Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s an unseasonably sunny day when Remus receives the email. 

When he wakes, the sunlight that bathes his room is all kinds of champagne, shimmering and golden in a way that makes him feel faintly fizzy inside.

The previous weeks have been coloured by blustery rain and a constant, cloying, overcast grey. It’s been the sort of weather that makes Remus, like a fern, want to curl up within himself and never unfurl. Over the past month, he’s found the unfurling more painful and difficult, as if every part of him has become tightly wound within itself. His temper is short, his attention is scrambled, and his tears are never far away. 

It’s late in the morning when he gets up to check his phone. He lets himself lay in, ignoring the thrumming under his skin that usually prompts him from his bed as soon as he opens his eyes. Instead, he bathes in the sunlight and watches dust swirl in the light, thinking that even the dead parts of him are revelling in the sun’s warmth. 

When he opens his inbox, he expects the odd promotion and uni admin email. Rubbing his face, making his routine spam bin check, as he always does, he’s faced with an email, flagged as important, titled: “Congratulations! You’ve been selected for the 2022 Great British Bake Off!”

Remus blinks, and for a split second, takes no notice of it, “spam, spam, spam,” until— wait, hold on.

He rubs his eyes, so hard he sees impossible colours, and clicks on the email. Not for the first time that year, he feels as if the floor has disappeared from beneath him.

“Fuck!”

“Remus? Is that you, love?”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry Ma!” 

Remus stands up from his desk, palms on the wood, and lets his head hang. The sunlight that previously bathed his room has mostly retreated, but still dances on the desk beneath him.

“Fuck fuck fuck...”

He pulls out his phone.

————

Remus: [screenshot] 

Marlene: CONGRATS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Marlene: i told you: the best buns in the continent

Marlene: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Remus: I genuinely can’t tell if I’m excited or horrified?

Marlene: 2 sides of the same coin pal

Remus: My PhD is currently hanging by a thread

Remus: My research is a mess 

Remus: My last chapter was so bad that my supervisor had to stage an intervention

Remus: And now I’m going to be on reality a TV show

Remus: About /baking/

Marlene: are u ok

Remus: Oh no

Marlene: oh no????

Remus: Sorry, almost threw up. We’re good

Marlene: uh

Marlene: remus, babe

Marlene: deep breaths

Remus: Thanks, I’m okay

Remus: I think

Marlene: are u ever not panicking about something?

Remus: This is just the acceptance email

Remus: What will happen when I curdle my custard?

Marlene: ol remus the custard curdler :')

Remus: Burn my pastry??

Marlene: DEEP

Marlene: BREATHS

Remus: Underprove my dough??????

Marlene: i feel so honoured to witness your stream of consciousness. it’s terrifying

Marlene: [twitter screenshot: thesiriusblack: 2022 GBBO, baby! i'll see u all in the tent <3]

Marlene: omfg loooook!

Remus: Omg

Marlene: hehe

Remus: Fuck

Marlene: you still got that poster?

Marlene: mr remus black. lol.

Remus: Nooo

Marlene: i will never let you forget

Remus: I’m a disaster and I’m about to be a disaster on national television

Marlene: shut up! you're endearing as hell!!!

Remus: And now you’re telling me /Sirius Black/ will bear personal witness to my chaos? 

Remus: I’m done

Remus: Tell Ma and Lottie I’m leaving everything to them

Marlene: u r so dramatic. everyone thinks ur so calm and collected but they are so wrong

Marlene: also lottie???? a /chicken/ gets first dibs over me?

Marlene: wtf ur not even giving me ur records?

Remus: Not with that attitude

Marlene: rude. even signed phoebe bridgers???

Remus: Lucky Lottie

Marlene: u little bitch

Marlene: anyway one look into your /soulful/ eyes and black will fall in love

Marlene: then he’ll taste ur buns and u will kiss and elope and adopt beautiful children

Remus: That’s inappropriate

Marlene: “the fastest way to every sexy rockstar’s heart is through his stomach” – sophocles or somthin

Marlene: among other appendages

Remus: Cheers son’s crying

Marlene: can’t argue w ancient wisdom

Remus: Gotta go. Don’t tell anyone! 

Marlene: lips r sealed

———

Remus takes a deep breath and runs his shaking fingers through his hair. 

“Shite. Bake Off. Sirius Black... Shite.”

But try as he might, he can’t stop the smile that blooms across his face in that moment. He’s terrified, is certain it’ll all implode in his face, but they think he’s good.

And in that moment, that’s enough. 

***

2 Months later…

“James, I really wish you could see all the doilies. It’s like a kingdom of doilies in here. A doily kingdom.”

“Sirius, say doily one more time.”

“Doily.”

“Doesn’t even sound like a real word. Who even invented doilies? What are they for?”

“Google it.”

“I still can’t believe you’re on Bake Off. My Nan watches Bake Off.”

“Fuck off, it’s totally cool. Kids these days love Bake Off.”

“Yeah it’s cool like Antiques Roadshow and Gardeners' World are cool.”

“Joke’s on you, James: Monty Don is a stud.”

“Whatever you say, grandpa. Enjoy your scones and clotted cream.”

“You’re just jealous that I get to mingle with Britain’s premier amateur baking talent.”

“And with any luck, you’ll find your soulmate: your bread-baking, doily-wielding, cake-decorating soulmate.”

“Goodbye Prongs.”

“Oi!—”

Sirius hangs up, and takes a deep breath. The air smells like roses and new carpet, floral and fresh. Looking around, he smiles to himself. It’s all very quaint and cute—almost too cute, even. Yet something about it feels just right.

James had thought he was off his rocker when he’d first applied to be a host on Bake Off, just over a year ago. Unsurprisingly, the public’s reaction had not been much different.

Comments on “Sirius Black to Co-Host 2022 Bake Off”:

VeryConcernedMumsy778: Not Sirius Black,,, he's a bad boy!!! He ruined The Marauders my daughter’s favourite band of all time!! She cried all night when she heard what he did.....

LivingLovingLaughing63: @VeryConcernedMumsy778: I read somewhere that it was because they cut out his rap verse in Raven Clawed Beauty... talk about a narcissist!! Everyone boycott BakeOff2022!

ILoveEggs: A boyband member is hosting Bake Off this year? Who’s next, Taylor Swift? I miss Mel and Sue </3

_BigChungus_: He do be kinda hot tho…

Sirius still doesn’t know where the rumours had come from—Sirius Black To Blame For The Marauders Split? More Likely Than You Think, According To Inside Sources! —but, he supposes, his pseudo bad-boy image likely had something to do with it. The whole rehab thing probably hadn’t helped either.

At first, he’d been devastated. It had broken his heart being framed for the dissolution of the first real family he’d ever known. Still, what had hurt Sirius even more was Fabian and Gideon’s silence through it all, never even issuing a statement to help clear the air. Sure, they’d parted on poor terms, but he didn’t think it had been that poor. 

Well, as it turned out, he’d been wrong.

But, as Sirius has learned by now, these things happen. Or, as James likes to say in a poor mockery of Sirius’s drawl, “It isss what it isss.” And instead of letting it consume him as he once might have, Sirius poured all the anger, betrayal, and hurt that he’d accrued in the past twenty-three years into a “Surprisingly Nuanced and Honest,” solo album. And now, he’s moonlighting as a reality TV host. 

Really, Sirius thinks, it could be worse.

***

Exhausted after a long train journey, Remus sits down on the bed. It’s covered by a plush, floral quilt that smells like roses, which feels appropriately quaint for the idyllic countryside hotel that’s hosting Bake Off for the next six weeks. 

He's made it, from Wales to Windermere, and in a few short hours, he’ll be face to face with the judges, the contestants, and the hosts. While that thought alone threatens to disturb his contentment, he compartmentalises it as a ‘soon’ kind of thought: I’ll think about that soon, I’ll fret about that soon.

For now, Remus, sits on his bed and gazes out the window. From his room, he can see the distant, glittering Lake Windermere. Between the lake and him lies flowers and willow trees, and he imagines reclining beneath a tree reading in the afternoon light. It’s a lovely kind of thought, and the kind of thought he’s realising that he’s sorely missed.

His phone rings, jarring against the distant birdsong and soft breeze.

“Hey Marl.”

“Are you there yet?”

“Yeah, just arrived.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Remus suppresses the urge to roll his eyes—only suppressing it because Marlene isn’t there to see it. “How pleasantly vague.”

“Pleasantly vague, huh? Ouch.”

Remus chuckles tiredly.

“How is it? What’s it like?”

“Well, like I said, I’ve just arrived. It’s lovely though. We’re all staying at this quaint little country hotel, but because it’s Windermere, everything’s Beatrix Potter themed. Even the toilets. I had to wee while staring into Peter Rabbit’s dark, soulless eyes.”

“Oh hush, Peter’s got soul. It’s Cottontail that you’ve gotta watch out for.”

There’s a moment of silence, which Marlene breaks with: “Have you met everyone yet?”

“Nah, not yet. There’s this afternoon tea welcome thing later though. I assume everyone’s arriving at different times. I might go out and have an explore soon, go see the lake and all that. Then I’ll make a cuppa and have a read before I have to socialise.”

Remus can hear Marlene’s muffled snort. “How very you .”

“Why does that sound like an insult?”

“It’s not an insult, it’s merely an observation. Here, let me guess: you’ll sit by the window with your wee cuppa and book, and you’ll think, ‘Hmm, I could really do with something sweet,’ so you’ll retrieve the chocolate that’s hidden in the bottom of your suitcase and dunk it in your tea like the absolute madman you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Who is it, Remus? Le Guin or Hobb? C’mon, I know your habits, you sweet little creature of comfort.”

Remus sighs. “Le Guin, and I just have one block of Lindt at the bottom of my suitcase. Just in case.” Marlene guffaws. “And shut up. Dunking is not that weird.”

“It is weird. Dunking biscuits is perfectly acceptable, but chocolate ? Absolutely barbaric. Doesn’t it get all messy? Eugh. Even the thought of it disturbs me.”

“Look, don’t get fresh with me, Miss—”

“Get Fresh !? They replaced you with an even weirder clone upon entry. I love it.”

“I told you: you can’t trust Peter Rabbit. He’s up to no good.”

“Clearly. Alright, I’ll leave you to your precious pre-socialising rituals. Lovely chat.”

“Take care, Marl.”

“You too, Remus. Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Happy dunking—”

***

Remus spends the afternoon quietly exploring the town and lakeside. Rather morbidly, he thinks Windermere would be a wonderful place to come to die, and he pictures himself as the Queen of Shalott, sweetly gliding out to the centre of the lake, where he simply ceases to exist. Real death is messy, Remus thinks. It’s a destructive force that wreaks and warps. But out here, it could be gentle. Peaceful , even. 

Several hours later, he finds himself at the afternoon tea, which has been set up in the manicured gardens of the hotel. There aren’t too many people there, just the other contestants, crew, the judges, and the hosts, but Remus still finds himself feeling overwhelmed, especially when he glimpses a shock of black hair across the lawn.

He mingles with some of the contestants who are also standing around the food table. Kingsley, Remus observes, is quietly confident and almost unfairly handsome. The other man, Arthur, has kind eyes and is an extremely good listener. He laughs and smiles after everything that Kingsley and Remus say, every smile helping Remus feel more at ease. 

As they watch the hotel staff lay the table—scones, sandwiches, and Victoria sponge—Arthur confides in him, “I didn’t think I’d get in, you know. I’ve been baking for twenty years, but most of the time it’s a complete disaster! You really never know what’s going to happen once you put something in the oven…”

Hearing this has the dual effect of soothing Remus and as making him more nervous. Like Arthur, many of his bakes have been coloured by disaster: he will never forget his first attempt at sourdough, which was an unmitigated disaster of truly epic proportions that almost put him off baking altogether. Even so, Remus is very aware that he doesn’t have the experience that the other contestants likely have. He’s only really, seriously , been baking for the past few months, which puts him at an automatic disadvantage. 

“Are those cucumber sandwiches? Fuck yes.” Remus’ head whips up at the sound of the voice, and when he sees who it is, his heart gives a sharp jolt. There he is, Sirius Black, gloriously clad in a white silk shirt and black velvet pants.

Perhaps it’s because of Sirius’s larger-than-life presence on stage, but Remus had always expected to be looking up at him, as one gazes up at a statue. Instead, he finds himself with a perfect view of the crown of Sirius’s head. It’s not that he’s short—he’s nearly as tall as Remus, actually—but there’s something so human about Sirius’s height that catches Remus off-guard.

At that thought, Sirius looks up, his eyes meeting Remus’s. In photos, his eyes always looked like molten silver—beautiful, sharp, and cold—but the eyes in front of Remus aren’t the quicksilver that he’d expected. They’re stormy and remind him of the rough waters of the Welsh coast where Remus grew up; familiar instead of foreign.

“Afternoon, I’m Sirius. Are you a contestant?” 

“Uh, I—yeah. I am. A contestant, that is.”

Sirius smiles around a mouthful of his sandwich, little crumbs clinging to his bottom lip, which he swipes away with his tongue. “My bathroom has a Peter Rabbit mural in the shower. Does yours? I feel like I should wear my knickers in the shower; I don't want to scandalise the poor rabbit.”

A nervous laugh rips through Remus's chest. “Yeah, um. He’s above my toilet. Eye level.”

Despite Remus's awkwardness, Sirius laughs, but before he’s able to reply, he’s whisked off by the production team, his half-eaten sandwich in hand.

As he's steered away, he turns back to Remus, waving his sandwich in some kind of farewell gesture, and says, “Nice to meet you, contestant!” 

Remus watches Sirius’s retreating form, biting his lip, before turning back to Kingsley and Arthur, who are in an impassioned discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of Italian and Swiss meringue.

Remus knows he shouldn’t be surprised that Sirius is just a regular person—the kind of regular person who enjoys cucumber sandwiches, apparently—instead of some magical entity.

Still, there’s something kind of magical about him, Remus can't help thinking.

***

thesiriusblack: why are cucumber sandwiches so delicious? when individually the components are so eh?? please, twitter scientists, i'm begging you to solve this mystery

***

Later when Remus gets back to his room, his cautious excitement has largely worn off and is replaced with the sort of wearyness that he often experiences after socialisation. And, in the silence of his room, he’s reunited with an uncomfortable emptiness that’s made itself at home within his chest for the past four months. It makes him feel exposed, as if his body itself is an open wound. It’s these moments that he's come to fear the most: the nothingness and the silence. 

It makes him want to run. He’s good at that; at running. This time, though, he’s determined to see Bake Off through. At the very least, it's something to focus on, to fixate on, for the next six weeks. Remus will deal with everything else when he has to: for possibly the first time in his life, he is resolute that he’ll deal with the future when it happens. 

For now, he just has to survive the weekend.

Chapter Text

It’s the first challenge of the first day of the first week of Bake Off, and Sirius can feel the beginnings of a headache pressing on his temples. He’s thinking about ducking out of the tent and leaving Lily, his prettier, sunnier co-host, to the meet-and-greet when he finds himself staring into eyes the colour of rich, molten chocolate.

The chocolate eyes blink. Oh. It’s the tall man from the sandwich table. 

“We meet again, contestant.”

The man’s mouth quirks up at the corner, and he ducks his head. Sirius watches as his cheeks turn faintly pink. It is rather hot in here, he thinks. No wonder he’s flushed . Sirius thinks idly that he should probably ask the crew to turn the air conditioning on.

“Remus. My name’s Remus.”

“Ah, of course: our Welsh PhD student.” Remus nods jerkily. “So, Remus… ” Sirius tastes the name on his tongue. “I’ve never met a Remus before. Classics, perchance?”

Behind his bench, Remus stirs a fragrant raspberry jam—coulis, Sirius’s brain corrects—and shakes his head slowly. “No. But good catch: my Da was the Classics scholar. I, um. I study English lit.”

“Ah, English: my worst subject... well, worst after religious studies. Was never a very good Catholic, I'm afraid.”

The cameraman clears his throat and sends Sirius a sharp look from behind the camera. “Religion is a forbidden subject, Black. Did you even read your contract?”

Sirius blinks. The cameraman, Severus, has been nothing short of unpleasant to him all day. This wouldn’t ordinarily bother him, only Severus’s disregard for him has been particularly stark next to his clear—and unsettling, in Sirius’s opinion—admiration of Lily.

“Never fear, Sev, I’ve got all 100 pages memorised. No religion, politics, cussing, or canoodling.” Sirius turns to Remus and says, lower, “Pretty sure they wrote that in there just for me. I looked at Lily’s contract and there’s nothing about fraternisation. She can snog whoever she wants.”

Remus’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a darker pink. “That seems a little unfair...”

“Yes, it’s a real tragedy that Sev and I are contractually barred from acting on our love. I fear the embers of our passion will be all fizzled out by the time my contract ends.”

Severus glowers at him, but Sirius ignores him in favour of watching the reluctant smile that spreads across Remus’s face. Really, it’s just the suggestion of a smile, but Sirius wants to figure out how to make it stay there.

“So, what kind of literature do you study, Remus? Hold on, let me guess…” He pauses dramatically. “The Romantics.” Fitting, he thinks, for Windemere.

Remus shakes his head and Sirius’s eyes widen in surprise: he’d thought for sure that Remus was a Keats kind of guy. So, he tries again: “No? Woolf? Really? Hmm… Magical realism?”

Remus shakes his head again, but he’s biting his lip as he smiles, his eyes bright. At that moment, Sirius’s mind is flooded with images of hot chocolate and dancing in the rain. Odd. “Beat Poets?” 

Remus laughs. “Not quite. You know, for someone who claims to have been bad at English, you have an impressive knowledge of the different movements.”

“Hey, I never said I was bad at it; just that it was my second-to-worst subject.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Remus asks.

“That really depends on your perspective. Okay, last guess… Wilde?”

Remus nods enthusiastically, as if he can’t help himself. “Close enough. It’s Gothic lit.” 

“Ah, I should have known… Vampires! Yearning! Despair!”

Remus’s smile has blossomed into a grin now, and Sirius feels proud for putting it there. “That… pretty much sums it up, yeah."

From the conversation so far, Sirius has gotten the distinct impression that Remus is not the sort of person to offer up information about himself voluntarily. It makes Sirius all the more curious: he wants to figure Remus out. 

"So then," Sirius says. "What's your contribution to the illustrious field of Gothic literature?"

"My research is mainly about the idea of the monster, so yes, vampires, werewolves and all that.”

“That sounds fucking cool—sorry Severus, yes, I know, no swearing, yup, got it.” Sirius restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He swears once upon a time Channel4 had an edge. “I’ve always thought that blood sucking was an analogy for… you know. It’s rather sexy.” 

The light flush returns to Remus’s cheeks as he turns down the heat on the stove, putting the coulis to the side, his movements jerky. It occurs to Sirius in that moment that he probably wouldn’t have noticed that if he wasn’t watching Remus so closely. 

“Yes!" Remus says, nodding. "A lot of scholars have interpreted vampirism as an analogy for, er… sexuality, which in turn can also reveal a lot about—oh.” Remus’s blush deepens and he abruptly stops whisking his ricotta. He looks up at Severus apologetically. “Sorry, this probably isn’t appropriate for telly!”

Sirius waves him off, wanting to hear more about Remus’s sexy vampire thoughts. “Maybe so, but neither’s half the shit that I say—” Severus glares at Sirius from behind the camera again.

“You’re wasting everyone’s time here, Black.”

“I solemnly swear that I’ll make more of an effort to keep it PG for the kiddies. I’d really hate to scandalise Britain’s baking mums.” 

Severus mutters something under his breath, which Sirius ignores as he turns back to Remus, who’s watching him with an amused expression. 

“You know, it’s a good thing Lily’s talking to the bearded chap right now,” Sirius says. “She’s surprisingly deft with her fists. I’d show you the bruise she gave me the other day, but it’d mean flashing my unmentionables to the entire tent.”

Remus’s mouth quirks up in that slight half smile again. “It’s a shame: I’m sure Britain’s baking mums would love you for it. Some of the dads too, probably.”

Whatever he expected Remus to say, this wasn’t it, and it delights Sirius. James would like him, Sirius thinks.

Sirius is just opening his mouth to reply when Severus interrupts: “Most of this footage will be unusable. Sirius, could you please do your damn job?”

Once again, Sirius fights the urge to roll his eyes—really, truly fights it. Instead, he turns back to Remus. “Okay, okay, back to approved topics… So Remus, our delightful, scholarly Welshman: what inspired you to first start baking?”

Remus looks down at the bench, and Sirius thinks that he misses the warmth of Remus’ eyes. “Um, well, I sort of found myself with more time on my hands than I knew what to do with, so I started dabbling in bread—you know, stuff like focaccia—to take my mind off things. Then I started experimenting with more sweet things, and I noticed that it seemed to make my Ma happy, and I realised that it was making me happy too.” He rubs his neck self consciously. 

There's something about the tone of Remus's voice that makes Sirius suspect that there's a deeper meaning to Remus's words than he's letting on. While curiosity burns through him, he isn't going to press Remus about it. Not here, in front of the cameras. In front of Severus.

Instead, he says, “Well, you're in the right place now, Remus. Hey, can I call you Rem? Mu?”

Remus laughs. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but Sirius thinks that Remus’s laugh is coming much easier now than it was twenty minutes ago. “No, you may not.”

Sirius hums. “I’ll find you the perfect nickname, just you wait.”

