Sirius has been talking about how he wished that their mornings were different, over and over, but it was a good job, a great opportunity, and Remus hates it as well, hates it so fucking much that his bones ache at age twenty-six, that his mornings are so normal, that his evenings are so short and that his therapist has this look of wonder and confusion in her eyes whenever he tells her about how normal his mornings and short his evenings are.