't even think about treading.

But, oh, he would give anything to drown.