“Joy,” Remus says joylessly, but his eyes are bright and Sirius’s stomach swoops. He really needs to eat; all the delicious smells wafting through the tent are not helping.

“Look, I’ll tell you what Remus, I know nothing about baking—seriously, I don’t even know why they hired me—but I’ve got a very good feeling about your sponge. It smells lovely.” 

Sirius leaves Remus’s station then, but even as he talks to the other contestants, he finds himself thinking about how Remus’s eyes glittered when he smiled.

***

For Remus, the rest of the morning passes in a surreal blur. For the signature challenge, each contestant has been asked to prepare their own ideation of the Victoria sponge cake. 

Remus flavours his sponge with lemon juice and zest, and whips sugar, ricotta, and limoncello into the cream. As well as fresh raspberries, he adds a layer of sharp raspberry coulis on the base of the sponge too. It’s a combination that Remus has made to enhance and elevate all the best parts of the original recipe. However, by the time of judging, Remus is nervous that he’s kept things too traditional. 

The judges are Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore. Minerva is widely regarded as the grandmother of British baking, and Remus is, in equal parts, in awe of and in fear of her. Then, there’s Albus, who famously trained at Le Cordon Bleu and is renowned for his delicate pastries and bon bons. He’s infamous amongst Bake Off fans for his indecipherable expressions and piercing blue eyes. 

Yet, much to Remus’s surprise, both judges enjoy his bake.

“This is a wonderful cake, Remus,” Minerva says. “I particularly admire how you’ve taken what makes a Victoria sponge good, and made it better . It sounds simple, but really it’s quite bold.”

Albus nods. “Indeed. I was worried that the ricotta would be too heavy, but it offers just the right amount of richness, especially with that limoncello.”

Sirius is standing next to the two judges, grinning around a mouthful of cake that he snuck while the judges weren’t looking. “It’s like eating clouds.”

The rest of the tent chuckle at Sirius’s comment, but Minerva nods thoughtfully. “Yes, Sirius is right. It’s such a delicate, light sponge. In fact, might I get the recipe from you, Remus?”

Remus nods, stunned. “I, um. Of course. Wow , thank you.”

As the judges move on to Arthur’s bench, Sirius turns around and gives Remus the thumbs up.

Remus returns the motion, and Sirius’s eyes crinkle when he grins. Remus thinks that maybe this isn’t so bad. Even if he gets eliminated tomorrow, it’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s already been more than he could have ever hoped for. 

Next up is the technical challenge. Having watched Bake Off in the past, it’s this challenge that Remus has been the most nervous about. He knows he’s not good under pressure, is prone to working himself up into a catatonic state, but he’s even worse when he isn’t able to prepare in advance. These are both, unfortunately, the main characteristics of the technical challenge.

Remus feels vaguely unwell as the judges depart the tent, Sirius shooing them: “Minnie, blue eyes: off you pop.”

Once the judges are out of the tent, Lily and Sirius turn to them. 

“So, my little beauties, your mission today is to make a flourless chocolate cake. This should be light and fluffy, but also decadent enough to rock Minerva's world.” Sirius winks in Remus’s general direction. “You have one and a half hours.”

“On your mark,” Lily starts.

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

At that, the tent flies into motion and Remus uncovers the tea towel concealing the ingredients. Having made a few cakes of this nature before, Remus knows that the majority of the lift is in the egg whites. Maintaining the air in them is vital in keeping the cake light and fluffy. 

It’s throughout that challenge that Remus becomes increasingly thankful that Arthur chose the bench in front of him. They have an easy, natural camaraderie: Arthur is talkative, but he doesn’t make Remus feel tired, and he doesn’t seem bothered when Remus isn’t all that responsive.

He learns that Arthur recently had a son and owns an antique store in Bristol. He’s also wearing a tie with ducks on it, which Remus is very envious of.

Throughout the technical Remus is a quiet storm, and by the end his bench is covered in sugar, egg, and other comestibles. He has a moment of horror where he realises he’s over-folded his batter and has to remind himself to breathe.

Arthur pats him on the shoulder. “You alright there, Remus? You’re looking a little pale. Here, I’ll fix you a cuppa.”

Like Remus, Arthur did well in the signature challenge that morning, but he ends up floundering the technical, over-whipping his eggs and burning the cake because he gets distracted admiring doilies. “You see this, Remus? Victorian lace! Isn’t that lovely—sorry, smell what? Oh dear, is that my cake?”

The final result is a little rough and ready, and when it comes to the judging, Albus is, in Remus’ opinion, rather harsh.

“Hmm. Inedible. A shame.”

Minerva smacks Albus on the arm and says, “Hush, Albus. It’s a little overdone, yes, but the technique is quite clearly there.” 

Instead of being upset, though, Arthur simply chuckles and says, “Oh dear! It didn’t do that at home!”

Some of them fare better than the others, like Kingsley, whose cake is, according to Albus, “Better than what I could have made myself.”

One contestant, Lucius, accidentally added salt instead of sugar, and he quietly scoffs at the judge’s criticism, his handsome face sour and contorted.

Remus does surprisingly well and the judges commend the flavour of his cake—“Very chocolatey! Yes, a beautiful, rich flavour”—but he was right in his assumption that he’d knocked too much of the air out. Rather than being moussey and light, it’s rich and silken. Still, Minerva comments, delicious —just not exactly what they were looking for.

In the end Remus places third, so he has a hard time feeling upset about the result.

Once the judging is over, he goes back to his bench to collect his things and to inspect the damage. He winces. Somehow, he managed to get chocolate splattered up the side of the tent beside his bench.

Sirius, this time accompanied by Lily, laughs when he sees it. “Remus, what happened? Looks like a tornado’s blown through the tent.”

His heart stutters when Sirius reaches out to lightly tug on one of Remus’s curls, and his hand comes away with chocolate on it. 

“There’s chocolate in your hair,” he says. Sirius starts to lift his hand to his lips, and for a terrifying moment Remus thinks he’s about to lick his chocolate-covered finger.

Lily bats Sirius’s hand away before he can and scoffs. “You’re a cretin, Black. Do you eat food off the floor, too?”

Sirius shrugs. “Waste not want not. Plus, you haven’t known true bliss until you’ve licked chocolate off—”

“Sirius! Children watch this show!”

Sirius cackles and they’re then escorted away by the camera crew, who need to take some more promotional shots outside the tent.

As Remus exits the tent, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, he feels a warm hand on his arm.

He looks up and his eyes are met with Sirius’s stormy eyes.

“Remus, congratulations.” He squeezes Remus’s arm, and then, as quickly as he appeared, he vanishes back under the tent flap. 

By the time that Remus is able to lie down that evening, he’s well and truly exhausted : the kind of full-body tired that he hasn’t experienced in months. It occurs to him then that he hasn’t thought about anything other than baking ( and Sirius, his mind helpfully supplies) all day.

As he stares at the ceiling, he almost feels as if he’s floating; his body tingly, and his mind comfortably buzzing.

His thoughts are broken by his phone vibrating on his chest. 

“Hey Marl.”

“How was it?” 

“Yeah, it was good. I did well.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, you goose egg. They picked you for a reason.”

“Minerva asked me for my sponge recipe.”

“Remus. What the fuck, that’s amazing!”

Remus laughs. “It was so surreal: Sirius said it tasted like clouds, and everyone thought it was a joke because, well, it’s Sirius, but then Minerva was like ‘no, he’s right, and I want the recipe!’ I think I blacked out for a moment, like just full-on disassociated.”

“Wait, Sirius ate your sponge? Sirius Black?”

“Yeah.”

“You just said that so casually. Like in the same way that someone says, ‘I ate toast for breakfast’ or ‘it rained today.’ Remus. What is your life right now?”

Remus laughs, because she’s right, and he’s been wondering the same thing. “I know.”

“So… What’s he like?”

"He’s, well… he’s kind of amazing, Marlene.” When he says this, he feels like he’s confessing a secret. It reminds him of the whispered secrets he and Marlene would pass back and forth as children—safe between them, entombed within their pillow fort.

“Go on…”

“Well first of all, he’s like a proper celebrity, all long hair and expensive, artfully ruffled clothes. But he’s shorter than I expected and his eyes are like the sea just after a storm.” 

Remus pauses, worried that he’s sounding too sappy. But then, he reminds himself, this is Marlene he’s talking to: Marlene who has heard all of his deepest fears and secrets since he was a child. 

So, he continues. “He’s also… He’s obviously charming, and kind of intense , but… I don’t know. It was so easy talking to him. I just say stuff and he fires right back at me, kind of like how it is with you, but different. Like, you know when you meet someone and you just click immediately? I was nervous at first, but it didn’t last long, which was weird. I mean, you know me: it usually takes me, like, ninety six business days to open up to someone. But the crew had to keep ushering him away from me. I really feel like we could’ve talked for hours... sorry, I’m rambling.”

Marlene is silent for a moment, and Remus has to check that he didn’t accidentally hang up on her with his ear. But no, still on the line.

“Wow.”

Remus smiles: small, but true. “Yeah.”

“What does he smell like?”

Remus splutters. “Marlene! I didn’t smell him, I was in the tent, ev—everything smelt like chocolate!”

“Ah well. Give him a whiff tomorrow, won’t you? For your old pal Marlene. A person’s scent can tell you a lot about them.”

Remus shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re a freak.”

“So are you, Lupin. It’s why we’re such bosom friends. Don’t think I've forgotten about the Teen Wolf incident.” 

Remus groans. Back in high school, Marlene accidentally had stumbled upon Remus’s folder of smutty fanfiction that he’d been writing on the down low. Not only was it embarrassing because he’d vehemently denied liking Teen Wolf—“It’s trash, Marlene. Utter trash, ” “No, it’s camp , you insufferable snob”—but he also hadn’t officially come out yet. Fortunately, he'd never really had to after Marlene bore personal witness to Remus’s gay werewolf fantasies. That, it seemed, was that .

Remus groans. “Shut up. I’m not sniffing Sirius. I’ve just met him, I’m not gonna jeopardise any potential friendship that we might have by acting like a degenerate.”

“Ah, forget it. You’re a lost cause. Tell him, Dorcas: he’s a lost cause!”

“Wait, Dorcas is there? She knows about the sterek thing?” Remus asks, his voice shrill.

He hears a unison of cackles through his phone speaker. 

“Marlene, you traitor!”

“She hasn’t told me anything, promise!” Dorcas’s voice pipes up. “But now I’m curious…”

“I hate you both,” Remus says, and hangs up.

He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes, the smell of roses and hotel room swirling around him. His cheeks are warm: partially from embarrassment, and partially from the warm feeling that’s been slowly radiating throughout his body since he set foot in the tent that morning. 

As he drifts off to sleep, smiling softly, he thinks of the smell of chocolate and stormy eyes.

Despite his lack of success the day before, Arthur is very cheery when Remus enters the tent. “Remus! Did you have a good sleep? I dreamt of custard!”

Remus doesn’t tell Arthur about his own dream from the night before: vague memories of his dream-self following a black, shaggy dog through a forest, the whole sky lit up in a brilliant silver. It feels oddly private.

Arthur doesn’t take his silence personally though, and a cup of tea appears in front of him. Arthur nods towards it encouragingly, and Remus is once again filled with an appreciation for this kind and quirky man.

It’s the day of the showstopper challenge: the final challenge of the week. Remus feels an odd sense of calm, which is stark in contrast to how he felt the day before. Perhaps it’s because he survived a technical challenge, but he’s feeling optimistic; a feeling seems to be shared by the other contestants. Still, it’s a competition, and although the atmosphere in the tent is relaxed and jovial, they’ve all banded together in a way that reminds Remus of people on a sinking ship.

Looking around, Remus notices a man at the back of the tent, glancing around nervously. Remus recognises him from the day before, and he feels bad that he can’t remember the man’s name. 

He’s standing alone and nobody seems to be paying him any attention. In face, nobody seems to have noticed him at all. In the chaos of the tent, this man seems to have been left behind. 

Remus can’t stand it. Perhaps it’s because of Remus’s own deep-set loneliness, something so constant that he often wonders if it’s just an innate part of his being, but he’s always felt a strong compulsion to shield other people from those kinds of feelings. 

He thinks of Arthur and the tea, and the way it makes him feel. He puts a teabag in a cup and puts the kettle on.

When Remus delivers the tea, with a particularly awkward flourish, the man turns red and ducks his head. “Oh… for me?”

Remus nods, and the man looks up at him, his eyes shimmering with gratitude.

“I’m Remus,” he says.

“I know. I’m Peter.” His voice is quiet and hesitant. Something about Peter reminds Remus of a mouse, small and vulnerable. Remus wants to protect him.

“I’m just over there if you, er… want to chat?”

Peter’s blue eyes are wide as he looks up at Remus, cupping his tea in his hands. “Okay.”

When Remus gets back to his bench, Arthur is watching him with warm eyes. 

“That was a kind thing you just did, Remus.”

“Hardly. He just looked lonely, and I… well, I really appreciate it when you make me tea. I thought he might like it too.”

Arthur hums. “I hadn’t even noticed how upset the poor lad looked, but you did. He looks much happier now.”

Remus nods, picking at the loose threads on the sleeve of his cardigan. He doesn’t think what he did was especially kind or brave. It’s what anyone else would do. But , his mind supplies, nobody else did .  

It’s not long later that the challenge begins. As Sirius calls “Bake!” his eyes meet Remus’s. In that moment, he feels untouchable.

“Hello Remus. You did really well yesterday, how are you feeling about the showstopper?”

“Hey Lily, hi Sirius. Um, pretty good, I think. A bit nervous, yeah, a bit scared yesterday was just a fluke. As you can see, I’m successfully manifesting positive thoughts.”

Sirius throws his head back as he laughs, and Remus tries not to stare at the pale skin of his neck.

“So,” Sirius says, after he’s composed himself. “What are you making for me today, Remus? It’s smelling very nostalgic in your corner of the tent.”

For you Sirius, he thinks wildly, I’d make you anything . Instead, he says: “It’s supposed to be a five-layer spiced apple cake with brown butter cream cheese icing and a miso caramel drizzle.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’ll be decorated with dried apple and praline, that will—fingers crossed—somewhat resemble this woodcut illustration.” Remus motions to the picture he’s using as a reference.

“That sounds incredible, Remus,” Lily says. “Tell me, what’s the inspiration behind your bake today? The brief was ‘storybook’: how are you incorporating that into your cake?”

“Quite literally, to be honest. It’s all inspired by these woodcut illustrations from one of my favourite childhood books, which I inherited from my Oma. It’s this collection of folk stories from around the world, but re-told from the perspective of the monsters and the villains. As a child, I was intrigued by how all the villains of these stories were outcasts; often marginalised and misunderstood. Obviously as a kid I couldn’t really put any of that into words, but I always wanted to understand them. To hear their stories too.” Remus clears his throat, feeling as if he’s revealed too much. “So yeah, I dunno. It really struck a chord with me. And it’s kind of the root of my current research, so I guess in that way, this bake’s kind of an ode to the past and the future.”

“That’s lovely, Remus,”  Lily says. Her smile is kind and reaches her green eyes, making them shine. He decides he rather likes Lily.

Sirius doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s watching Remus closely, thoughtfully.

“Well,” Lily says. “I for one can’t wait to see what you do, especially if it’s anything like yesterday.”

“Good luck, Remus.” Sirius voice is slightly gruff, but he’s smiling.

Remus feels his cheeks warming, and he ducks his head. His caramel is bubbling softly. “Thanks guys.”

The first three hours speed by, and much like yesterday, Remus’ bench quickly becomes a war-zone of flour, apple shavings, and peanut brittle.

Remus has just finished making his praline when Sirius approaches him again—this time, without Lily. 

“So, my little Gothic scholar; are you a music fan? What do you listen to when you bake? I personally have a penchant for Carly Rae Jepsen.”

Remus blinks: whatever he was expecting, it was not this, and he fights the urge to smile at how disarmingly Sirius it is. 

“Um, a bit of everything, really. I find baking meditative, so I like to play music that matches that. A bit of classical, um, bird sounds—” Sirius snorts. “—lots of Fleet Foxes—although, to be honest, I listen to them most of the time anyway…”

“I should have known you’d be a folky sort of lad, what with your Arts degree and lust for corduroy and cardigans.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a cliché, Sirius?”

Sirius’s eyes sparkle at Remus over the Kitchen Aid. “Clichés are clichés for a reason—"

Lily, who Remus doesn’t notice arriving, smacks Sirius on the arm with a tea towel. “Oi! I saw you reaching for Remus’s praline, Black. Don’t deny it.”

Sirius is rubbing his arm, his grey eyes narrowed, as he says, “Lily Evans: so violent, so cruel . I can’t believe they call you England’s sweetheart. T Swift would never throw hands.”

Lily rolls her eyes at Sirius. “And I’ve never understood why anyone would ever fawn over you tossers. This generation’s Beatles? Funny. One Direction, on the other hand...”

Sirius gapes at Lily, and Remus fights off a frightening urge to giggle as he carefully carves his apples into wolves. “You wound me, Evans, truly. I didn’t think you’d ever stoop so low. Remus, defend my honour! The Marauders or One Direction?”

Remus stills, afraid of answering honestly. He doesn’t want to alienate Sirius and ruin the easy, friendly rapport they’ve developed by revealing that he’s secretly a fan. He also doesn’t want to offend Sirius either. “I, um. I really don’t have a preference. I like Harry Styles, though?”

Sirius gapes at Remus as Lily cackles. “See, Black? Not so hot after all.”

“I’m actually heartbroken right now. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Remus laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I also really liked your solo album too. Lion’s Heart is a beautiful song.”

At that, Sirius perks back up. “So, you are a man of taste, thank god. Y’know, they wanted me to take that song off the record—”

Looking equal parts bemused and annoyed, Lily interrupts. “Okay Sirius, I know you love talking about yourself, but you’ve bothered Remus for long enough. We’ve still got five other contestants to talk to, and less than an hour to go!”

Sirius looks oddly put out at that, and Remus hates it: hates the way it makes his brow furrow and his jaw tense. 

Remus tries to catch Sirius’s eye, giving him a small smile. This works to bring a fraction of warmth back into Sirius’s expression, but something about his hesitant smile and distant eyes makes Remus’s chest hurt.

Sirius is biting his lip and still looking worlds away as Lily steers him in Peter’s direction, saying, “Bye Remus, good luck! Looks amazing.”

Ducking his head, Remus returns to his apples. He thinks back to the very first time he saw the Marauders live, and how his gaze had been captured by the long-haired man who he’d previously shrugged off as “just the pretty one.” He remembers watching Sirius that night, so full of energy, a sparkling, shimmering thing, and thinking, I’ve had it all wrong . 

He pictures a teenage millionaire whose darkest moments decorated the fronts of magazines to be packaged, formatted, and sold. Remus knows that Sirius’s career has had its fair share of rocky moments, and in the past he’s tried not to pay attention to it, his heart hurting for the young man who seemed to be so obviously struggling with the weight of it all. 

Everyone else seemed to revel in Sirius’s pain: from the heavily-publicised rehab stint, to the explosive break up of the Marauders, which fractured down the middle with James and Sirius on one side and Fabian and Gideon on the other. Brothers versus brothers, and all rumoured to be Sirius Black’s fault.

He thinks of who Sirius presents himself as: a mask of easygoing and impulsive energy, which is at its best charming and at its worst careless. 

Then, Remus thinks of the Sirius that he’s talked to today. Impulsive, yes, but also kind. And sensitive.  

At the start of Lion’s Heart , Sirius whispers, “Listen to my bleeding heart,” so Remus does, he does .

Despite the knowledge that one of them will be going home, the final judging of the weekend is relaxed and even fun .

Remus, to his surprise, fares well, and the judges commend him on his flavours. 

“It’s baffling to me that something so neat has come from such a disastrous workstation. Are you like this at home as well, Remus?” Asks Minerva.

Remus blushes. “Unfortunately. I’m the bane of my mother’s existence: I can’t seem to bake without destroying the kitchen.”

“Well I know why she puts up with it. This is sensational, Remus. Truly.”

“Minerva’s right,” Albus adds. “These are some pretty strong flavours that can be overpowering. I wasn’t sure how they’d work together, but here they’re surprisingly balanced. It’s comforting and delicious. Good work.”

“Thank you. Wow.”

Arthur does well with his pina colada cake—”Very boozy: just how I like it!”—and Peter’s ginger cake is a resounding hit with the judges, even if it’s a bit “rough and ready.” 

Remus doesn’t win star baker, although, somewhat horrifyingly, he discovers that he was the runner up. Instead it’s Kingsley, with his strong forearms and chiselled jawline, who manages to snag the title with his black forest gateau that Minerva says “redefined” everything she thought she knew and loved about black forest gateau.

In the end, the contestant to go home is Lucius, a man who would be handsome if not for the sour expression permanently etched across his face. He tuts when his name is called out, and Remus gives him a sympathetic smile even if he’s secretly relieved.

Sirius still isn’t back to his bubbly, enthusiastic self from earlier that day, but as they’re all filing out of the tent he offers Remus a smile that is small but so sweet that it manages to take Remus’s breath away.

“See you next week, contestant.”

***

———

Prongs: Im watching it

Prongs: Lol

Padfoot: lol yourself

Prongs: U r so obvious

Padfoot: ??

Prongs: I can see u salivating thru the TV screen

Padfoot: i mean it’s literally a baking show

Prongs: Ur lost in his eyes 

Prongs: In his… pools of dark, melted… swirling…. 

