The cottage was quiet, the kind of warm quiet that only came from safety hard-won. Evening sunlight streamed in through the windows, painting the kitchen golden. A teapot whistled softly on the stove, though Sirius hadn’t moved to get it. He was far too comfortable, leaning back in his chair with Remus stretched across from him, socked feet tangled under the table.

“Tea’s going to spill over,” Remus murmured, lips tugging into a smile as he didn’t move either.

Sirius tilted his head lazily. “You’re closer.”

“And you’re lazier.”

Remus huffed a laugh, finally rising to his feet. He padded to the stove, pouring two cups with practiced ease. Sirius watched him the whole way, grinning at how domestic it all was—at how much he loved seeing Remus like this: alive, calm, his scars softened by the glow of evening.

When Remus set a steaming cup in front of him, Sirius caught his wrist and pulled him down until Remus was practically in his lap. “I didn’t marry you so you could walk away from me for tea.”

“You married me because no one else would put up with you,” Remus countered, but his smile betrayed him as he settled against Sirius’s chest.

Sirius buried his face in Remus’s hair, breathing in quietly. “Maybe. But you love me, Moons.”

“I do,” Remus whispered, letting the words linger as the fire crackled nearby.

The tea sat forgotten on the table as they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other and the simple miracle of peace.