Warnings: Codependency, brief use of a non-canon nickname, mentioned Sirius/others

When the clock shows five until midnight, Remus quietly sneaks away from the boisterous group of guests that James has invited to his New Year's Eve party and slips into the kitchen. He sets the half-empty crisp bowl on the counter and discards several empty bottles of beer in the bin before sighing heavily.

He never should have come to this rubbish party. When he'd agreed it had seemed like the most natural thing to do—attend the party of one of his best mates. And after all, who honestly wants to spend New Year's Eve by their lonesome? Remus certainly hadn't. Of course, that was before. Now Remus begins to think that the prospect of being lonely sounds brilliant. It's certainly better than spending the night with a bunch of couples and straight-singles bringing in the New Year with a kiss.

Four minutes until midnight.

Remus grumpily shoves a crisp into his mouth, trying not to think about his distinct lack of someone to kiss or about how he should have gone to that gay club with his mate when he'd offered. Instead, he forces his mind to much happier things like the snow falling outside, or the brilliant jumper his parents got him for Christmas, or the fact that the sodding holidays would be over in a matter of four minutes. Well, until Valentine's Day. Which…fuck. Another couples holiday.

Covering his face with his hands in frustration, Remus wills time to go faster. Or at least he does until he hears the kitchen door swing open. As best as he can manage, he tries to look casual, like he hasn't spent the past few minutes—or hell, few hours—wallowing in his sorrows.

As soon as Remus sees that it's Sirius, however, he immediately drops the forced happiness. There's no need to pretend around Sirius; they've been through too much together for that.

"Thought I saw you sneaking in here," Sirius says, accusation easily heard in his words if not in his statement. "What, not puckering up for the big New Year's snog?"

He wants to tell Sirius to go away, that's none of his business anymore who he snogs and when. The problem is that Remus finds himself missing Sirius a bit, now that they don't see each other very often since their breakup. And it certainly doesn't help that Sirius is wearing the grey jumper Remus bought him last Christmas, the one that hugs his body brilliantly. Remus finds himself damning Sirius' stubborn, arrogant, infuriating personality—the most frequent cause of their on-again-off-again relationship. However, he can't turn off the strong attraction he feels for Sirius, no matter how hard he tries or how many substitutes he auditions.

"No, I'm afraid that being a gay werewolf narrows down my options considerably," he replies, and hopes that Sirius leaves it at that. "Fresh out of partners."

"Shame."

Remus shrugs. "What about you? McKinnon was eyeing you up last time I saw her."

"She somehow got it into that genius head of hers that I fancy her," Sirius explains, sighing. "Which I don't."

"Well when you sleep with a girl…"

Sirius winces. "Hey now."

Remus could hex himself for bringing up Sirius' bed partners; the thought of them churns his stomach. As if it will help, he turns away from Sirius. Out of sight, out of mind. Then Remus recalls that it never worked for him when it came to Sirius, for all that he needed it to.

He feels Sirius' fingers on his shoulder, and he swallows hard. They haven't touched much since this last breakup because they both know touching only encourages their mutual dependency on one another. Touching—that's what brings them together each time they fall apart, what electrifies their senses and drives their sexual desire, making the both of them forget all the misery that comes post-orgasm.

"I miss you, Moonshine."

"I miss you too."

Because it's the truth. For all that he hates himself for loving Sirius, Remus can't stop. He needs him, regardless of how poorly they get along sometimes, needs him like he needs air to breathe. It's as if Sirius has carved a hollow into him, a hollow that no one but Sirius can fill, despite all Remus tries. And it's not fair, and it doesn't make sense. But Remus doesn't know if anything makes sense anymore. Not in these times, not during this war.

"Want to ring in the New Year together?" Sirius asks softly, as the twenty-second countdown sounds from the living room. "You have one admirer here tonight."

Remus begins to say "no" but is quick to give it up. Why fight it? Why fight it when it feels so good in the moment? He needs to feel good, needs to feel something. Fighting Death Eaters has made him numb, cold. And it's Sirius—it could only ever be Sirius—who will put the fire back into him.

On five, he turns around, staring into Sirius' soft expression, his warm eyes. On four, he steps up flush against him, arms twinning around Sirius' neck. On three, Remus feels one of Sirius' hands in his hair, the other on his back. On two, they inch ever forward, noses brushing. On one, Sirius pauses for a moment, waits for the cheers from the other room, and then whispers against Remus' lips,

"Happy New Year, Moony."