Prongs: Chocolate

Padfoot: lol fuck

Prongs: Dreamy

Padfoot: you’re an actual poet

Padfoot: please tell me the choc is tempered at least

Prongs: Lol

Prongs: Contestant

Prongs: Is that some weird foreplay thing??

Padfoot: i genuinely have no idea you’re on about sir

Prongs: Cute guy!!!

Prongs: Can’t rem his name but v tall scholarly dreamboat w/ the cool cardigan

Prongs: Ring any bells

Prongs: It should

Prongs: Cause I can feel the tension from my living room

Prongs: I feel like I should avert my eyes lol

Padfoot: you are a ridiculous person

Prongs: So u don’t deny it

Prongs: Interesting

Padfoot: listen i mayyyy have gotten lost in his eyes for like 

Padfoot: a second

Padfoot: maybe even 2

Padfoot: but i fall in love w everyone i meet for like 10 mins

Padfoot: you know this

Prongs: Yea I am v well aware of u and ur flighty tempestuous ways

Prongs: It’s v inconvenient

Prongs: This b different tho

Padfoot: he’s fun to annoy!

Prongs: Doesnt look annoyed where Im sitting

Prongs: More... amused

Prongs: Flushed…

Padfoot: i think he was just hot

Prongs: :side eye:

Padfoot: shut up. i mean the tent was hot. god

Prongs: “What are u making for me today Remus?” 

Prongs: Vomiting 

Padfoot: byeeee

Prongs: Ttyl Romeo

Prongs: PS is Lily Evans that fit in person? 

Padfoot: fuck off 

Prongs: Xoxoxoxoxox

———

———

Marlene: remus

Marlene: REMUS

Remus: MARLENE

Marlene: omg

Marlene: omg!!!!

Remus: ???

Marlene: :)

Remus: :-O ?

———

Chapter Text

Comments on “Episode One of Great British Bake Off 2022: What You Missed”

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: i love u sirius

HalfBloodPrince666: @SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 Sirius Black is a talentless berk who’s only famous because of his parents' money and his face (which, I’ll admit, is attractive even if it’s also smug and punchable). He’s rude, selfish, and a diva. All you so-called “fans” are just ignorant children.

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: @HalfBloodPrince666 ok whatever, u keep commenting on every post about him. ur literally obsessed. get a life lmao 

HalfBloodPrince666: @SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 I’m not obsessed with Black. I just think people deserve to know the truth.

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: @HalfBloodPrince666 yea and the truth is he’s sexy. bye 

yee2thehaw: um did anyone else catch sirius black checking out remus at 15:45?????? just me? ok

SaveTheBees: @yee2thehaw And Remus’ blush at 16:17!!! Also the way that Sirius talked to him more than any other contestant XD

_BigChungus_: @SaveTheBees there's a rumour that they had to cut out most of their conversations bc sirius kept getting carried away and saying inappropriate stuff lol

yee2thehaw: @_BigChungus_ seriously??? holy shit, just imagine all the flirting we’re missing out on T_T

SaltnVinegarCrisps: i want kingsley to knead me like a sourdough loaf

xxhufflethepuffxx: Mary is SO sweet omg I want to be her friend

YeeToTheHaw: @xxhufflethepuffxx the way she helped hagrid with his cake when it got stuck even though she had just started decorating her own???? literal minutes before the deadline????? obsessed

DeerRCool: Lily Evans is smokin

HalfBloodPrince666: @DeerRCool she’s an incredibly intelligent and kind hearted young woman. I cannot fathom why someone would try to reduce her to her looks, even if she has stunning features and an ample bosom.

DeerRCool: @HalfBloodPrince666 :(

***

The next week flies by, and it’s not long before Remus finds himself back in Windermere for week two of Bake Off.

It’s been an odd week for Remus after an even odder weekend. After his weekend in the Bake Off tent, Remus arrived home to a suffocating, stifling feeling. He doesn’t know if it’s always felt like that, and he’d just never noticed, or if, in the span of the weekend, something fundamental has changed within him. 

To the logical part of Remus’s brain, the latter seems impossible; it’s just been a single weekend. But, he supposes, it was no ordinary weekend: something about the Bake Off tent, and the trials within, were in such stark contrast to the comfort he usually sought. Familiarity, the known . And while the unknown is still terrifying to Remus, he’s surprised to find the prospect of it exciting. Liberating , even.

But, he thinks, he’s getting ahead of himself. 

“Remus!” Arthur says when Remus settles behind his bench. “Had a good week?”

“Hi Arthur. Yeah, not bad. You?”

“Lovely to be home again! Set the kitchen on fire though—Molly wasn’t too happy about that! Not that it was the first time…”

“Oh no! What happened?”

“An exploded souffle!”

“Exploded?” Remus laughs, his chest feeling lighter than it has in days. “How’d you manage that?”

“Gosh, I wish I knew! Just one of those baking mysteries, I’m afraid.” Arthur shrugs. 

Remus nods sagely. “Yes, I’m familiar with those.”

It’s then that Peter joins them, shyly sidling up to Remus. “Hi Remus,” he says. “Hi Arthur,” he says, inclining his head towards Arthur who winks at him. 

“Hey Peter,” Remus says. “How was your week?”

“Absolutely dreadful!” Peter hangs his head. “Nothing worked out; this weekend is going to be a disaster!”

Remus puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder and pats it softly in a way he hopes is soothing and not strange. “We’re all in the same boat here, Pete. Arthur set his kitchen on fire, if that’s any consolation.”

Peter’s blue eyes widen, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape, and Remus thinks he looks curiously like a goldfish. “Shite, Arthur. How’d you manage that?”

Arthur shrugs again and chuckles lightly as he prepares three cups of tea. “Exploding eggs!”

Peter gasps, as if he’s remembered something important, and turns to Remus. “Have you ever microwaved an egg? They’re like bombs!”

“Like… a whole egg?”

Peter nods, his expression very sincere. “Don’t do it Remus. It’s not worth it.”

Remus is slightly stunned. “I’ll, er, take your word for it.”

The three of them continue to chat while they sip their tea, and they’re joined by Kingsley, who shows them footage of his dogs competing in a puppy tournament earlier that week.

“Look at Nibbles go! Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Kingsley wipes away a tear as he replays the video of a leggy whippet jumping over hurdles. 

Remus is quite taken aback—and charmed—by this overt display of emotion from the usually-stoic Kingsley. It’s also inspiring to him, seeing Kingsley’s open adoration and devotion to his dogs. Maybe that’s what Remus needs: a dog. Something to love and be loved by in return.

Kingsley pockets his phone and sniffs. “Sorry, I’m just so proud of them.”

“Nothing to apologise for, dear Kingsley!” Arthur says. “When Bill first said ‘Da’ I cried so hard I popped a blood vessel in my eye! All happy tears, of course.”

Remus zones out to the sound of conversation, smiling every so often and taking sips of his tea. It’s not long later that the judges and hosts enter the tent. This week, Sirius is wearing a leather jacket. Remus’s brain short-circuits for a full minute and he misses the start of the introductions.

“—as you all know, the judges are asking you to prepare a custard tart. The flavours, of course, are all up to you, and how you handle the custard is entirely up to you, but it must contain eggs—with, of course, the exception of Mary, who being vegan is permitted to use aquafaba instead.”

“Now, my little lovelies, you have 2 hours to prepare the custard tart of Albus’ and Minerva’s dreams.” Sirius winks at them. “So, on your mark…”

“Get set!” Lily sings.

“Crepe! Haha, kidding—ow, Lily—bake!”

At that, the tent swings into motion.

“Hello Remus, I love your cardigan this week. Very festive, appropriately eggy.”

Remus smiles, looking down at his cardigan. It’s one of his favourites: it’s a sage green colour, and has little chickens, eggs, and vegetables—parsnips, carrots, radishes—intertwined in the pattern. “Thanks, Sirius. My mum knitted it.”

Sirius blinks and says, “That’s adorable,” and, strangely, sounds as if he means it. 

Remus scrambles for something to respond with, then, and his brain hiccups up a response: “I, er, love your… pants?”

Internally, Remus admonishes himself. Sirius is wearing the same black pants from last weekend that so perfectly hug his form. So gay, so gay, so very, very gay.

To Remus’s surprise, Sirius doesn’t look weirded out or disturbed by Remus’s comment. Instead, he smiles, although his eyes glimmer with something dangerously close to mischief. “Thank you, they’re currently cutting off the circulation to several of my appendages. Beauty is pain.”

Lily, who has been standing beside Sirius with a bemused smile on her face, rolls her eyes at Sirius’s comment. “How are you, Remus? You were so close to being our very first star baker!”

In that moment, Remus can’t help the smile that blooms across his face. He hopes he doesn’t look too happy with himself on camera; he doesn’t want people to think he’s full of himself. “It hasn’t hit me yet, I don’t think. It still kind of feels like a dream. I’m just trying to survive.”

Lily smiles, and it makes her eyes light up like a spring forest dappled in sunlight. “I know that feeling. And how’s the PhD going?”

“Oh god—I mean, it’s certainly going.”

Sirius snorts and Remus is almost annoyed at how handsome he manages to make it sound. “You know what? No PhD student I’ve ever talked to seems to enjoy it.” 

“Talk to a lot of PhD students, Sirius?” Lily says, her tone dry but fond.

Sirius has opened his mouth, clearly about to retort, when Remus interjects, “No, he’s right. I don’t even know why I’m doing this to myself. My supervisor once said, ‘you can have a life, or you can do a PhD.’”

Both of them laugh then, and Remus feels warm and floaty inside. He’s never been the funny guy and only Marlene really ever laughs at his jokes, but he’s surprised by how nice it feels to make people laugh. 

Then, Sirius, in the way that Sirius does, comes out with, “Do you like chickens, Remus?”

Remus’s amusement and bewilderment at Sirius’s apparent randomness is trumped by his enthusiasm about chickens. Nodding, he says, “I love them. We always had hens around, ever since I was very little. It’s kind of funny, really. Most kids get a dog or a hamster: I got hens.”

“You know, my uncle Alphard once owned a duck that slept on his bed.”

“Oh, I love ducks! What was its name?” Remus asks.

“Tom BombaBill. Alphy desperately wanted to join the Tolkien Society.”

“Did it work?”

“No, I think they were offended, actually.”

Remus snorts, and it’s a snort far less elegant than Sirius’s. Nonetheless, Sirius’s smile widens and Remus decides he doesn’t care. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Do you ever let your chickens on your bed, Remus?” Sirius asks.

“Well, we try to keep them outside, but one hen, Lottie, always seems to find her way inside. I often wake up with her on my pillow.”

“Go Lottie! A girl after my own heart.”

Remus doesn’t really know how to respond to this, his brain having frozen at Sirius saying the word “heart”—pathetic, I am pathetic—and the implications that his comment carries. 

Sirius, charismatic as ever, seems to have become well-versed in handling Remus’s occasional stiltedness and barrels on. “So then, chicken boy: what’s your stance on the great chicken debate? Are they good or evil?”

Remus considers Sirius’s question. “Ultimately they’re good but they have the potential for great evil.”

“A wise answer. I’d expect nothing less from our Remu! … Hmm, that’s still not quite right, is it?”

“Sirius, please…” Lily says, sounding weary. “Not everyone in this tent needs a nickname.” 

He ignores her. “How about… Mus? Ugh. No, that’s awful. Moo?”

“Stop, Sirius,” Remus says, laughing. “I don’t need a nickname! Just Remus is fine.”

“Well, Just Remus, that’s where you’re wrong.” Sirius’s expression is very serious. “Everyone needs a nickname. Lilypad over here loves her new nickname, don’t you Lilypad?”

“Sod off, Sirius.”

“And, of course, there’s ol’ Sniffle-us behind the camera. Poor lad has an exceptionally stubborn cold! Terrible stuff. He’s accepting donations in the form of tissues.”

Remus looks at Severus in alarm to see him, rather unsurprisingly, glaring at Sirius. The cameraman is such a constant fixture in the tent that Remus often forgets he’s there. 

“Don’t mind his expression, all sullen and surly, as if he abhors me—” 

“Anyway,” Lily says, interjecting, giving Sirius a stern look, who rolls his eyes. “Let’s not forget why we’re here! What are you making today, Remus?”

“Well, if all goes to plan, it should be a dark chocolate custard tart, decorated with white chocolate mousse. The base is a chocolatey biscuit with cacao nibs mixed in. I really like the crunch that they offer.”

Lily smiles fondly. “Sounds very chocolatey.”

“It’s a chocolate party,” Sirius says.

Remus blushes. “I do love chocolate.”

As Sirius and Lily are leaving Remus’s bench to go chat to Peter, Sirius quickly dips his finger in the mousse and puts it in his mouth. For the second time that day, Remus’s brain completely short circuits.

“Mmm, delicious!” Sirius says, and skips after Lily. Remus stands there, staring after Sirius, his whisk forgotten in his hand.

Arthur laughs, shocking Remus from his daze. “I didn’t know Sirius liked men! Good for him.” He turns back to his own bench and starts humming Here Comes The Sun.

Remus blinks at him. He wants to say: what do you mean!? How can you tell? But instead, he says nothing. 

Like the first weekend, Remus is surprised by how well the judging of his signature bake goes.

“First of all, this is very tidy. Very precise piping. Once again, I wouldn’t have guessed that based on the state of your bench,” Minerva says. Remus winces, although she has a point. It’s almost comical: his neat little custard tart juxtaposed with the chaos of his bench.

“You love your chocolate, don’t you Remus?” Albus says. 

Behind Albus, Sirius winks, and Remus can feel his cheeks warming.

Albus hums around a mouthful of tart. “Delicious.”

Minerva nods in agreement. “Mmm, yes. Rich, creamy.” 

“No soggy bottom either!” 

“I rather enjoy the texture of the cocoa nibs.”

“Thank you,” Remus says. “I hoped you might.”

“I can’t help thinking it’s missing something,” Minerva says. “It’s so much chocolate, and while it is delicious, I keep imagining how it would benefit from something fruity.”

“I agree. It needs something to cut through the richness.”

Remus nods jerkily. It’s not unfair, and it’s not even a hugely critical assessment, but it fills his stomach with butterflies nonetheless.

“Remus,” Minerva says. “I say this with affection: would it be too much to ask you to keep your station tidier? You’re giving the clean up crew a run for their money. Your bench should come with a government warning as a disaster zone. In all my time on this show, no contestant has ever managed to get egg on the roof of the tent.”

“That’s our boy,” Sirius says. “Remus Disaster Lupin.”

Remus rubs the back of his neck, feeling overwhelmed and flushing furiously. Still, he manages to say, “I’ll see what I can do. I kind of, um, become unaware of my surroundings when I’m baking.”

“It doesn’t help that you have such long limbs, I’m sure,” Minerva offers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus catches Sirius’s eyes sweeping up his body, as if assessing him and his limb length. 

Remus bites his lip to stop the pleased smile that threatens to spread across his face. “Yes,” he says. “My long legs are definitely to blame for the stray egg.”

***

Next is the technical challenge, and once his bench is cleared—Remus, blushing furiously, thanks the clean-up staff, “Thank you, thank you so much, I really don’t know why I’m like this”—he stands behind it, ready to hear the instructions.

“Any advice, Albus?”

“Treat the eggs with the respect you wish to receive.”

“… Naturally,” Sirius drawls. “Alright, off you pop!”

Lily and Sirius turn back to the contestants. “The judges would like you to make a chocolate soufflé—”

Arthur gasps. “Oh no.”

“Better get the fire extinguisher ready, Arthur,” Remus whispers.

“—which, of course, must be light and fluffy, and most importantly, must have some lift and hold it. It cannot sink! This is the golden rule of soufflé!”

“Yes, and it’s a golden rule which has seen many soufflé enjoyers foiled! Surrender and bow down to the mighty egg.”

“… Thank you, Sirius.”

“No problem, Lily. Everything I do is to make you chuckle.”

“How charming,” Lily says, neither chuckling nor smiling. “Alright my lovely bakers, you have one hour.”

Remus has never been so afraid of an egg in his life than in this technical challenge.

“Arthur, this is horrible.”

Arthur is frowning at his mixture. “All I can picture is exploding eggs… terrible stuff.”

“Hey Remus.” Remus looks up: it’s Mary, who is currently dappled in gooey soufflé mix.

“Hi Mary. Is everything… alright?”

Mary laughs, and it’s full-bodied and infectious. “I was actually wondering if I could borrow some cocoa powder? I’m all out. I dropped my mix.” She motions proudly to her soufflé-speckled body.

Remus snorts lightly, but makes sure to follow it up with a smile that he hopes comes across as one of solidarity and not one of scorn. “Of course you can. Please, help yourself. I also have plenty of extra eggs if you need them.”

She grins at Remus. “Ooh, yeah, thank you! I was gonna go thieve them from someone else, but if you have extra eggs to spare…” Remus pushes the eggs towards her, and smiles to himself as she trots back to her bench, cocoa and eggs in hand.

Remus looks over to Arthur to see that he’s already watching him and smiling. “Look at you!”

“What?”

“Have you ever considered being a teacher? I think you have the right temperament.”

“Well, what else is there to do with an arts degree?” Remus jokes. In all honesty, the thought of standing in front of a class and talking fills Remus with horror. But, if he puts that horror to the side and thinks about teaching the students individually… maybe. 

Arthur rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Ah, that’s a load of hogwash; an arts degree is very versatile! But you really should consider it. I think you’d be wonderful.”

Remus hums and leaves it at that. With anyone else, he’d be worried that the other person would interpret his lack of response as disinterest, but by now Remus knows that Arthur understands his silences. They’re not silences of disinterest, but of thought. Remus isn’t one to use words meaninglessly, and sometimes that means it takes him a while to find the right words. 

The only exception to this rule seems to be Sirius. Around Sirius, Remus finds himself running his mouth in ways that are both frightening and liberating. Something about Sirius’s ease with words makes Remus feel at ease, and he never knows what he’s about to say until the words are coming out of his mouth. It’s strange and disconcerting. And lovely.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

“Manifesting positive thoughts again, Remus?” Remus looks up to see Sirius standing in front of him, holding his hands behind his back in a way that makes him look almost polite . Something about it—also aided by Remus’s mild hysteria in the face of his shrunken soufflé—makes Remus burst out laughing. Once he starts, he can’t stop, and he doubles over as his stomach begins to hurt.

Sirius laughs along with him, looking, to his credit, only slightly confused. “It’s happened: the eggs have claimed their first victim.”

“Sirius,” Remus says, chest heaving. “This is a mess. I am a mess.”

“It looks okay to me. I mean, all soufflé sink a bit, don’t they?” 

“My soufflé inverted.”

“Well… at least there’s no egg on the roof of the tent this time? Your bench is very tidy actually. Well done, you.”

Remus lowers himself down onto the floor and hugs his knees. It all dawns on him: there’s less than ten minutes of the challenge left. There’s no way he has time to make another batch of soufflé and then bake it. It’s all beyond help, he’s beyond help. He’s going to come last and then be disqualified. 

His head drops to his hands and he starts to rock back and forth. “Oh god. Oh god. I’m fucked.”

It’s then that everything around Remus starts to descend into chaos.

Remus is vaguely aware of Sirius trying to wave away the cameras—

”Go away, Snivellus.” 

“I’m just doing my job, Black.” 

“Do it somewhere else then, nobody needs to see this. … Seriously, piss off!”

“Black, let go of my camera—no, don’t throw it, jesus christ, Lily, help, Black’s gone mental!”

“Sirius! You can’t attack the camera crew!”

“I didn’t attack the crew, just the camera! Anyway, it’s his fault for not respecting Remus’s boundaries!”

—Remus feels a soft hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Remus,” Arthur says softly.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Remus mutters into his hands.

Another hand is on his shoulder now. “Thank you, Arthur, you can get back to your soufflé. I’ve got this.” It’s Lily.

“Throw up,” Remus says, his voice thick. “I’m going to throw up.”

Lily shushes him, gets him to his feet, and quickly but gently eases him out of the tent. She rubs his back as he empties his stomach in the bushes, rubbing soothing patterns into his cardigan.

“You’ll—eugh. You’ll be a really good mum one day, Lily,” he says weakly.

She chuckles. “Thank you, Remus… How are you feeling?”

Remus pauses. “Better… I think.” He recalls the raised voices. “What happened back there?”

Lily bites her lip. “Sirius had an… incident.”

Remus feels acid rising up his throat again and swallows, wincing. “Incident?”

“He, uh, may have thrown Severus’s camera into the garden? They’re still trying to find it, actually, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it ended up in a rose bush.” Lily chuckles, sitting down next to Remus. They’re facing the lake and the distant Windermere peaks. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Well, aside from the fact that he’s impulsive and ridiculous? He was trying to protect you. You know, in his own special way.” Lily smiles softly at Remus, and then her face falls into something more serious and forlorn. “He… struggles with the cameras, sometimes. Although the camera crew are lovely, they really are, this stuff gets the show views. It’s drama, and the network loves it… but it’s also you when you’re vulnerable. And Sirius knows what that’s like. He knows how that feels, and what it can do, and he doesn’t want any of you to experience that too.”

Remus fiddles with the sleeve of his cardigan, his heart hurting for Sirius. He knows exactly what Lily’s talking about, and he feels a strong, uncharacteristic urge to punch everyone who has ever called Sirius dramatic or a diva. “That’s… really sweet.”

