Sirius had often thought himself and James (and, to a lesser extent,  him ) to be the only ones supporting Remus through his illness. Lily helped, too, but James and Sirius took the brunt of it, especially once they left Hogwarts. They transformed with him all night, healed him while he slept after dawn, carried (or levitated) him to bed with pain potions on the side table, then waited on his hand and feet (subtly, of course) while he recovered. The first tattoo Sirius had gotten was of a moon, charmed to match the current phase, to ensure that they would not perform anything detention-worthy in the week upcoming the moon, to know when to stock up on chocolates and potions and when to tread more carefully around Remus instead of aggravate him like he usually did. And sometimes, when Remus had an especially hard moon or he was refusing help or disappeared to who-knows-where and ditched them for the moon, Sirius had thought that no one could understand what this was like, to love someone with an illness like this, to care for them so much your entire life revolved around the phases of the moon, to work so hard on making your friend-boyfriend-whatever supported and comfortable that he doesn’t even notice what you do for him anymore, that you don’t get a single thank you for it. When he was younger, that had made Sirius bitter and angry and lonely. But now, hearing Hope say how proud she is of her son, Sirius realises he is—and was—not alone, but also that he had no fucking clue what he was on about.