“It is. He’s actually rather sweet, as I’m coming to realise… albeit also completely ridiculous. I’ve literally never met such a ridiculous person.”

Remus huffs out a laugh. That, he thinks, is all part of Sirius’s charm.

Lily nudges his knee with her own. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. It feels less like life or death now.” He groans. “I’m embarrassed though. I can’t believe I was the first person to crack.”

“Just like an egg,” Lily says, winking. “And you won’t be the last. Anyway, don’t worry about feeling embarrassed. I don’t think anyone noticed you: they were too busy watching Sirius battle Severus and his camera.”

At that, Remus laughs, and after a moment Lily joins him, and they both laugh until their stomachs are sore. The wind sighs and the lake glitters in the distance, and Remus thinks that even if he is disqualified, he’ll remember this day forever: not just as a failure, or a disaster, but also as something special. A treasure.

“You’ve all had a bit of a dramatic afternoon, so we’ve been told,” Minerva says.

“Just some host-on-cameraman crimes,” Lily says mildly.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’ve apologised to Severus and to the rest of the camera crew. I promise: no more lobbing cameras into the garden... even if they’re clearly being used to film ethically questionable content and breaching people’s privacy—”

“Thank you, Sirius,” Albus says. “That’ll be all.” 

“I think we’ll all be glad to leave today’s, er… unfortunate events behind us. Shall we get on to the judging, then?” Minerva says.

The minutes leading up to the judging are the most painful Remus has experienced on the show so far, and he swallows thickly as the judges approach his soufflé.

Albus stares down at the soufflé, not saying a word. He looks back up at the contestants, then, and his silence is worth a thousand words.

Minerva, at least, says, “We’ve had a bit of an oopsie here, haven’t we? These soufflé appear to be rather, er… shrivelled.”

Despite himself, Remus snorts. On his right, Arthur links his pinky with Remus’s, and on his left, Peter does the same with his other hand. He can’t help smiling in that moment, despite everything. 

As the judges move on to the next soufflé, Remus finds himself still smiling. Sirius catches his eye and offers a small, nervous smile. Remus grins back and watches as Sirius’s smile becomes broader and more sure of itself. Sirius winks and points to Severus’s back, making a face. Remus ducks his head, aware that cameras are focused on him, and laughs silently. 

When he looks back up, Sirius is focused on whatever Albus and Minerva are saying, but his cheeks are pink and there’s the hint of a smile lingering on his mouth.

“In last place… are these unfortunately shrivelled soufflé. Whose were these?” Albus says, his face unreadable.

Remus raises his hand.

“Remus… What happened?” Minerva says

“I was bested by eggs, I’m afraid. Not enough respect.” Albus chuckles. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’m surprised: you’re usually so meticulous… But I also couldn’t help noticing, your station looks very tidy this round… Perhaps disaster is the secret to your success?” 

“Remus Disaster Lupin!” Sirius sings, and everyone laughs. 

***

Sirius wakes up on Sunday with a pounding headache, nine texts from James, and four missed calls from his publicity agent. Shit.

———

Prongs: Is it true then??

Prongs: U beat up a cameraman???

Prongs: With those arms????

Prongs: Lmao 

Prongs: Was he filming ur bad side?

Prongs: I love u lol

Prongs: PS: don’t go on twitter

Prongs: Its scary

Prongs: <3333

———

———

Emmeline: [Missed call]

Emmeline: [Missed call]

Emmeline: [Missed call]

Emmeline: [Missed call]

Emmeline: Morning Sirius, I know you’re busy today with Bake Off but I’d appreciate it if you could call me at your earliest convenience.

Emmeline: It’s important.

———

Sirius drops his head into his hands and sighs. It’s as if there’s something innately wrong with him: everything he touches has the habit of turning to shit, and he should have known Bake Off would be no different. 

Still, as he pictures Remus—sweet, soft, sarcastic Remus—on the ground shaking, he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. He can still see the look on Severus’s face when he saw Remus drop to the ground. Glee. He was excited. Even thinking about it makes Sirius feel sick.

He knows he went too far, he usually does, but he can’t shake the belief that it was still the right thing to do. 

But, again, it’s not Sirius’s intentions that usually get him into trouble. It’s his methods.

At that thought, his phone rings again. He groans, drops back onto his bed, and picks up.

“Hey Em.”

“Care to explain why twitter is saying that you assaulted a cameraman?”

Sirius snorts. “I didn’t touch him. I just stole his camera and tossed it in a bush. It’s hardly a felony.”

“It’s been a week, Sirius. A week . You promised this would be different.”

“It is different.” His voice is tight and he tries to swallow down frustration. Emmeline is not his enemy. “I know it wasn’t right… I know that, okay? But what would you have done? Remus was on the ground having a fucking anxiety attack, and this bellend cameraman was trying to film him! It was messed up.”

“Remus…” Emmeline starts, and Sirius knows that tone.

“It’s not like that, Em. Really.”

“I have eyes, you know.”

“Then use them. Anyway, it’s not like I hypothetically could do anything, even if I wanted to. And yeah, thanks, by the way. Nice to know you think I’m such a slag that I need a personalised fraternisation clause in my fucking contract.” 

“I don’t think you’re a slag, Sirius, and I wouldn’t have a problem with it if you were. I just know you. You’re like a dog: you gravitate towards warmth and company. After the whole Fabian fiasco, I could so easily picture you falling into the arms of some doe-eyed baker who seems so sweet and so humble, and nothing at all like Fabian, who then turns around and uses you for your fame and your position in that tent. I just don’t want you to get hurt, Sirius.”

“I don’t need to be protected. I can fend for myself.”

“I know, Sirius. But you’re still hurting.”

Sirius massages his temples, desperately fighting down the words that are trying to bubble up through his throat. A year ago, even, he would have just said them. A lot has changed in that year though; he’s changed a lot in that year.

“Thank you for your concern, Em. I really do appreciate all that you do—”

“Thank you, Sirius.”

“—but I’m not some simpering, attention-starved maiden—”

“That’s vaguely sexist.” 

“— and I’m not going to fall into the lap of any old random person just because my last relationship was a total shitshow. Believe it or not, but I’ve had more than enough of trending on twitter—”

“That’s interesting, considering you’re trending on twitter as we speak.”

“... shit.”

“Yes, shit. I expect I’ll be on the phone to the Bake Off producers all day, so you better start buttering me up.”

Sirius groans. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a moment of madness and I regret it”—he doesn’t—“I’m impulsive and erratic and a nightmare client, but I didn’t assault anyone. I just stole a camera and threw it in a bush. Look, I’ll even pay them to replace it.”

“Good boy. Not so hard, was it?”

***

When Remus walks to the tent that morning, he’s equal parts resigned and determined. He’s resigned to his imminent fate—he really did fuck up the technical quite spectacularly—but he’s also determined to leave the judges with something well-executed un-shrivelled to remember him by. He would hate it if those inverted soufflé became his legacy: Remus Lupin, victim of the 2022 Bake Off #SouffléGate.

He doesn’t use twitter, but that morning Marlene had helpfully filled him in on the current twitter drama surrounding Sirius. He knows that someone— Severus, his mind supplies—leaked a highly exaggerated account of what happened yesterday, and he knows that Sirius has become the victim of a particularly enthusiastic twitter hate train. Again.

It’s all completely ridiculous, but Remus has felt guilt gnawing at his insides ever since he’d found out. It wasn’t Sirius’s fault, and Remus knows it wasn’t his fault either, but he can’t help feeling somewhat responsible. Sirius was just trying to help him , and now he’s being punished for it.

He wants to apologise, to thank Sirius. Anything, really.

Arthur and Peter are congregating around his bench when he enters the tent and there’s already a cup of tea waiting for him. Warmth blooms through his chest; a sensation he’s been experiencing a lot as of late.

“Morning Remus! Good sleep?” Arthur says.

“Yeah, actually. Surprisingly.” Remus laughs, thinking again about the absurdity of yesterday’s events. “You?”

“Yes. Although, I keep dreaming of custard. I wonder what it means…”

“It means eggs are evil,” Peter says sincerely.

Remus laughs again. “I can certainly attest to that.”

When the judges and hosts enter the tent sometime later, Remus watches Sirius trail after Lily.

Sirius is looking a little rough as he wanders through the tent that morning. His hair is lightly dishevelled and his eyes are slightly squinty in a way that suggests little sleep. Still, he looks beautiful, and Remus can't help thinking that Sirius suits it: he looks wild and rough around the edges. He doesn't look like Sirius Black from The Marauders, but instead the Sirius that Remus is coming to know: a vibrant, sweet, sensitive, and flawed Sirius.

Sometimes, Remus struggles to reconcile the two Sirius's. He feels inexplicably drawn to Sirius, has since he met him, but sometimes he can’t tell if it’s just the lingering infatuation he’s had with Sirius since that first, fateful Marauder’s concert or if it's something deeper. Something real.

For the longest time, Remus had thought of Sirius as an almost otherworldly entity, someone so completely unattainable and perfect. He'd always been attracted to Sirius, had seen glimpses of the real Sirius beneath his celebrity facade that had piqued his curiosity, but he'd never known him. Not really. But now he was coming to, and the Sirius he was starting to know was so much more than his most elaborate fantasies could have ever imagined. And Remus really doesn't know what to do with that.

Such thoughts bounce around Remus’s brain in the lead up to the final challenge, and he starts to lose sight of the shaky determination he’d woken up with; none of which is helped by the fact that Sirius won’t even look at him.

“As you all know, for your showstopper today the judges would like you a decorative pavlova centrepiece. The flavourings are, of course, up to you, but it must have an intricate and crispy exterior, and a pillowy, soft interior.”

“You have 3 hours,” Sirius says.

“On your mark…”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Remus is halfway through removing the yolk from his eggs when Lily sidles up to his bench. Severus is trailing behind her, face hidden behind his camera, and Remus fights the urge to glare at him. 

“Hey Remus. How are you feeling today?”

“Much better,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at an egg the same, though. I’m starting to think that Mary has the right idea.”

Lily laughs. “I’ll be quite glad not to see another egg for some time after today.”

While Severus is distracted, discussing lenses with one of the other cameramen, Remus whispers to Lily, “How is he?”

“He seems fine… but he’s not himself. Not completely.” 

“I feel terrible,” Remus confesses.

Lily’s eyes widen. “Remus, none of it’s your fault. You can’t seriously believe that. … Do you?”

“No, I mean… not really.” Lily fixes him with a firm look. “Okay, sort of. A little bit.”

“Remus. Look, I adore Sirius, I really do, but it was his own actions that got him into this—”

“It’s just slander though, he didn’t actually assault anyone. It’s absurd .” Remus’s guilt and frustration morph into anger, and he has to work to keep his voice down. Luckily, Sirius is on the other side of the tent, laughing as he watches Mary laboriously straining the aquafaba from fifteen cans of chickpeas. Remus is happy to see Sirius laughing, but it looks restrained; nothing like his usual carefree, unselfconscious laughter.

“Maybe not, but it’s still not appropriate behaviour for a television host, and he knows that.” 

Remus takes a deep breath, and wills the sudden anger to sink back down to his core, where it usually lurks unbidden. In that moment, he reminds himself of his father and his penchant for outbursts of boiling rage, and that’s not a thought that Remus is willing to deal with right now.

“He doesn’t deserve it though. He was helping me.”

Lily’s expression is soft and sympathetic. “You’re right. Fortunately, there’s not any proof that it happened and it’ll be easy enough for Sirius’s publicity team to iron out. It should blow over soon enough.”

“No proof? Weren’t there other cameras in the tent? Surely they filmed it.”

“Oh, they did. But I overheard Severus saying earlier that the footage of that particular incident appears to have been mysteriously deleted. How odd.”

Remus laughs. “Lily Evans. You’re a devious, beautiful genius.”

Lily winks at him, and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Remus.”

After a quiet start to the morning, by midday the energy seems to have returned to the tent in full force. Even Sirius’s laugh is sounding more spirited, but he’s still avoiding Remus. He hasn’t stopped by Remus’s bench even once.

Remus tries to not let this get to him. He knows that Sirius talked to him more than anyone else last weekend, and he feels like a spoiled child who greedily wants more, more, more. He also knows there’s a chance that Sirius’s absence has nothing to do with what happened yesterday, even if his gut says otherwise.

And while Sirius’s sudden absence hurts, he does understand. So, instead of stewing in his hurt, Remus gets to work and tries to make the best pavlova he’s ever made.

“Well, Remus,” Minerva says. “This is certainly a return to form.”

There’s a ripple of chuckles throughout the tent and Remus smiles. The pavlova features some of his best piping yet. 

“It certainly looks the part,” Albus says.

“But does it taste as good as it looks?”

The judges cut into Remus’s pavlova—three layers of toasted hazelnut pavlova, sandwiched and decorated with dark chocolate mousse and apricots—and inspect the inside.

“Nice and fluffy on the inside… crispy outer shell… very nice.”

“Hazelnut?” Albus asks.

“Yes,” Remus says.

“Classic Italian flavour combination.”

“Wow,” Minerva says. “So light in texture, with this delicious nutty, rich flavour. I love the apricot too. It’s so tart and compliments the chocolate and hazelnut beautifully.”

“I was concerned that the sandwiching of the meringue with the mousse would make it soft, but it has remained crisp. Good.”

“Yes, that’s always the struggle with pavlova: balancing the crisp exterior with the cream—or mousse, in this case—and the softness of the inside.” Minerva sighs, then. “Well, Remus, this is quite the comeback. I have to say, I was almost relieved to see your messy bench earlier.”

Remus has been purposefully avoiding looking at Sirius, but out of the corner of his eye, Remus sees Sirius smile to himself.

“Sorry—”

“Hush, don’t apologise: just so long as you keep baking like this.” Minerva says, and Remus blinks. Keep? Does that mean he won’t be disqualified? 

“I, um. Okay. I can do that.”

Minerva chuckles fondly. “Good. Now take this away before we eat it all!”

Remus picks up his pavlova, glancing up at Sirius who, to Remus’s surprise, meets his eye and winks. 

Kingsley, to no one’s surprise, manages to bag star baker yet again. Remus can’t find it in him to be annoyed, even if he tries: at this rate, Remus is fully counting on Kingsley winning Bake Off. 

Still, the anticipation leading to the disqualification starts to make Remus jittery, and Arthur reaches over to hold his hand when he notices Remus anxiously picking at his nail beds.

“And I have the very unfortunate job of announcing who will be disqualified,” Sirius says, his face more forlorn than Remus has ever seen it. “I know they always say this, but it really does get harder every week as we all come to know you.

“And so, this week, I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to say goodbye to…” Sirius pauses. “... Hagrid.”

Remus blinks, stunned. Arthur squeezes his hand and says, “See? I told you.”

Remus nods dumbly, and stands up to give a teary-eyed Hagrid a hug.

Hagrid, who is so kind and makes Remus’s 6’2 look short. Hagrid, whose pavlova was more of a meringue, and lacked its definitive soft centre. Delicious, the judges had said, but not pavlova.

Hagrid, not Remus.

He starts to feel guilt mingling with his shock, then.

“I know that look,” a familiar voice says, beside him. Remus inclines his head to see Sirius watching him.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Sirius says softly. “Sure, the technical was a bit of a mess, but you had the better bakes overall. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to say it earlier, but that pavlova was… wow.”

Remus snorts. “When did you even try it? You weren’t anywhere near it.”

“When you weren’t looking, obviously,” Sirius says cheekily.

Remus laughs, then, relief flooding through his body. Relief that he hasn’t been disqualified. Relief that Sirius doesn’t seem to hate him.

“I still can’t believe you threw Severus’s camera in the garden,” Remus says, his relief making him bold. Sirius stills, and for a terrifying second, Remus thinks he’s fucked everything up again.

Instead, Sirius throws his head back and laughs. “Neither,” he says.

They both laugh until they’re doubled over, clutching their stomachs, with tears rolling down their cheeks. This is real, Remus thinks, watching Sirius wipe his eyes, grinning. This isn’t just infatuation. This is real.

Bonus:

“Peter, uh… what is this meant to be, then?” Minerva says.

“It’s an egg!”

“That’s very… clever?” 

“What’s it covered in?” Albus asks.

“Cream.”

“Righto. And what’s the meringue flavoured with? Lemon?”

“It’s passionfruit,” Peter explains. “With a little surprise inside.”

Minerva cuts into Peter’s (somewhat) egg-shaped pavlova, and a torrent of diced tropical fruit spills from the hollow centre.

“Wow!” Minerva exclaims. “I was not expecting that. That’s quite something.”

“It lacks a certain finesse, but it is clever,” Albus says.

“Yes, you could do with refining your decorating, but you certainly have the ideas and the flavours down. Well done!”

Peter smiles to himself. Clever , Albus had said. Clever! He’s never been called clever before.

As he returns to his bench, Remus and Arthur both give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

“Well done!” Remus says, his brown eyes glittering with pride.

It’s so nice to have friends.

Chapter Text

Comments on “Episode Two of Great British Bake Off 2022: What You Missed”

underproveddough: all hail our messy king #RemusDisasterLupin

remus4starbaker: @underproveddough i want him 2 choke me then wrap me up in one of his cardigans and read me to sleep #RemusDisasterLupin

underproveddough: @remus4starbaker JFC HSHAHSH sweet but saucy #RemusDisasterLupin

ChocolateHobNob: @remus4starbaker These tweets are so funny; even funnier when you consider that he’d probably cry if he saw them. Guys! He’s sensitive! XD #RemusDisasterLupin

underproveddough: @ChocolateHobNob @GBBO can we please get “Remus Lupin Reads Thirst Tweets”?????? #RemusDisasterLupin

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: @underproveddough except all the thirst tweets are from sirius LOL #RemusDisasterLupin

ILoveEggs: I was hoping they’d address the rumours in this ep; does anyone know if Sirius Black actually attacked that camera man? Does anyone know why?

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 : @ILoveEggs no one knows! but if it happened, i’m convinced it had something to do with remus’s disaster technical. sirius probably got protective of his boyf

DaddySirius89 : @SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 They’re not boyfriends! I hate how fans try to ship everyone with everyone all the time. Not everyone is gay. Just leave them be.

HalfBloodPrince666: @SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 Sirius Black is an egomaniac. Everything he does is just for attention

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 : @DaddySirius89 sirius is openly bi and remus literally spends 80% of his time in that tent blushing lol…. gays? on television? it’s more likely than you think! 

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78 : @HalfBloodPrince666 omfg not you again!!! fuck right off 

AraGog: NOOOO HAGRID </3 </3 </3

***

It’s Wednesday when the next episode of Bake Off airs, and it’s Thursday afternoon when Remus discovers that he’s trending on twitter.

———

Marlene: hey so guess what

Remus: What?

Marlene: and before you freak out

Marlene: it /sounds/ scary but it’s actually cool!

Remus: ??? :-O

Remus: You do realise that in saying that you’re actively making me freak out !

Marlene: lol sorry

Marlene: so

Marlene: [screenshot] “Trending on Twitter: #RemusDisasterLupin”

Marlene: it’s literally 99% thirst tweets hahahshshshs

Remus: Um

Marlene: many an ode to your hands and cardigans

Marlene: and nostrils?

Marlene: [screenshot] crispyonionrings: i want to lick his nostril #RemusDisasterLupin

Remus: I

Marlene: you’ve got some freaky fans, buddy

Marlene: [missed call]

Marlene: [missed call]

Remus: Sorry

Marlene: is everything alright? x

Remus: Yes

Remus: Sort of?

Marlene: did you have an anxiety shower? 

Remus: Maybe

Remus: Sorry

Marlene: it’s ok! i figured as much 

Marlene: did you remember to take your clothes off this time? x

Remus: … No comment

Marlene: aww

Marlene: the ol remus lupin clothed anxiety shower experience 

Remus: Shhh

Marlene: i’ve been meaning to ask… why the clothes? how does that happen?

Remus: Hahaha fair

Remus: Um, idk. I kinda feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get into the shower right that second, so the clothes become a casualty?

Remus: I’m not even aware of them :-O

Marlene: :-( poor precious 

Marlene: would you like to chat? or would you prefer peace and quiet? x

Remus: Ummm

Remus: I’d prefer peace and quiet I think!

Remus: Just for now

Remus: Sorry

Marlene: that is a-ok! do not apologise! :)

Remus: :-)

Remus: We can chat later?

Marlene: sounds grand! just remember i’m just a phone call away if you can feel yourself start to spiral x

Remus: Thank you Marl

Remus: Seriously

Marlene: don’t u mean

Marlene: /siriusly/

Remus: :eyeroll:

Remus: But no, for real, thank you. Love you x

Marlene: love YOU x

———

2 hours later:

RemusDisasterLupin: Hello Twitter! It’s me (Remus)

RemusDisasterLupin: Thank you for all the love, it’s been very heartwarming (albeit frightening at times) x 

Two hours into his first foray into social media and he’s found himself equal parts amused and terrified by the internet, which is in no small part due to the flood of sexual messages that he’s received in that time. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at his own hands the same way.

As Remus is getting ready for bed, thinking that this is exactly why he’s avoided social media for as long as he has, his phone lights up with a notification: “thesiriusblack has messaged you.”

thesiriusblack: !

thesiriusblack: is this actually remus

thesiriusblack: if so

thesiriusblack: welcome to the dark side >:)

thesiriusblack: only we don’t have any cookies :’(

RemusDisasterLupin: Suppose I’ll just have to bake some then, won’t I? 

RemusDisasterLupin: And yes, it is in fact I

RemusDisasterLupin: I being Remus 

thesiriusblack: while your sarcasm is convincing……

thesiriusblack: …… you’ll have to prove it’s really you

RemusDisasterLupin: Hmm well I’ve been having nightmares about Peter Rabbit

RemusDisasterLupin: And souffle :-(

RemusDisasterLupin: Only in my nightmares I’m really cool and collected and definitely don’t rock back and forth on the ground muttering to myself ;-)

thesiriusblack: !

thesiriusblack: it’s you!

thesiriusblack: Just Remus™ himself!

RemusDisasterLupin: Noo, not Just Remus! Leave him in egg week!

thesiriusblack: i’m still working on your official nickname, i’ll have you know 

RemusDisasterLupin: You’ve already given me two! I don’t need more!

thesiriusblack: that’s where you’re wrong, contestant

thesiriusblack: you have three

thesiriusblack: and you’re about to have four

RemusDisasterLupin: Great…

RemusDisasterLupin: :-)

thesiriusblack: :D

thesiriusblack: how’s wales?

thesiriusblack: london is boring

thesiriusblack: in fact it’s so boring that i’m even missing severus 

thesiriusblack: i know, i’m shocked too

RemusDisasterLupin: Wow, /even/ Severus!

RemusDisasterLupin: Do you /even/ miss me?

RemusDisasterLupin: Haha! Just kidding! Please ignore that

RemusDisasterLupin: Wales is peaceful

RemusDisasterLupin: It’s been really stormy and I’m loving it

RemusDisasterLupin: I know it’s odd, but I’ve always found thunder really soothing 

Ten minutes pass, and Remus is terrified that he’s ruined everything with those five words: Do you even miss me?

Because for some inexplicable reason Remus has found himself missing Sirius rather a lot, which is odd considering he’s only been in Remus’s life for two weeks. And what he doesn’t tell Sirius is that the stormy sea reminds him of Sirius’s eyes, and that the churning night sky reminds him of Sirius’s hair. Everywhere he looks it’s Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.

As these dangerous thoughts threaten to spill from his fingertips, he puts his phone down and stands up. He rubs his face, trying in vain to massage away the expression he knows is there; the same wistful, goofy expression he wears whenever he thinks of Sirius, much to Marlene’s amusement.

He should get out of the house. He should go down to the beach and let the salty wind wipe away his thoughts of Sirius. Only that won’t work, will it? Because Sirius is everywhere; in the sea and in the sky. Fuck. 

It’s then that his phone dings, and Remus only feels slightly ashamed of how quickly he races across his room to check his phone.

thesiriusblack: sorry, i’m still here! james was being an idiot. he’s obsessed with lily, it’s bloody annoying

RemusDisasterLupin: That’s okay! Hey, we can’t be too hard on James; Lily’s great

thesiriusblack: and that is precisely why it’s up to us to protect lils from his idiocy 

Us.

thesiriusblack: and i do 

thesiriusblack: miss you, i mean

thesiriusblack: wales sounds lovely

thesiriusblack: i know what you mean about storms

thesiriusblack: i’ve always loved plane turbulence

thesiriusblack: it makes me feel really small, but i like it 

Remus should reply, he wants to. But he can’t think, he can’t speak, and he can’t type. 

He drops his head to his pillow and grins.

***

“Welcome back, my beautiful, stunning, gorgeous bakers,” Sirius says, looking around the tent. He makes an effort to look each baker in the eye, fixing each of them with a smile, but as his gaze lands on Remus’s willowy form, grey eyes meeting brown, he feels that smile turn into a grin. “It’s week three, which means that we’re now officially halfway through.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lily sighs. “It really feels like only yesterday that we saw your lovely faces for the first time.”

“Ah, they grow up so fast,” Sirius says, wiping a phantom tear from his cheek. “Now, as you all know, this week is spice week, and for your first bake, the judges would like you to make thirty-four spiced biscuits.”

“These biscuits can be flavoured with any spice of your choosing—or a medley of spices, should you wish!—but they must be perfectly even and arranged to resemble an object of your choosing.”

“You have three hours.”

“On your mark.”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Sirius is proud of himself for his restraint. Firstly, he hasn’t so much as glared at Severus, even though he desperately wants to. In fact, he’s doing an impressive job of pretending that Severus doesn’t exist, which should really put him in the running for some kind of award. Thankfully, Emmeline and her team had managed to quell last week's Sirius Black twitter hate train before it'd really taken off, so the damage to his reputation had been minimal. But even so, Sirius hasn’t forgiven Severus for putting Remus in that position in the first place. He's had a lot of time to think about what he'd do differently over the past week, and he keeps ending up at the same conclusion: given the chance, he'd do it all again. His own reputation aside, Severus had deserved it. Remus had not.

The second testament to Sirius's restraint is that he’s managed to hold long, respectable conversations with all of the contestants, despite the fact that he’s really just dying to talk to Remus. He doesn’t know where this intense desire to be near Remus has come from, and he hasn’t felt this intrigued by another person since he first met James all the way back in year nine. Even so, something about Remus feels different, and he wonders if maybe they’d been friends in another lifetime.

When Lily and Sirius finally get around to Remus, he’s rolling out his spiced biscuit dough, the sleeves of his latest cardigan—decorated with acorns and leaves, which, in combination with the warmth of Remus's colouring, makes him look like autumn personified—rolled up to his elbows, revealing his lean but strong forearms. Remus also has rather large hands, Sirius observes.

“Remus,” Lily says, her voice fond and warm. Sirius is slightly taken aback at first by the raw affection in Lily's voice. He's never heard her voice like this before, directed towards him or otherwise, but he hasn’t got it in him to be annoyed or envious. In fact, it makes him happy; he’s glad other people can also see how wonderful Remus is.

“Hey guys,” Remus says, smiling as if he can’t quite help it. It makes Sirius want to smile too.

Remus and Lily chat and Sirius tunes it out in favour of watching Remus instead. He’s always found Remus fascinating to look at; half long limbs and sharp edges, and half honeyed curls and soft expressions. He’s not conventionally attractive, quite, but Sirius has always found a certain beauty in Remus’s unusual features; in his crooked nose and in the scar on his brow. He's never seen anyone like Remus before. Regardless of what James and Emmeline have said about Sirius’s intentions towards Remus, it’s not like that —really, it’s not. He just… appreciates beauty. He wants to be friends with Remus. That’s all.

Remus laughs, then, and Sirius blinks, not understanding what was funny about what Lily just said. Since last week’s incident , he’s noticed Remus and Lily seem to have developed their own language: one that’s made up of subtle eye movements and layers of subtext, and Sirius feels like there’s an entire conversation being had that he’s not privy to. 

Still, there are some things about Remus that Sirius seems to understand better than Lily, which becomes evident when Remus starts to explain his signature bake to them. 

“I’m making speculaas, which will be cut out and decorated to, hopefully, somewhat resemble this chess board,” Remus says, gesturing to a photograph of an antique chess board.

“It already smells amazing.” Lily says, and Sirius nods in agreement. It does smell wonderful. “Do you play chess?” 

Remus bristles a little then, the lines of his face tightening ever so slightly. “Ah, no… It's more my Dad’s thing, really. I used to play with him sometimes as a kid, but I could never really wrap my head around it.” 

“I’ve not got a clue about chess either, mate,” says Sirius, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever’s making Remus uncomfortable. His childhood? His father? “James loves it though, the crazy boy—I’ll never understand it.”

Lily, however, doubles down. “How lovely! Is this bake dedicated to your dad, then?”

“I… I suppose it is, yeah.” Remus looks oddly put out at this. Sirius doesn’t have the best relationship with his own parents (which is potentially the understatement of the century, seeing as they’re no longer legally his parents), and he wonders if maybe it’s a similar story with Remus. He never seems very excited to go home, Sirius realises in hindsight. Whenever the topic of ‘home’ or his family comes up, Remus is quick to redirect the conversation. 

Sirius understands that.

Lily, on the other hand, does not. “He must be very proud of you,” she continues. “Does he enjoy your baking as much as your mum?”

“Um. Not really, no. He did—doesn’t like sweets. More a savoury kind of person.” 

Lily frowns, and opens her mouth to say something (likely in Remus’s defence, bless her), not seeing the rising panic in Remus’s eyes. Remus’s panic is subtle, but it’s there, and Sirius wonders how on earth Lily hasn’t noticed it. Maybe she’s not just staring at him like a fucking weirdo, his mind supplies.

So, Sirius intercepts: “Oi Remus, I meant to ask: what the hell is speculaas?”

Lily shoots him a stern look, which, while being terrifying because it’s Lily, he understands. He knows how it must look from her perspective. But as Remus explains speculaas to Sirius, he watches as the tension eases away from Remus’s eyes, his mouth relaxing and his brow softening. Sirius thinks that he doesn’t really care about Lily’s scorn; not when Remus’s happiness is on the line.

Thank you, Remus mouths a little bit later to Sirius, as they’re moving on to talk to Arthur.

Sirius squeezes Remus’s shoulder as he walks past. It’s warm. “Any time, Remus.”

***

As they’re waiting for the judging of the signature, Peter turns to Remus and whispers, “Is it just me, or does the tent feel kind of… flirty this week?” 

“I think it’s just you, Pete,” Remus whispers back. “Got something you want to tell me?”

Peter huffs out a laugh and gives Remus a light smack on the arm. 

The conversation shifts back to more Bake Off appropriate topics—”This week I discovered that I’m allergic to cinnamon. Cinnamon! Not a pretty sight, I’m afraid” Arthur says, chuckling—and Remus takes the opportunity to look around the tent, trying to understand what Peter had meant by that comment. Flirty? What does that even mean? 

But, when he starts paying attention, Remus does notice a certain… undercurrent in the energy of the tent. He notices Lily checking her phone between takes, smiling and biting her lip when nobody else is watching. He watches Mary sneaking looks at Peter, blushing when she notices Remus watching her. Most surprisingly though, he watches Poppy, the on-site nurse, and Minerva shooting each other covert smiles and soft looks. Good for them.

And, as for Remus, well… He keeps trying to subtly glance at Sirius, as he usually does, but he keeps catching Sirius’s eye instead. Strangely, Sirius always seems to be looking in his direction already, and every time, without fail, it makes the butterflies that seem to permanently reside in Remus’s stomach flutter and soar.

It doesn’t help that the weather is hot. It’s the beginning of August and although summer should have already peaked, the air is thick and heady; both inside the tent and outside of it.

He thinks, then, that maybe Peter is on to something.

“I do have a soft spot for speculaas,” Albus says, as Remus presents his signature bake to them. “And chess.”

“Some of the pieces have caught a little around the sides,” Minerva says, inspecting Remus’s speculaas chessboard. “Which is rather unfortunate because they’re otherwise perfect. Hard to avoid with the fat content of speculaas, of course. Alas… Let’s get stuck in, shall we?”

Albus moves one of the pawns across the board, then, and he and Minerva begin a biscuit chess battle, which results with Albus abruptly stealing Minerva’s queen and biting its crown off.

Minerva glares at him. “Albus, you can’t just eat my queen! I was winning!”

Albus’s blue eyes glitter with mirth, and he hums. “Delicious. Thank you, Remus. This has been a real treat.”

***

“For today’s technical, the judges would like you all to make a delicate saffron cake,” Lily says.

“Minerva, our resident cake queen; any words of advice?”

“You won’t know if you haven’t used enough saffron, but you’ll definitely know if you used too much.”

“Ominous as always.”

“Indeed, and on that note, we must say farewell to our dear judges.” 

They all watch as, on his way out of the tent, Albus inspects a small teapot that is part of the display at the back of the tent. He then slips it into his pocket and leaves. Remus blinks.

Sirius laughs. “Oh, to be old! Anywho… You all have an hour and a half.”

Lily clears her throat. “On your mark…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Thankfully, this week’s technical comes and goes with little fanfare. Remus has never used saffron before, but he’s read a lot about it and he’s delighted by the potent and unique fragrance that it emits. He’s never smelt anything like it before, and he can see what Minerva meant with her advice on restraint. He’s noticed that although it’s delicate, it’s also potent, and he can imagine how easily saffron could overwhelm the mixture. To make sure this doesn’t happen, he adds it to the mixture one frond at a time, constantly tasting to make sure that it’s balanced. Once he’s satisfied, the mixture is lightly perfumed and a lovely orange colour. 

Remus still has moments of panic, of course: moments where he feels himself slipping into the same mindset that sent him spiralling in last week’s technical. But instead of relenting to the voice that’s always present in the back of his mind— you’re not good enough, you’ll never be good enough—he concentrates on taking deep, steadying breaths. It always surprises him how much the simple act of breathing can help. 

The rest of the tent is quiet compared to the morning, but there’s still that undercurrent of something that is lingering. Lily and Sirius seem content to leave them to it, and they don’t press the contestants very hard for conversation. Instead, they find their own entertainment. 

Around the thirty minute mark, Sirius starts lobbing fake fruit at Lily, who dodges them with ease. They both get told off by Poppy, however, when a fake orange ricochets off a fridge and hits Kingsley in the back of the head. 

Afterwards, Sirius breezes past Remus and whispers, “It’s hard work trying to take out your competition, you know. I think I deserve a treat.”

Warmth blooms in Remus’s stomach. Is Sirius… flirting? Or is it just his wishful thinking? Should he flirt back? He swallows and says, a little huskily, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Sirius winks at him. “I look forward to it.” 

In the end, he’s proud of what he’s made, and he’s proud of how he’s kept it together. He even manages to place second—behind Kingsley, of course—and although it’s not first, it feels like a victory; a victory over the challenge, and over that self-doubting and self-loathing part of his mind. 

***

(9:47pm) 

thesiriusblack: psst

thesiriusblack: remus

RemusDisasterLupin: Shhhh, it’s bedtime

RemusDisasterLupin: Sleepy time

RemusDisasterLupin: A time of peace. And /quiet/… 

thesiriusblack: booooring 

thesiriusblack: what’s your number?

RemusDisasterLupin: xxx xxx xxxx

RemusDisasterLupin: Don’t make me regret it

thesiriusblack: i would never x

———

Unknown number: good evening sir remus of the lupin variety

Unknown number: i have a mission, should you choose to accept it

Remus: Oh? Sounds very serious 

Sirius: yes, i am ;)

Remus: … I walked right into that, didn’t I…

Sirius: yes but it’s okay, you’re new

Sirius: so here’s the deal: you owe me a treat

Sirius: and i’ve decided what i want

Remus: Oh?

Sirius: i want scones

Sirius: i, in fact, /require/ scones

Remus: Well, if you’re lucky, when you GO TO SLEEP you might be able to enjoy some delicious dream scones :-)

Sirius: evil

Sirius: and cruel 

Sirius: but i’m prepared to overlook it if you lend me your company

Remus: I could read you to sleep?

Remus: I’m sure The Tale of Peter Rabbit is around here somewhere

Sirius: …… 

Sirius: i’m not entirely opposed to that…

Sirius: but right now i hunger

Remus: Poor Sirius :-(

Sirius: yes precisely, poor me

Sirius: but you (yes you!) can help me

Sirius: meet me in the foyer 

Sirius: in five mins

Remus: And if I say no?

Sirius: i know where your room is >:)

Sirius: i have lockpicking skills like you wouldn’t believe

Sirius: and i’m not afraid to use them

Remus: Hmm…

Sirius: :O

Sirius: :(

Sirius: :’(

Sirius: :’’(

Remus: … Fine

Sirius: :D

Sirius: see you in five x

———

Blanketed by the night, the hotel is still and silent. As Remus creeps through the hallways, it strikes him how clandestine it all feels; as if Remus is sneaking away to meet up with a secret lover. It makes Remus’s blood thrum.

True to his word, Sirius is waiting in the hotel foyer. He looks soft, with his hair all mussed and his clothing rumpled. He’s wearing the same flowing white shirt from earlier, which perfectly exposes his collarbones, and those same fucking velvet pants from the first week. Rumpled or not, he looks every bit like the celebrity that he is; poised and lovely in the moonlight.

Remus suddenly feels inadequate in his old green pyjamas. He’s hyper aware of all the ways that they’re threadbare and worn. There’s Sirius in his expensive, artfully ruffled clothes, looking effortlessly stunning, and then there’s him in his old PJ’s looking pale, tired, and out of place. It serves as an unwelcome reminder of how different their worlds are, and Remus isn’t sure who he’s kidding, thinking that Sirius would ever seriously want to be friends (or more...) with him.

But it’s then that Sirius turns, and a smile blooms across his face as he sees Remus. As he makes his way over to Remus, his steps are exuberant yet fluid; almost doglike, Remus thinks.

“Oh my god.” Sirius says, as he leans in to inspect the moon pattern on Remus’s pyjamas. “Look Remus, we match.” He sweeps his hair behind his ear, and the moonlight catches on Sirius’s earring. It’s a tiny crescent moon.

“Moons,” Remus says intelligently. 

Sirius looks at Remus then, and in the moonlight his grey eyes take on an ethereal edge. “You suit it, you know.”

“What?”

“The moonlight,” Sirius says, smiling slightly. “It’s making your hair look all… halo-y.”

“No,” Remus says. His brain feels as if it’s been emptied of all its words, and he cannot, for the life of him, form a coherent sentence. “That’s you.”

Sirius laughs quietly. “Whatever you say, moonshine. Come on, then. We’re here for a reason: we’ve got a mission.”

Remus trails behind Sirius as he leads him through the hotel corridors. He should feel tired; god knows he was exhausted not even thirty minutes ago, but now he’s a livewire, every nerve ending in his body alight. He shivers.

After a few minutes of quiet footsteps and hushed conversation, Sirius stops.

“This is…” Remus starts.

“The kitchens,” Sirius says proudly.

“You…” Remus starts. “You want to break into the kitchens?”

“Yup.”

 “... So that I can bake you scones?”

“Well, I had hoped it would be a little more collaborative than that. But, in essence… yes.” Sirius looks slightly nervous, wringing his hands and biting his lip. That’s funny, Remus thinks. As if I could ever say no to you.

He laughs. “Yeah, okay then. You could have started with that, you know? Instead of being so mysterious. I wouldn’t have said no.”

Sirius grins, bright in the moonlight. “Well, I’ll just have to keep that in mind for next time.”

“Good,” Remus says, feeling light and fizzy. Next time. “Great. Um, well. I’ll leave you to the lockpicking duties, then. You know, seeing as you have skills like I wouldn’t believe .”

Sirius blinks at him. “Lockpicking duties? Oh,” he laughs. “Yeah, I lied. I have no idea how to pick locks.”

“You’re…” Remus shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re so lucky I was a rebel in secondary school.”

“Aha! I knew you were more than just a swotty academic.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

“Ooh, so dangerous.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Remus says, smiling. “Do you have anything small and sharp? Like a pocket knife?”

“A pocket knife? What do you take me for? You delinquent.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “A hair pin, then?”

“Ooh, yeah!” Sirius wriggles his fingers into his pant pockets. “God, these pants are tight… Yes, I can feel one in there!” Remus looks away from Sirius and his wriggling. It’s quickly becoming obscene. “I can’t reach it… so close… ugh, this is stupid. Hey, Remus?”

“Hmm?” Remus says, distracted.

“Can you lend me your hand? You’ve got longer fingers than I do.”

Remus gapes at Sirius. “I… what?”

“Your fingers, Remus! There’s a bobby pin in my pocket but I can’t reach it.”

“Um,” Remus says dumbly. He holds his hand out. Sirius gently grasps his wrist, and the calluses on his fingertips send tingles down Remus’s spine. It occurs to him then that this is the first time he and Sirius have ever touched skin to skin. 

Sirius laughs, flopping Remus’s hand around. “Thank you for your hand, Remus, but I’m going to need you to get a little more involved.”

Sirius guides Remus’s hand down to his pocket and Remus swallows. What is this? Does Sirius know what he’s doing? Is he trying to make me lose my mind?

His fingers are in Sirius’s pocket then. It’s warm and soft. He wriggles his fingers experimentally and Sirius gasps. Remus is going to die . 

“Sorry,” Sirius says breathily. “Tickles…”

“Umm.” Remus is leaning down to reach into Sirius’s pocket, and his pale neck is right there in front of Remus. He can feel Sirius’s breath on his forehead.

Remus feels the bobby pin then, and he bites his lip as he tries to concentrate his scrambled thoughts into grasping that fucking pin. 

“Aha!” He traps it between two fingers and withdraws his hand from Sirius’s pocket, wielding the pin. “Got it!”

Sirius exhales, letting out a breath Remus didn’t know he was holding. “Nice work. Knew you could do it.” His voice is steady, but it has an edge that wasn’t there a minute ago. Remus swallows.

“I, um. I’ll see what I can do,” Remus says, motioning to the door awkwardly.

He wills his hands to stop shaking as he carefully picks the lock with Sirius’s pin. The lock clicks and the door opens.

“Yes!” Sirius says. “You, Remus, are a genius. A criminal mastermind.”

Remus huffs out a laugh. “Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

“Um,” Sirius says. “Remus?” His voice sounds nervous.

“How’s the jam coming along?” Remus says, rubbing the butter and flour between his fingers until it’s the texture of coarse sand. He sniffs the air. It smells… burnt.

“Um,” Sirius repeats. “I.”

Remus turns around to see Sirius holding a tea towel that is very much on fire. “Oh my god, Sirius! Don’t just hold it!”

“I don’t know what else to do!”

“Put it out!”

“How?”

“How!?”

“Drop it!”

Sirius drops the tea towel. Remus douses it with baking soda, covering the flames with another soaked tea towel, and stamps it out.

Once the smoke stops, they’re both silent as they stare at each other, wide eyed. The silence is then broken by a loud beep.

“Fuck.” Remus grabs another tea towel—this one decidedly un-burnt and un-soaked—and waves it around under the fire alarm. "Shite."

Then, they wait for a tense moment to see if Remus was successful, and to see if the alarm alerted anyone else to their presence.

Thirty seconds of uninterrupted silence pass, and no one comes rushing into the kitchen. Remus relaxes. After a moment, he says, “You’d be rubbish in a crisis, you know.”

Sirius throws back his head and laughs. “Yeah, and you’d be brilliant.”

“Are these stiff peaks?”

“Not quite.”

“What about now?”

“Hmm, getting there!”

“Remus!”

“What?”

“It’s thickening!”

“Yes, that tends to happen.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Is it meant to look like that?”

“Oh, you’ve just slightly over-whipped it.”

Sirius grimaces at the cream. “I suck. I can’t even whip cream properly. It’s, like, the most basic baking thing ever.”

“It’s okay,” Remus says. “I over-whip cream all the time. There’s a very fine line between perfectly whipped cream and over-whipped cream. A matter of seconds, really.”

“And I’m useless in a fire. I’m a fake adult.”

Remus nudges Sirius’s shoulder with his own in a way he hopes is comforting. He wants to hug Sirius, who looks so put out at that moment, but he doesn’t know if Sirius is a hugger (though Remus strongly suspects he is) and he doesn’t want to make Sirius uncomfortable. “Well if you’ve never been around fires, you can hardly expect to be good with them, hey?”

Sirius leans into Remus, his arm now pressed against Remus’s. Remus is tingling. “And you have?”

“When I was a kid we had this awful faulty cooker: there were lots of burnt tea towels and near house fires, but we couldn't afford another one. So I just got really good at putting out fires.” 

Remus doesn’t need to look at Sirius to know that he’s staring at him. He can feel Sirius’s eyes on his face, and he stares at the floor, not wanting to see the sympathy—or, even worse, pity—in the other man’s gaze. He internally admonishes himself for accidentally revealing that he grew up poor. It’s not something he gets insecure about now that he’s an adult and understands how fundamentally classist society is, but it's taken him a long time to reach that point, and next to Sirius and his posh accent, he can feel himself slipping back into old habits. Not for the first time that evening, he feels inadequate: threadbare and worn.

He swallows down the shame and clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re good at plenty of stuff most other people aren’t good at.”

Sirius hums. “I am very good at dodging paparazzi.”

“Is that so?”

“The trick is to not be afraid of a little parkour. Also, I find stealing their cameras to be quite effective.”

Remus lets out a laugh that sounds too-loud and too-harsh to his own ears, but Sirius looks pleased. “Yes, you would know about that, wouldn’t you?” Remus says.

They both laugh and Remus feels himself relax. His left side pressed up against Sirius’s right side, and he can’t help but think about how well they’d fit together.

Remus sighs. “Well, I think the scones should be sufficiently cool by now. Are you ready for your midnight feast?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you actually agreed to do this.” Sirius laughs, bouncing on his toes as he searches for plates. “James will be so jealous. He’d never admit it, but he’s mad for scones.”

As he sits down, Remus suddenly feels the day finally catching up with him: scratchy eyes and a heavy head. But as Sirius grins at him around a mouthful of scone, cream, and jam, he thinks helplessly that he’d never sleep again if he could keep making Sirius smile like that.

***

Sirius wakes up the next morning feeling… odd. The feeling doesn’t dissipate as he gets dressed, and seems to worsen the closer he gets to the tent.

He goes through the motions with Lily, introducing the last challenge—a spiced bread centrepiece—to the cameras and audience, but throughout it all he can’t help feeling like he’s missing something. Something important. 

“Remus,” Sirius says. 

Remus looks up at him, his eyes warm, and smiles softly. “Sirius,” he says, and the timbre of his voice sends shivers up and down Sirius’s body. Has his voice always sounded like that? Sirius wonders. All rich and deep… He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it from the jumble of thoughts that he woke up to. He feels like he’s losing the plot.

It doesn’t help that guilt has been churning away inside him since he got back to his room last night. Once the warm flush of Remus’s company and the scones had faded, he started feeling horribly, horribly guilty. He’d coerced Remus into baking for him when he should have been sleeping and relaxing. He can hear his mother's voice in his head: selfish, ungrateful, cruel.  

The guilt burns up his throat and tumbles out before he can stop it. “I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus looks bewildered. “Why? What’s the matter?” 

Sirius swallows. “I made you stay up even though you should have been resting. I just keep forgetting that this is a competition because it’s the most fun I’ve had in, well… forever, actually. And I know that’s selfish because you’re actually competing, and it’s not just fun for you… I’m sorry; I just wanted you to know that. And thank you for being so good about it, about everything. And for picking the lock; that was awesome.”

Remus straightens up—fuck, he’s tall—and wipes his forehead. He’s frowning, his deep brown eyes so deep and soulful that Sirius feels like he’s about to drown in them. He’d happily drown in Remus’s eyes, he thinks, and then he wonders where the fuck that thought came from. “Sirius, it’s okay. Really. It’s more than okay, actually. I had a lot of fun, and I don’t mind feeling a little sleepy. Actually, between you and I, I think the sleepiness is helping me stay calm, which is odd but definitely welcome.” Remus chuckles. “Anyway, I don’t regret it, Sirius. I’d do it all again. I had fun.”

“Good, that’s. Good. I’m glad,” Sirius says and his voice sounds thin and strange. Remus gives him a soft look that seems to say, ‘are you alright?’ Is he alright? He genuinely has no idea. 

“Sorry,” Remus says. “I’ve got to stretch this dough out before it overproves. I’m still listening, though. I don’t want to make you feel like you should leave.”

Sirius nods and watches as Remus upends his brioche dough onto the bench. He starts to stretch and whack the dough, and it’s then, with a jolt, that Sirius realises what he’s been missing. 

Oh. 

It’s Remus.

Sirius is transfixed, unable to look away, as he watches Remus’s hands massage and stretch the dough. Sirius feels heat unfurl, deep within his core, as he pictures those same hands on his skin…

And last night, those same hands in his pocket… 

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

There’s no denying the arousal that spreads through his body then, and when he looks up to Remus’s face it spikes. Remus’s eyebrows are knotted in concentration, and he’s biting his lip, looking so beautiful and so in control that Sirius can so easily picture himself on that bench in place of the dough, being taken apart by his clever, clever hands… 

Shit.

***

“What have we got here, Remus?”

He clears his throat. “It’s a brioche dough that I've filled with cardamom and sugar—”

“Like a cardamom bun?” Minerva asks.

Remus nods. “Yes, it's essentially a giant cardamom bun. They’re my absolute favourite.”

“And is this food colouring?” 

“No, that’s just a glaze that I flavoured with saffron. I got inspired by yesterday’s bake and added it at the last minute. Hopefully it tastes alright...” 

“Interesting…” Albus says. “And it’s evidently supposed to resemble a lion.”

Remus nods. He’s very proud of how it looks, a cacophony of yellows and oranges, but he prays that it’s cooked all the way through. 

Minerva serves herself and Albus each a slice of his showstopper, and from what Remus can see the dough looks well baked, but he’s still nervous: what if they don’t like the flavour? What if the saffron doesn’t work?

He holds his breath as they both take their respective bites.

It’s silent, and then—

“Remus…”

Remus swallows nervously. “Er, yes?”

Minerva looks up at him and her eyes are gleaming. Oh no, has he accidentally poisoned the judges?

“This is… sensational.”

She holds her hand out to him and Remus hears several people gasp behind him. He stares at her hand. 

“Shake her hand, Remus!” Lily calls from somewhere to his left.

Then, horrifyingly, Albus holds out his hand as well.

Remus stares at them and slowly, he shakes both of their hands, stunned.

“This is beautiful, Remus,” Albus says. “I’ve never had anything like it, which is odd, because I've eaten a lot of cardamom buns in my lifetime.”

Minerva smiles at him. “I’m something of a cardamom bun enthusiast myself, and I can say without hesitation that this is the best cardamom brioche I’ve had in my entire life. Truly astounding work. The saffron was a great call; you should trust your gut more often!”

“And it’s just wonderful to look at,” Albus adds. "Meticulous presentation, as always."

Remus doesn’t know what to stay, so he just stares at them.

“Aw,” Sirius says, suddenly next to him. “You guys broke him.” Sirius rubs Remus’s shoulder, which brings him back from the weird trance he’s been in since Minerva held out her hand. 

“I, um. I really don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Minerva and Albus smile at him, and Sirius’s hand is doing this soothing stroking thing to his shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Sirius whispers. Remus shivers.

He carries his showstopper back to his bench, and the other contestants congratulate him, Arthur grinning and wiping away tears. He feels like he’s floating. 

It doesn’t end there. 

Remus is still so stunned from the double handshake that he barely even registers it when Sirius says, “And this week’s star baker… Remus!” until Peter and Arthur are suddenly wrapping him up in a hug. Remus is wide eyed and Sirius is flushed and grinning. Sirius mouths congratulations to him, and all he can do is stare helplessly at Sirius as his vision starts swimming.

To his left, he’s vaguely aware of Pomona sniffling, saying, “Of course it’s sad, but I’m just so proud I made it this far. I’ll treasure this experience forever.”

“Well done,” Arthur says, letting go of Remus. He’s smiling so widely, his eyes glimmering with pride, and Remus wonders what he’s done to deserve such wonderful friends.

Peter wipes the tears from Remus’s cheeks. “You were so good this week, Remus. I mean, you’re always amazing, but you were incredible.”

“Thank you guys,” Remus says shakily. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I can’t believe it.”

“I get it,” Kingsley says, stepping forward and smiling widely. “Well done, mate. Well deserved.”

“Thank you, Kingsley.” Remus sniffs.

Mary bounds forward. “Bread week, next week! Something tells me you’ll be dangerous, Remus.” She hugs Remus. “Congratulations!”

Remus laughs wetly. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen my most recent sourdough.”

Mary grins at him and Peter congratulates him as the camera crew start to steer him away to break the news to his family. Remus can see Sirius watching him. Their eyes lock and Sirius ducks his head, turning pink.

Remus bites his lip. Was that what he thought it was? Does he actually have a chance? Might Sirius actually feel the same way about him?

He smiles. Maybe.

***

——— 

Padfoot: james

Padfoot: JAMES

Prongs: ??????

Prongs: Wats up 

Padfoot: i watched remus knead dough

Padfoot: /dough/

Prongs: Lol

Padfoot: and i got /hard/

Prongs: Hahahahaha

Padfoot: :l

Padfoot: i don’t think i’ve gotten hard so quickly in my life

Prongs: Hahahahahahaha 

Padfoot: shut up!!!

Prongs: Sorry its so nerdy

Prongs: *Erotically kneads dough*

Padfoot: this is no time for your jests potter

Padfoot: i don’t know what’s happening to me

Prongs: Well Pads, when a man /really/ likes another man…

Prongs: And he wants to do terrible, /naughty/ things 2 him…

Padfoot: shhhh

Padfoot: shut up

Padfoot: i am under a contract 

Padfoot: written specifically for me

Padfoot: that specifically prohibits me from kissing contestants with large hands and soulful eyes

Prongs: But does it prohibit you from kissing them with ur genitals?

Prongs: Thats the important q

Padfoot: :knife: :knife: :knife:

Prongs: Well u always loved breaking the rules

Padfoot: i know

Padfoot: it’s making it 10000x worse

Padfoot: but i can’t even kiss his forehead without getting fired

Prongs: Forbidden fruit. Lol

———

Sirius sighs and hits call. James picks up instantly.

“It’s fucked up, James. I actually like Remus, and I liked him before I realised that I wanted his hands on my—”

“Ew. Gonna stop you there, mate.”

“I feel so normal around him, you know? Like I just forget about everything. I forget that I’m famous. I forget that my childhood was totally fucked up. I forget that I’m totally fucked up. And I feel… I don’t know… special, I guess. He makes me feel special.”

“Well, you are a very special boy, Sirius.”

“It’s how I thought fame would feel, you know? I feel important. I feel like he sees me, and not just the expensive clothes and the Sirius the label wants me to be, but me. Padfoot.” Sirius sighs. “It’s weird. I didn’t even feel this way with Fabian, and I thought he knew me better than anyone else in the whole world.”

James is silent for a moment and then he says, softly, “Well, he didn’t. But as it turns out we didn’t really know him either.”

“No,” Sirius says slowly. “We didn’t.”

“So,” James sighs. “What are you going to do?”

“I can’t do anything. That’s the problem.”

“You’ve got, what, three weeks left, yeah? So just keep it in your bloody pants, and then as soon as it’s over, you can drag him out of that god forsaken tent and have your way with him.”

Sirius buries his face into his pillow and yells. “Why does three weeks suddenly feel like three years?”

“Because you’re pining and horny, but it’ll be over before you know it and you’ll have a neat wee pay-check and a cute baking boyfriend to go with it.”

“Oh my god, Prongs, he made me scones. We broke into the hotel kitchen and he baked me scones.”

“That’s disgustingly cute and I’m horribly jealous. Were they good scones?”

“The best.”

James groans. “Fuck you for making me think about scones. I wish I had a baker boyfriend…”

“I even set a tea towel on fire and he didn’t get mad.”

“Of course you did.”

“He was so quick to act too, Jamie. I was just standing there with this tea towel that was on fire and he knew exactly what to do. It was so sexy.”

“Okay, okay. Just because I support this union it doesn’t mean that I want to hear all the gross details. Save it for the shower, okay?”

“Oh, I am, don’t you worry.”

“Ew. Alright, well, I’m glad we’ve resolved this issue. I’m happy for you, Pads. Really.”

Sirius smiles, feeling like he’s glowing. “Thank you.”

thesiriusblack: <3 scones <3

Chapter Text

Comments on “Episode Three of the Great British Bake Off 2022: What You Missed”

underproveddough: double handshake????? star baker?????? so proud of our boy 

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: there were some majorly flirty vibes in the tent this week folks

remus4starbaker: @underproveddough i am DESPERATE to know what sirius whispered to remus after his double handshake :side eye: 

underproveddough: @remus4starbaker “i’ll show you MY buns”

remus4starbaker: @underproveddough “knead me like one of your cardamom rolls”

ChocolateHobNob: @remus4starbaker I read lips and this is what I could make out :-) [gif of Sirius turning to whisper in Remus’s ear, with the text “you’re amazing” overlaid on top]

underproveddough: @ChocolateHobNob OMFG?!????!! 

ILoveEggs: @ChocolateHobNob Wtffffff how is Remus still standing? I’d melt into a puddle if Sirius Black whispered that to me

remus4starbaker: @ILoveEggs look at that blush! the boy was defo melting

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: @ChocolateHobNob wow, sirius is down Bad. lmao.

***

Sirius feels like he’s losing the plot. 

He’s always been obsessive, has always had this tendency to hyper-focus on things that inspire him. This is, in part, what he thinks makes him work so well as a musician: he’ll find a thread of something that inspires him, and he’ll chase it until he’s satisfied. 

But he’s never been obsessed with a person before. Not like this. 

He’s found himself searching for remnants of Remus in everything. He smells Remus in the cinnamon dusted atop his morning cappuccino. He sees Remus’s hair in the browning leaves at Hyde Park. He feels Remus in the leather tomes and dusty shelves of his local secondhand bookstore. Sirius hasn’t set foot in a bookstore in years, but in the past week he’s found himself there everyday. He traces the spines of the books, reverent, and closes his eyes. He feels connected to Remus; as if the books are somehow a lifeline to him. As if Remus will somehow know, will somehow feel him too.

It’s also amongst the bookshelves that Sirius pictures himself as he might appear to Remus if he were there; mysterious and debonair, leaning against a bookshelf reading, his dark hair artfully ruffled and swept over his shoulder… He wonders if Remus would be impressed, or surprised, to see him there. Sirius wants to impress Remus. He wants to surprise him. He wants… 

He wants.

And it makes him feel unsteady in every sense of the word. It’s as if his mind and his body are completely out of his control; as if they don’t belong to him anymore. As if they somehow belong to Remus.

It’s worse than it was when he was 14 and coming to terms with the first pangs of desire. Sirius thought he’d done the horny teenager thing. He thought he was past being turned on by anything and everything. He’d thought surprise public boners were a thing of the past.

It seems that they are not.

On Thursday, the smell of rain is in the air, but the clouds are holding it all in, teasing and never quite relenting. Instead, the sky remains a forlorn in-between grey that Sirius hates; neither sunny nor rainy, just a big old melge of in-betweenness. He’s tired after a long day of staring at the studio wall, willing the right words and chords to come to him. They don't, so he admits defeat, slinging his guitar over his shoulder, and decides to take the long route home. 

His mood is as morose as the sky above him as he walks past his local bakery. Three weeks ago, Sirius wouldn’t have looked twice, but on the days between Bake Off, he’s found himself missing it; missing the smells of sugar and cinnamon and vanilla and chocolate as they waft through the tent. 

And so, Sirius turns his head to look into the bakery, desperate for a reminder of what’s waiting for him at the end of the week. And there, right there, by the windows, warm under the light of the display, are three perfect cardamom buns. 

Instantly, a white hot heat shoots through Sirius’s body as his brain helpfully supplies images of Remus’ large hands kneading dough…

He can’t make it home. Not like this; not now that his desire has been reignited. He swears under his breath, adjusting his bag to cover himself, as he sidles off to a nearby public toilet.

And as he has the most shameful wank of his life, he pictures half-lidded brown eyes, rumpled auburn curls, and golden skin glistening with sweat, and he thinks to himself, fuck it, he’s worth it…

So yeah. Sirius feels like he’s losing the plot.

The worst part is that he knows people want him. He knows that he’s one of the most wanted men in the country, and has been since he was seventeen. He’s not oblivious to his looks. He knows he’s gorgeous, and throughout his life, his appearance has remained the one thing about himself that he’s been sure about. His life might be falling apart, and his mental state might be a mess, but he knows he’s got high cheekbones and a jawline for days. And usually that’s enough, but oddly it just makes him feel insecure now. 

Because he doesn’t want to be the wanted man in the country: he just wants to be the most wanted man to Remus. 

And Remus… well. He thinks Remus probably doesn’t care about his appearance anyway. His cheekbones and jawline are all well and good, but he’s sure that Remus is best wooed with other things. Small things; meaningful things. Hand-knitted cardigans and dog-eared books and home-baked scones and a million other things that Sirius can’t offer him. 

He’s been agonising over it. Since his fateful realisation on Sunday, he had one day of that new crush warm flush before the dread and anxiety set in. Now, he lays awake, agonising over whether he thinks he’s the kind of person Remus would be attracted to. 

He’s decided that Remus is probably into serious, scholarly types who share his love of wool, baking, and knowledge of classic literature. Regardless of his recent stint in his local bookstore, Sirius is acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t read a book in five years. It’s not that he doesn’t like reading; he’s just always preferred Palahniuk and Ginsberg, and even Twilight, to the likes of Dickens and Bronte. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, his secondary school English teacher hadn’t quite shared Sirius’s appreciation of lines like “alcohol and cock and endless balls,” and from there his English marks had plummeted, and Sirius had simply stopped caring and turned to music instead. 

Music is the kind of poetry he’s always understood; and, more importantly, it’s the kind of poetry that has always understood him.

He knows he’s no idiot. He knows he’s always possessed an innate, albeit unhoned, intellect. Nonetheless, the tiny voice in his brain says that Remus would probably like him better if he was honed.

Remus probably wants long literary conversations in the park, hushed voices and soft smiles, cold fingers intertwined, cupping mugs of tea. And Sirius… well, he can’t picture himself in that image. He can’t reconcile the quiet and the calm with his own restlessness and loud, barking laugh. 

Remus probably wants quiet evenings with tea and books, with tender embraces in the soft candlelight. Not Sirius with his kitchen floor fucking, his late night ramblings and bouts of inspiration that pluck him from the bed and place him with his guitar, strumming and belting lyrics at four in the morning.

Sirius knows he could do well to slow down. But he’s not convinced his particular brand of chaos has a place in Remus’s life—a life, he’s realising, he knows very little about.

Sirius feels like he’s losing the plot.

Sirius has been texting Remus every day.

———

Sirius: [photo: the inside of his local bookstore, with double-storey bookcases and wooden spiral staircases]

Remus: Beautiful!!! Where is this!?

Sirius: marylebone, not far from my flat :)

Remus: Oof

Remus: How posh!

Sirius: it’s not /that/ posh! 

Sirius: i still get black mould

Sirius: still get pigeon shit on my windows

Sirius: i’m basically a regular person 

Remus: Yes, very regular

Remus: You’re practically a common person :-)

Sirius: … are you quoting pulp at me?

Remus: Haha well not directly… I don’t think they ever say those words /exactly/

Remus: But the sentiment is the same, I suppose

———

Sirius swallows. He feels like a bit of an arsehole, and it’s not even Remus’s fault; he’s dug this particular hole himself. He’s not entirely sure why he’s trying to insist that his life is normal; as if his flat isn’t posh and isn’t in one of the most expensive suburbs in the city. 

Because Sirius isn’t a normal person. Yes, there’s sometimes mould that grows on the roof of his bathroom, but he pays someone else to come in and deal with it. Pigeons shit on his windows, but it’s blasted off the next day by whoever is hired to keep his apartment facade spotless. He doesn’t even know them by name, his assistant deals with all that.

There’s only ever been one moment in his life when he’s ever seriously worried about money, and that had barely lasted twelve hours, thanks to James and his impossibly generous parents.

From heir of the Black fortune, to the adopted son of billionaires Monty and Euphemia Potter, to global pop sensation.

Nothing about his life is ordinary.

And Remus sees right through it.

God, he’s an arse.

———

Remus: Sorry, that was harsh

Sirius: no!

Sirius: it’s not

Sirius: you’re totally right

Sirius: i was being ignorant

Sirius: i’m sorry

Remus: :-)

Remus: ANYWAY 

Remus: That’s a very beautiful bookstore, Sirius.

Remus: Thank you for sharing it with me 

Sirius: np! thought it might bring you some joy :)

Sirius: nerd

Remus: We don’t have any bookstores like that here; it’s all charity shops with the same crusty Stephen King books and 20 copies of Twilight

Sirius: rough pickings for any literature enthusiast :(

Remus: Yes, exactly

Sirius: well you’re always welcome to come visit!

Sirius: if you want

Sirius: y’know

Sirius: to see the bookstore

Sirius: and me

Sirius: if you wanted

———

A minute passes and Remus doesn’t reply. Sirius hides his phone underneath a couch cushion and hides his face behind his hands.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s totally fine. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It could be interpreted as friendly, even.

His phone buzzes and Sirius launches the cushion across the room so hard it smacks into the wall and ricochets off it, taking a nearby lamp down with it. Sirius hears the crash, but he doesn’t look up, his eyes instead focused on his phone.

———

Remus: Do you mean that?

Sirius: of course!

Remus: Okay

Remus: I’d really like that

Remus: If that’s okay

Remus: I haven’t been to London in so long

Remus: I could get a hotel room. Probably would have to be in one of the outer boroughs or something. I don’t think I can afford Marylebone hotel prices :-)

Sirius: don’t be silly, you could stay here

Remus: Are you sure?

Sirius: yes! i love having guests

Sirius: i’ll even make pancakes

Remus: In that case, I’ll bring a fire extinguisher ;-)

Sirius: :single tear:

Sirius: so cruel, so callous

Remus: I’ll teach you how to put out fires if you show me how to dodge paparazzi

Sirius: … deal 

Remus: Does next week work? I’ve got some stuff that I need to be here for

Sirius: next week is perfect 

Remus: I’ll also need to practice if you don’t mind me destroying your kitchen

Remus: If I’m not eliminated by next week, that is

Sirius: i don’t mind at all! 

Sirius: and SHUSH

Sirius: need i remind you of your double handshake!?

Sirius: you’re minnie’s golden boy now

Sirius: you won’t get away that easily

Remus: I just tend to buckle under pressure

Remus: There’s only one way to go from here and it’s not up lol

Sirius: you’re so wrong

Sirius: i wish you could understand how Wrong you are

Remus: Hahaha okay okay

Remus: I’m very excited to visit London, though

Sirius: yay

Sirius: it’ll be loads of fun

Remus: :-)

Sirius: :D

———

***

Summer’s not yet over, but it’s cold in Wales. The weather is grey and miserable and the cold has set into Remus’s joints, making his bad hip twinge, and giving him a limp. He massages his hip and winces, his bones tender beneath the scarred skin. He’s often felt years beyond his age but sometimes he legitimately feels like an old man marauding as a twenty-something. Tired, sore, and world-weary. This is one of those moments.

And yet… There's something young and bright that threatens to break through inside him. It’s new, green, and fragile: a new bud that needs sunlight and water. In his mother’s rickety old house on the Welsh coast, it feels like he’s doomed it to eternal night.

It’s strange too, because ordinarily Remus loves this weather. He loves the cosy feeling of snuggling up beside the fire with a cup of tea and a good book. Ordinarily.

Right now, all he craves is warmth: the sound of cicadas, the air thick with flowers—honeysuckle and lavender and lupin—with sweaty palms and bright grins. The headiness of summer has gotten under his skin and now he doesn’t want to sit by the fire and read. He wants to run through a field, dodgy hip be darned, and throw himself down on the grass and sing.

He wants—

His thoughts are cut short by the sound of Marlene rustling around in his Mum’s dinky old kitchen. He looks up from where he was worrying his nail beds to see her stooped over the gas stove, her blond hair luminescent and golden in the candlelight. He’d come home from Bake Off on Sunday night to discover Marlene already there, running Hope a bath and stoking the fire. Hope had forgotten to pay the power bills again, and had spent the weekend in the cold, forced to endure the rain and icy coastal winds by candlelight. 

In that moment, he’d been afraid the guilt would swallow him whole. He should have been here, he should have known. But he wasn’t, he didn’t. He’d been so carried away with Bake Off and scones and Sirius, he—

He forces himself to stop those thoughts before they can take off, before they can lead him down a cavernous tunnel that he still doesn’t know the way back from. Those thoughts don’t help Hope, and they don’t help you. That’s what Marlene would say.

He doesn’t know how Marlene had known that Hope had gotten bad again. He doesn’t know how Marlene ever knows, but she always does. He doesn’t ever have to say anything—the words always getting stuck somewhere between his chest and throat—but she can read him like a book regardless. She seems to be able to read Hope in the same way.

In a lot of ways, Marlene has been the one thing holding Hope and Remus together since that fateful day in March, just before his birthday, when—he still can’t say it. Can’t even think it.

And in the months afterwards, when Hope and Remus were both drowning in dust and ghosts and memories, Marlene had fished them both out and tied them to her.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever thank her for that.

And now, she sits across from him, carefully placing two cups of tea down on the scarred wooden table.

Remus inclines his head in thanks, wincing slightly from his neck that he slept badly on the night before. He doesn’t sleep well in his own bed at the moment, so when he closes his eyes, he imagines Peter Rabbit and the smell of roses.

And, sometimes, when he lets his mind get away from him, he imagines a shock of black hair against his pillow. Pale skin against his own golden skin. Stormy eyes gazing up at him, lips—

“Sore hip?” Malene’s voice shakes him from his reverie.

Remus clears his throat and blows on his tea before he takes a sip. “Yeah.”

“How’s the bread practice going?”

He shrugs. “So, so. Bread’s always a bit of a funny one. It either works or it doesn’t.”

“You’ll be excellent if this focaccia is anything to go by,” Marlene says, around a mouthful of focaccia that’s still warm from the oven. 

He hums, taking another sip of his tea.

Marlene’s eyes sharpen and take on a mischievous edge. “ So, have you heard from Sirius? You have his number now, yeah?”

Remus bites his lip. “Um, yeah. I have.”

“And…” 

“And… He, er. He invited me to stay with him, actually. In his house?” Remus says it as if it’s a question, because part of him doesn’t quite believe it’s real. He keeps looking at his phone, convinced he made it up. But it’s there, in text, blinking up at him through the screen: you’re always welcome to come visit!

Marlene grins at him. “He invited you to stay with him? In London?”

“Yeah.”

“And you were going to mention this when?”

Remus takes another sip of tea. “I keep thinking that I imagined it, to be honest.”

Marlene’s face does an odd thing; scrunches up in a mix of what looks like fondness and sorrow. “Remus… you need to start believing that good things can happen to you. I’d hoped… Well. I’d hoped Bake Off might help remind you of that.”

Remus looks at the table. The sad look in Marlene’s brown eyes then is too much. It’s too… much. “I’m getting there. I am. I think winning star baker has helped a lot.” A small smile threatens his face then. “And I think… I think Sirius has helped a lot too. He has no idea, but he has.”

Marlene reaches out and grabs his hand, stopping him from picking his nail beds, stopping him before he inevitably makes them bleed. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m happy for you, y’know? You’ve come so far already. There’s this… brightness to you that wasn’t there before. I don’t know if it’s ever been there, actually. Is that too cheesy for me to say?”

Remus snorts. “Yeah, a little. I’m feeling pretty cheesy in general these days, though.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“One second…” With her free hand, Marlene pulls out her phone and spends a few moments typing until—”Aha!”

She turns it to him.

thesiriusblack: i think i just wrote a love song

JamesHotPot: @thesiriusblack Is it about me? 

thesiriusblack: @JamesHotPot go away 

JamesHotPot: @thesiriusblack Whats it called? “Scones & Clotted Cream”? :P

thesiriusblack: @JamesHotPot i’m blocking you

Remus gapes at the phone. It can’t… Can it? James can’t possibly be referring to him, can he? Is it a joke?

“I know,” Marlene says, smugly. “His fans have gone into overdrive in the replies. It’s chaos. They keep asking him to butter their scones.”

“I, um. Wow.” Remus is stunned. He’s shook to the very core. What does this mean?

Marlene’s brown eyes are sharp and he internally admonishes himself for being so transparent. She doesn’t miss a thing. “This wouldn’t somehow be a reference to you, now, would it?” 

Remus ducks his head, biting his lip to stop the coy smile from breaking out across his face. “I, er, might have made Sirius scones?”

“Explain.”

“Well, we broke into the hotel kitchens and made scones. We—well, he—also started a fire, but that’s besides the point.”

“Oh my god.”

“We also needed to pick the lock to get in, and he couldn’t get the bobby pin out of his pocket, so he put my hand in his pocket because my fingers are longer? I had my hand in his pocket, Marlene.”

“Oh my god. Sirius Black is writing love songs about you.”

“We don’t know that!”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Okay, play coy all you want, Remus, but Potter basically confirmed it.”

“It’s probably just a joke, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Marlene’s eyebrows are raised as if he’s saying something ridiculous, which is ridiculous, because what she’s suggesting is completely ridiculous. 

Remus squirms under her gaze. “I, um. I have a favour to ask. And you’re free to say no! Keep that in mind. Please don’t feel pressured to say yes—”

“Lay it on me, lover boy.”

“So, I don’t feel totally comfortable leaving Mum alone next week, not after last weekend. Is there any chance you’d be able to stay with her if I go to London next week? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Of course, Remus. You don’t even have to ask, I was going to offer, anyway. Go to London, let Sirius serenade you, and then make love to him in his swanky London apartment. I’ll handle the rest.”

Remus blushes hard, and he hates Marlene for putting those ideas in his head, because… fuck. “That’s never going to happen,” he mumbles. 

Marlene fixes him with a frustrated look, and he knows what’s coming, so he talks before she can start lecturing him: “It’s in his contract. We can’t do anything, even if he wanted to—which I’m pretty sure he doesn’t—but even if he did , we couldn’t, so…”

“That’s bullshit! He’s an adult; you’re all adults. Sirius should be allowed to put it wherever he wants. Especially if it’s in you. Or would it be the other way around? Both?”

“Oh my god, Marlene, stop.”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just… it’s bullshit. Is that in Lily’s contract too?”

“No, just Sirius’s.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know.”

“Poor guy… Probably residual prejudice from all that press he used to get. You know: ‘playboy Sirius Black at it again with another mystery man/woman. When will he slow down?’”

“It was slut shaming,” Remus says softly. “There’s nothing else to it.”

“Indeed. He’s hot, he has wants and desires, and it’s his body; it’s no one else’s business, unless he wants it to be. So fuck it, and fuck them for writing that into his contract.”

Remus rubs his chin with the back of his hand. “I agree. But the point still stands; we can’t do anything.”

Marlene smiles devilishly. “Still… there are other things you two could do. What about sexting? Is that in his contract?”

Remus chokes on his mouthful of tea. “I’m not sexting Sirius! I’m not sexting anyone!”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he splutters. “It’s awkward. It’s weird.”

Marlene just shrugs. “Your loss. Still, I just know there’s a naughty little sexter somewhere inside you, Lupin. There’s time for him yet!”

***

Bread week will be the death of Sirius. Remus’s forearms will be the death of Sirius. Remus’s hands will be the death of Sirius.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Sirius takes a deep, shuddering breath, and tries to form a single coherent thought—just one!—to slow down the heat that’s spreading through his body. If James were here, he’d take one look at Sirius, with his flushed cheeks and frazzled expression, and he’d wheeze with laughter. Because, not for the first time, Sirius has found himself out of his mind just from a little dough kneading. 

Had he not been so overwhelmed with his recent realisation about Remus, he might have accounted for this; taken last week’s cardamom bun incident as a warning. Bread week. Really Sirius, he thinks, how could you be so stupid?  

As it stands, he’s currently tucked into his belt and praying for the best. It’s uncomfortable and shameful, and he keeps grimacing. Lily has been shooting him confused, concerned looks all morning. 

And Remus… Well, he’s somehow more beautiful than Sirius remembered; even after a week of hopelessly romanticising everything about him. Remus’s hair is all shaggy auburn curls, slightly wet at his temples from the heat of the tent. Sirius wants to taste the sweat at his brow, and he’s desperate to run his hands through Remus’s hair. He wonders if Remus likes having his hair tugged on. Sirius certainly does…

… And Sirius needs to stop this train of thought before it takes off. He’s on the verge of public indecency as it is. If only it wasn’t so hot, so heady, the air so thick…

Sirius shakes his head, trying to dislodge the lewd thoughts within. He needs to pull himself together. He needs a cold shower. He needs…

He needs Remus.

“God fucking damnit,” he mutters.

***

Remus is covered in olive oil. It’s in between his fingers, up his forearms, and, somehow, in his hair. Being so busy with Bake Off, and with his PhD burning away in the background, his curls have been growing at a rapid rate, untamed, and Remus doesn’t know how to manage them properly. He’s enjoying the longer hair, although he’s discovering that they’re rather inconvenient when he’s trying to knead oily dough and can’t use his hands to keep it out of his face.

“Here,” Sirius says, suddenly beside him. “Let me.”

As if reading Remus’s thoughts, Sirius reaches up, his fingers gentle and soft against Remus’s brow as he collects the damp curls hanging there, pinning them back. His eyebrows are knitted in concentration, but he’s a little pink and Remus watches a drop of perspiration as it slides down Sirius’s temple, down his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, down, down, down…

Remus licks his lips, imagining licking the sweat off of his skin; salty, soft, Sirius. 

God, he’s disgusting.

And Sirius is looking at him. Remus wants to die.

“Thank you,” he says, blushing. “I’m not used to having hair this long. It’s a little inconvenient for bread-making.”

Sirius bites his lip, his eyes looking strangely glassy. God, Remus has probably made him feel weird. “You suit it. It lets your curls really sing.”

Remus can feel his cheeks burning at Sirius’s comment. He doesn’t know what to say, and he isn’t sure that the right words will come to him at that moment, so he focuses on kneading the focaccia dough instead. 

Sirius lets out a small noise; somewhere between a groan and a whine, and Remus looks up.

Sirius’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are red. Is he unwell? Should Remus call over Poppy?

“Are you alright?” Remus asks.

“Yeah, I’m—” Sirius chokes out. “I have to go.” He turns too quickly, not looking where he’s going, and promptly walks straight into a fridge. 

“Sirius! Are you—”

“Fine, I’m fine,” Sirius says, not looking back at Remus. He exits the tent in three quick strides, leaving a very confused and concerned Remus in his wake.

Did Sirius know he was being weird? Did Sirius catch Remus leering at him? Did Remus make him uncomfortable? Such thoughts swirl around in Remus’s head, and he frowns as he kneads his dough, which is how Lily finds him.

“Something wrong with the dough?

“Hmm? Oh, no. The dough’s fine.”

“What’s up, then? You’re all frowny.”

“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s just. Does Sirius seem a little off to you?” 

He doesn’t expect Lily to nod. “I haven’t been able to get a coherent sentence out of him all morning. It’s actually rather annoying, given we’re both supposed to be hosting this thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was drunk.”

Remus sighs, at once relieved and more concerned. “Okay, phew. That’s good. I thought it might’ve just been me.”

“Why would it just be you?”

Remus doesn’t respond, instead focusing on kneading his dough. However, in an act of total betrayal, he feels his cheeks flush. 

A slow smile spreads across Lily’s face. “Oh. I see .” She laughs, and it’s a light, amused sound. “Where is he, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. One minute he was here, pinning back my hair, then I started kneading my dough and he walked into a fridge and abruptly left.”

Something akin to realisation dawns across Lily’s face then and it makes Remus curious. God, he burns with curiosity. What does she know?

“What—” he starts, but is quickly cut off by Lily.

“I’ll go find him,” she says, grinning now.

Remus watches her back as she leaves the tent. 

What the fuck is going on?

***

Sirius is under a willow tree with his head in his hands when Lily finds him.

“Hello, you,” she says. Her voice is smug. Why is it so smug?

He looks up. He knows he probably looks like a mess; all sweaty and red and just—

Fucking Remus Lupin and his fucking hands. 

She sits down beside him and they look out towards the hills and the lake. It’s so lovely.

Like Remus.

Fuck.

“I sat here with him, you know,” she says. “After the Severus incident.”

“Oh,” he says, trying not to sound too interested. “That’s… nice.”

Lily hums. “It is, isn’t it? He’s quite nice too, I think.”

Sirius looks at her then, at her copper hair and her emerald eyes that are lit up with amusement. Sirius narrows his eyes. “What do you know?” 

Lily laughs. “Nothing… But I have suspicions.”

Sirius sniffs. “Right.”

She nudges him with her shoulder. “He thinks he upset you, y’know.”

Sirius whips his head around and stares at her. “What!? That’s absurd.”

“I know,” she laughs. “Poor, clueless boy. If only he knew what was actually going on.”

“Shut up. I hear enough of this already from James.”

At the mention of James’s name, Lily’s cheeks go pink and she ducks her head, smiling as if she can’t help it. It’s similar to an expression that James has been wearing a lot lately too. Sirius’s eyes narrow, and he reminds himself to call James as soon as filming is over for the day. There’s something going on there; he’s certain of it.

“So,” Lily says, now in control of her blush. “What are you going to do?”

Sirius pouts. There are a million things he could say, a million things he wants to do. But it all really boils down to his contract. It all boils down to what he can’t do.

“Well, whatever you do,” Lily says, in lieu of his response, “You need to get it under control. You’ve been impossible to work with all morning.”

Sirius groans, dropping his head back into his hands. “It’s the dough,” he mumbles into the skin of his palms. “It’s the kneading. It’s his hands. They’re obscene.”

Lily laughs. “They are a bit, aren’t they?”

***

Whatever Lily said to Sirius seems to have worked, and by the end of the signature challenge, he’s back to his usual routine of making people laugh and stealing food when no one’s looking. Remus’s block of feta has been slowly but surely decreasing in size since Sirius’s return to the tent.

He still won’t look Remus in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time, but he doesn’t seem to be upset with Remus, and, frankly, Remus is desperate enough for his attention that he’ll take whatever he can get.

For this week’s signature, the judges have asked them all to make and decorate focaccia so that it resembles a treasured childhood memory.

Remus has flavoured his with sun-dried tomato and paprika, and on top is an assemblage of vegetables, feta, and chorizo, which are arranged to resemble the flora and fauna of a town on the Spanish coast that he’d visited with his parents. It was before his accident, and before his relationship with his father had soured and warped. It was one of the few, final happy memories had with both his parents; together and unified. A family .

Not that he tells that to the judges.

“What did you say the memory was?”

“Oh, it was a trip to Spain with my parents. First time out of the country, y’know? Special memories.”

“I see. Well, they’re good flavours. Potent.”

“Hmm.”

“Nice presentation as well.”

“Indeed.”

“But I’m not wowed.”

“I agree. If I got this in a cafe, I’d be very pleased, but we’re looking for a bit more than cafe quality at this stage in the competition.”

Remus nods. The butterflies in his stomach are in overdrive, and his cheeks are hot, but he doesn’t feel like the floor is going to fall out from beneath him. 

He considers that a win.

After the judging, Arthur pats a sniffling Mary’s shoulder and frowns. 

“The judges were rather harsh this morning,” Arthur says, his voice low and frustrated.

Remus is slightly taken aback. Arthur has always seemed completely unaffected by trials of tent and the whims of the judges. This is the first time Remus has heard him so affected by it. 

Mary lets out a gentle sob, and Remus can’t help it, can’t deal with her looking so sad , and takes her into his arms. Mary, who is sunlight personified; so bright and infectious and effervescent. Remus hates seeing her this sad and he desperately wants to make it stop.

Mary buries her face into Remus’s chest and cries. He strokes the back of her head and makes what he hopes are soothing sounds.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a while, her voice muffled by his chest.

“What for?” he asks.

Mary peels away from his chest, her brown eyes glassy, black eyelashes stuck together with tears. “I’ve got snot all over your shirt.”

Remus looks down at his shirt and chuckles. The green linen is speckled with tears and, yes, there’s definitely snot too.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll just run back to my room and change before the technical. It’s no biggie.”

“Thank you guys…” Mary takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then exhales slowly. “Ugh! When I signed up for this, I swore to myself I wouldn’t cry. I’m so embarrassed!”

Mary still looks so fragile and frustrated, and Remus still can’t stand it, so he puts his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side.

He can feel eyes on him then, and he looks up. Sure enough, across the tent, Sirius is watching them. Remus smiles at Sirius, but Sirius drops his eyes to Mary, his gaze going strangely sharp. He turns away. 

Remus blinks as unease swirls in his stomach. Does Sirius like… Mary? At that thought, Remus’s heart gives a shuddering jolt. 

Thrown off by Sirius’s reaction, it takes Remus a moment to realise that Arthur is talking.

“—as I said, it’s not your fault! Something’s gotten into the judges this morning, and I’m not thrilled. Albus particularly had no right in saying that!”

Arthur sounds so cross and fatherly that Remus can’t help smiling. But then Sirius’s expression flashes through his mind again. 

Remus drops his arm from Mary’s shoulders and clears his throat. “I’m just gonna go… get changed. Be back in a few.”

Mary smiles warmly at him and says, “Thank you Remus. And, er… sorry again.” She looks at his shirt sheepishly.

He flashes her a small smile and ducks out of the tent.

On the way to his room, he takes deep breaths. He needs to get it together.

“For this week’s technical, the judges have asked you to make a sourdough loaf.” 

Remus groans quietly. He hasn’t successfully made sourdough. Ever.

“Any words of advice for our contestants, Minerva?”

“The magic is in the proof!”

After a long four hours of waiting, Remus opens his proofing drawer and frowns. His dough has barely risen at all.

He pokes it and his frown deepens. The dough doesn’t bounce back, instead holding the shape of his fingertip.

“Shite.”

“What’s wrong, Remus?” Arthur asks.

“My dough isn’t rising.”

“Oh no, the bane of any sourdough maker… I should probably check on mine too, now that you mention it.” 

Arthur opens up his proving drawer and looks inside. “Oh. Oh dear.”

“Alright, Arthur? How’s yours looking?”

“Decidedly under-proofed.”

“Shite. Okay.”

Arthur and Remus grimace at each other.

“Arthur? Remus?” Kingsley says, voice thin and uncharacteristically shrill. “Has your dough risen?”

Remus shakes his head, and Arthur says, “Afraid not, dear Kingsley. Please tell me yours is at least risen?”

“No. It’s barely risen at all! It’s been four hours! We should all have at least some lift by now!”

“It could be the starter?” Remus offers. 

Kingsley frowns. “They wouldn’t provide us with a dead starter…”

Peter has now appeared at Remus’s side, face smiling and bright amongst the frowns. “Maybe it’s part of the challenge.”

“Has yours risen, Pete?” Remus asks, slinging a long arm around Peter’s shoulders. He likes having Peter close. He’s warm, soft, and comforting against Remus’s angles and knobbly knees. And, regardless of whether it’s bread week or not, Peter always smells like freshly baked bread, with a subtle base note of daisies. 

Peter leans into him and shakes his head. Strangely, he smiles even wider. “Nope! My sourdough’s as dead as a doorknob.”

“And you sound… happy about it?” Kingsley says, confused.

“Oh, no; I’m devastated. But it’s also such a nice day and I’m in my favourite place with my favourite people, and the dough is out of my control at this point, so…” He shrugs. “It’d be a shame to let it affect my mood, don’t you think?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus catches Peter and Mary sharing a furtive glance and, ah. There it is.

Arthur laughs, oblivious to Mary and Peter. “Indeed! It is a lovely day. I love your attitude, Peter. What’s it they say in France? Er…” 

Sirius sidles up next to Kingsley. “C’est la vie?” he offers in perfectly accented French.

If Remus wasn’t feeling so hot and tingly from Sirius’s accent, he’d probably roll his eyes. Because of course Sirius can speak French.

“Yes!” Arthur says. “That’s the one. C’est la vie. I know, let’s all put these horrible loaves in the oven, have a cuppa, and enjoy our time together. I don’t care if I’m eliminated tomorrow,  but I’ll regret it if I don’t spend as much time with you all as possible!”

And they do just that.

“Ah…” Minerva says, looking at the loaves as they’re all lined up behind the baker’s pictures. “Not a properly risen loaf in sight.”

Albus taps his goatee. “Either none of you can handle sourdough, or we have an inactive starter on our hands.”

Minerva frowns. “Surely not… ”

Albus retrieves the sourdough starter, sniffs it and winces. “Hmm, yes. Smells dead to me. Here you go, dear Minerva; you are the bread expert, after all.”

Minerva leans forward to smell the starter, and Remus holds his breath. 

She leans back and Remus lets out a shaky exhale. “It’s dead.”

Kingsley drops his head into his hands. “Thank god.”

“Well,” Albus says, smiling. “Hardly fair to judge them, then, is it? I suppose we could still look at the bake on them… not that it’ll mean much.”

Minerva frowns. 

In the end, they all draw. There’s no significant differences between the loaves, and while Remus can tell it hurts Minerva to wave off the technical challenge, it’s decided that it’s not fair to judge them off of a faulty starter that was completely outside of their control.

In celebration, the contestants, joined by Lily and Sirius, migrate to a lake-side pub in the nearby town Bowness-on-Windermere. 

Once they’ve all sat down in the pub’s garden, overlooking Lake Windermere, with their drinks ordered, Remus relaxes. 

He closes his eyes as the warm evening sun touches his skin, and he listens. He hears the breeze’s gentle fingers stroke the fronds of the nearby willow trees, like fingertips on guitar strings; a chorus of cicadas; the soft rhythm of the lake lapping at the shore. 

The tension from the day seeps away as the sun and beer slowly hit his system, and he feels gooey: warm and relaxed from the sun.

When he opens his eyes, blinking, he notices that Sirius’s gaze is fixed on him, his eyes lingering somewhere around his collarbone. Sirius’s mouth is open slightly, his tongue slowly tracing his lower lip, wetting it. He seems completely oblivious to Remus watching him watch him. 

Remus swallows.

Lily laughs loudly at something Arthur says, and accidentally bumps Sirius—”sorry darling!”—shaking Sirius from his reverie. Sirius draws a hearty gulp from his gin and tonic and looks away.

Remus takes another sip of his beer and leans back into the sun, its warmth melting away the usual barrage of worries and concerns that might usually threaten his peace. He can feel its warmth melt away the residual frost that’s lingered inside him since March.

He exhales slowly.

The thaw, at long last.

It’s an hour later when Remus feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

———

Sirius: wanna get out of here? 

Sirius: go explore the lake?

———

Remus bites his lip and looks up. Sirius is quick to catch his eye, smirking, although Remus can see that he’s also jiggling his leg nervously under the table.

He doesn’t have to think before he types out his response. Despite the fact that they’ve been texting daily in and around Bake Off, Remus feels like he’s hardly seen Sirius this week. He misses Sirius.

———

Remus: Definitely

Remus: I’ll follow your lead

————

Sirius grins and clears his throat. “This has been absolutely lovely, truly , but I’ve got an, er… phone call. It’s very important. Very urgent. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Sirius ducks out from the table and as he turns the corner, he looks back at Remus and winks.

Remus coughs. “I should also go,” he says. “I’ve got a headache. A really nasty one.”

“Oh!” Lily says. “I have ibuprofen in my bag! You should have said something earlier, Remus.”

Remus waves her off. “That’s okay, Lils—thank you though. I have special medication and it’s, um, back at the hotel. So, that’s where I’m going. Back to the hotel… Erm, excuse me…”

He ducks out, despite the protests of Lily and the other contestants, and turns the corner quickly, urgently, which sends him hurtling straight into Sirius.

“Oof!” Sirius says, placing his hands on Remus’s forearms to steady them both as they stumble.

“Shite! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, Moonshine.” Sirius smiles up at him. “What was your excuse?”

“Headache.”

“Ouch. I didn’t know that’s how you felt about me,” Sirius says, his tone playful.

Remus laughs. “Well, you do have this horribly shrill voice…”

Sirius gasps in faux-offence. “Excuse me; I have a grammy that says otherwise.”

Remus rolls his eyes, and a small, half-buried part of his mind thinks about how weird this should all feel. Here he is, heckling grammy-winning Sirius Black; the same Sirius Black whose entire discography he owns on CD and vinyl. The same Sirius Black whose music he’s revered since he was seventeen.

It should be weird. It would have been weird not even two weeks ago. But now? It’s the most natural thing in the world.

They find themselves sitting at the lakeside, beneath the long fronds of a willow as the sun sets. The horizon is lit up in a bright, startling yellow; the colour of egg-yolk, of newborn chick fluff. It’s bright and innocent.

And yet, its brightness is nothing compared to the smile of the man sitting beside him.

“He calls you what?” Remus says, laughing.

“Padfoot,” Sirius says proudly.

“Why?”

“It’s a long—” Sirius’s phone starts buzzing and he holds a hand up in apology. “One second...”

Sirius looks down at his phone, flicking through messages, and the longer he looks, the deeper he frowns. He puts his phone away with a sigh, and Remus aches to rub at that spot between his eyebrows, to smooth out the crease that remains there. Sirius stares at the ground as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, completely lost in thought, the crease between his brows growing deeper. Remus hates it. 

“Bad news?” Remus inquires, testing the water, but his voice comes out husky, stuck. 

Sirius hums in response, delicately stroking a river stone with his forefinger. There’s a silence for a moment, a tense one, and Remus is about to make some silly comment about the sunset or the lake, just to fill it, when Sirius says, “I don’t know why I’m so easily bothered, I don’t know why I always get so bothered. I know it’s silly, I know I’m being dramatic, but I can’t seem to shake it. I can never shake it.”

Remus looks at the sky and watches as the bright light starts to give way to splotches of blue and mottled dark grey. “It matters. If it makes you feel like this then it matters.”

Sirius looks at him through his eyelashes, wet from unshed tears. “I wish I didn’t feel so much all the time. I wish I could just be and not be so bothered by everything.”

“Maybe, but that’s not you,” Remus says, resting his chin on his knees. “I think it’s a beautiful thing to be able to feel so deeply. To be able to let yourself feel deeply.”

“I suppose...” Sirius says, but the tone of his voice suggests that he’s still unconvinced.

So, Remus tries again. “I have a confession to make.”

Sirius looks up then, his grey eyes wide and almost childlike. “What?”

“I’m a fan. Of your music.”

Sirius lets out a little huff of breath. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

Remus laughs slightly, fiddling with a button on the sleeve of his shirt, and decides to jump in, head first. “I was so… shocked when you released your solo album. Not because it was bad! But because it came out at the perfect time in my life. It was uncanny, really. It almost felt like it had been written for me. All that loss, that anger… that hopelessness.” Remus’s voice cracks, but he continues. “It was exactly how I felt. I was so full of so many strange, conflicting feelings and I couldn’t make sense of any of them. It made me feel so… empty. But then I heard your album, and, well… It helped. It gave me the words for how I was feeling. You gave me the words for how I was feeling.”

Sirius is wide eyed then, surrounded by the fronds of the willow, the last vestiges of sunlight dappling on his skin, on his hair, in his eyes, making them shine. Remus thinks he almost looks like the image of some god, some painting; he should be in a gallery, the Louvre . His aristocratic features, his windswept black hair, surrounded by the green; frazzled, shirt untucked, and hair ruffled. Remus has a fleeting thought that he doesn’t know what’s more beautiful: Sirius or the scenery.

It’s him, his mind supplies. Him.

“Who?” Sirius’s voice is soft and hesitant in a way Remus has never heard it before.

“My dad. He died in March.” Remus says, and at that moment it’s the most natural thing. He’s never said those words aloud before. He’s never even let himself think them. It’s the same thing that took him months to admit to Marlene, his lifelong friend, and even then he could only say it through veiled words and sentences that only someone like Marlene could decipher. 

And yet, here he is, telling Sirius about it plainly and honestly after knowing him for only three weeks.

“Oh.”

“You?”

Sirius smiles, and it’s a wry, sad motion of his mouth. “My little brother, Regulus.”

“Oh." Remus closes his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m so tired of hearing that… I imagine you are too.”

Sirius hums. “I just wish things were different. I wish I was different.”

“Yeah,” Remus says. “I know that feeling. I wish I knew how to be open, how to trust. Part of me really wants to be more honest with other people, but I don't know how. I don’t think I even trust myself most of the time. Maybe that’s the problem.” As the words leave Remus’s mouth, something catches in his chest, at the truth of the words, and he feels tears burning at his eyes, his lungs constricting. He lets out a quiet sob before he can stop it.

“Sorry,” Remus says quickly, shakily, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Remus,” Sirius says, and his voice is soft and gentle again. He reaches over and strokes soothing circles on Remus’s shoulder. Despite the fact that he’s literally on the verge of crying, the stroking sends tingles through Remus’s shoulder, down his spine; up and down, through the very core of his being. Remus thinks that he could be on the verge of death and he’d probably still be affected by Sirius’s touch. “It’s fine. Please don’t apologise. Not to me.”

“I'm sorry,” Remus says again, not thinking.

“Remus… It’s okay to cry.”

“It hurts, Sirius...” 

“I know. I know it hurts, but it’s there whether you want it to be or not, and you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to hold it in.” Remus doesn’t know when the dynamic shifted—from Remus comforting Sirius, to Sirius comforting Remus. That’s rather like them, he thinks. Like the push and pull of the tide.

Remus blinks at Sirius, and the movement sends hot, wet tears down his cheeks. “It’s the guilt too. I feel so guilty all the time. And then I feel like a coward for even feeling that way. Is that crazy?”

Sirius shakes his head, and opens his mouth to talk, but Remus keeps going. He wants to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, but he can’t . He can’t remember how to hold them in. “I feel so lost, sometimes.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself. “Before Bake Off, I’d forgotten why I’d ever wanted friends. Why I’d ever wanted a relationship. What’s the point, I thought, when everyone dies ? It hurts too much. I couldn’t take it. I still can’t take it, Sirius.”

Sirius reaches down for Remus’s hand and squeezes, lacing his fingers with Remus’s. “When Regulus died, I cut myself off from everyone. Even James. Even though he understood my pain more than anyone. Even though he loved Regulus as much as I did, possibly even more…”

Sirius takes a deep breath, and Remus squeezes Sirius’s hand to let him know that he’s listening. Sirius’s touch has quickly become a lifeline to Remus, and he hopes it’s mutual. “This was all just before our first world tour, and I dropped everything. I tried to cut everyone out, tried to cut my feelings out. I was chasing every high I could find, hoping it’d somehow cancel out this low that I felt. And y’know what?”

“What?”

“It worked.” Sirius chuckles, but it’s humourless. “But only for a time… And as soon as I woke up, I’d feel that low. And I’d feel even lower than I did before, so I just kept going, and pushing, and I pushed harder and harder. And it wasn’t very long before it all came crashing down. I almost fucked up the whole tour. I alienated my best friends and bandmates, even my boyfriend… Y’know, I don’t think Fabian ever looked at me the same after that.”

“Sirius…” Remus starts. 

“It wasn’t his fault; he’s a bastard, but it wasn’t his fault. I pulled away from him completely. I may have been buckling from the weight, but I shouldn’t have tried to drag him down with me. I’m not an easy person to be in a relationship with, but it wasn’t fair…” 

Sirius swallows. “The worst part is I knew I just looked like another kid who’d gotten too famous too soon and had fallen through the cracks. I was so close to doing irreparable damage. And then it wasn’t just grief, but loneliness, shame, and guilt. But…”

“But?”

“But I got through it… and not by cutting out everyone I care about, but by learning to lean on them.”

“I’m scared, Sirius. I’m scared of leaning too much. I already lean on Marl more than is fair.”

“So lean on me too,” Sirius says as if it’s the most simple thing in the world.

And perhaps it is.

Remus feels Sirius’s arm wind around his shoulders, and he smells the spicy woodiness that he’s grown to associate with the other man. He can smell notes of what he now recognises as saffron in Sirius’s cologne, and Remus closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. 

Sirius squeezes his shoulder. “We all care about you, you know? All of us, everyone in the tent. I don’t think you see it, but you bring people together. People look to you and you lift them up. And I think they’re lifting you up too. And no amount of grief is worth starving yourself of that… don’t you think?”

“You’re really good at this,” Remus says, overwhelmed.

Sirius barks out a laugh, and again he strikes Remus as vaguely canine. “Don’t sound so surprised!”

“You’d make a great guru, you know. Like Russel Brand. Former celebrity rogue turned celebrity spiritual leader.” 

Sirius throws his head back and laughs, exposing the pale expanse of his neck. When he looks at Remus, his eyes are bright and alive. “I literally can’t imagine anything worse, Moons.”

***

———

Sirius: i’ve got it

Remus: Oh?

Sirius: your nickname

Sirius: are you ready

Sirius: i don’t think you are

Remus: I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready

Remus: But go on. Lay it on me, Padfoot ;-)

Sirius: ooh yes

Sirius: i like it when you call me that

Sirius: keep doing that please

Remus: …

Sirius: okay okay, are you ready?

Sirius: …………

Sirius: ………

Sirius: ……

Sirius: …

Sirius: *drumroll*

Sirius: MOONY

Sirius: *fireworks* 

Sirius: *applause*

Remus: Oh okay

Remus: Makes sense I guess!

Sirius: erm 

Sirius: that’s it? ‘makes sense’?? you 'guess'???

Remus: Lol, sorry

Remus: I love it

Remus: Thank you PADFOOT :-)

Sirius: np MOONY :)))

———

***

Sirius is feeling much more sane on Sunday than he had been the day before. He wonders if part of it is to do with the conversation he’d had with Remus the previous afternoon. It strikes him as a very Remus thing indeed; to be both the cause of Sirius’s issues, as well as the solution.

It also helps that Sirius has taken Lily’s advice to heart. He knows that the moment he looks at Remus’s hands, his concentration will be shot for the rest of the day. So, instead, he resolutely doesn’t look at Remus, won’t set foot near Remus, so long as he’s got his hands on dough. 

It’s not ideal—Sirius loves watching Remus knead dough (a little too much)—but it’ll have to do if Sirius wants to keep his job and avoid popping a stiffy on live television. 

He’s counting down the days, no, the hours, until his contract ends.

***

On Sunday, Remus feels the calmest he’s felt since, well… before his father’s death, probably. The fact that he can even admit that is a testament to his mental state.

Ever since his conversation with Sirius by the lake, he’s felt as if he’s floating. It’s not the detached, outer-body floating he sometimes experiences when his body goes into overdrive from stress, but a light, peaceful kind of floating.

He hadn’t realised that, in not allowing himself to properly grieve, he’d relegated himself to a constant state of grief without reprieve, and that’s perhaps the greatest irony of all. He hadn’t realised how it'd effected other parts of his life. He’d been a tightly strung bow, stretched too thin. It would have been just a matter of time before he snapped.

The difference becomes particularly evident when he accidentally over-proofs his bread basket, and instead of hyperventilating and worrying the skin of his nail beds, he simply shrugs and moves on. 

He focuses on Arthur in front of him, humming under his breath as he forms his dough into the shapes of different flowers.

“Look, Remus,” Arthur says when he sees Remus watching. “These are my favourite!” He lifts one up, which he’s shaped to resemble a lupin.

“Wow! That’s beautiful, Arthur.”

“Thank you! There’s flowers for each of you in my basket. Lupins for you, lilies for Lily, daisies for Peter, sunflowers for Mary, dahlias for Kingsley, violets for Minerva, wisteria for Albus, and, of course, snapdragons for Sirius.” 

Remus is touched; there’s no other word for it. It’s such a sweet and thoughtful gesture.

“What about you? Do you have a flower?” 

Arthur scratches his head. “Oops, I seem to have forgotten about myself!”

Remus looks at the clock. “We have time! Make one for yourself. It's not us without you.”

“Alright, then," Arthur says, tapping his chin. "Remus, what kind of flower do you think I'd be?”

“Daffodil,” Remus says instantly. “You’d be a daffodil.”

“Alright!” Arthur says, rubbing his hands together. “Daffodils it is!”

“The basket itself is slightly over-proofed. You can see it in the crumb texture, look,” Minerva motions to the piece of bread she’s holding. And she’s right; it is over-proofed, as Remus had suspected. “Nonetheless,” Minerva adds, “over-proofed bread is better than under-proofed bread.”

“On to the smaller bread rolls…” Albus says. “So here, we’ve got what looks like a selection of cheeses, eggs, tomatoes, a slice of bread”—Albus looks up, expression amused, and there’s a ripple of laughter throughout the tent—”strawberries, and apples. These are all based on things that you make and grow back at home, correct?”

Remus nods. 

“And it’s lovely. Funny too, with the bread made to resemble sliced bread.” Minerva says, before pausing. “But… I was kind of hoping for more, to be honest. Your technique is wonderful, as always, but I’d love to see you do something really creative, Remus. I feel like I’m just waiting for you to really blow me away. Last week’s cardamom lion was definitely a step in that direction, especially flavour-wise, but I feel like we’ve taken a few steps back here.”

Albus nods in agreement. 

“It’s only because we know that you can that we say this,” Minerva says, her tone apologetic. “Trust your gut!”

Remus isn't upset; his cheeks are un-flushed and the butterflies in his stomach remain dormant. The judges have a point; he’s been playing it safe. 

But he doesn’t want to anymore. 

So he nods, smiles, and says, “Okay. I agree, actually.”

“Good,” Minerva says, smiling at him. “Again, it’s wonderful bread-making Remus. But it’s not tapping into your full potential!”

Arthur’s breadbasket, on the other hand, is a resounding hit.

“This is exquisite work, Arthur. How you managed to retain so much detail on these flowers, even after the proofing and the baking,  is beyond me!”

“And the meaning is lovely,” Albus adds, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’ve always felt a connection with wisteria, you know!”

Minerva rolls her eyes at Albus’s comment. And then she holds out her hand.

“Oh!” Arthur exclaims, reaching forward to return Minerva's handshake. 

Remus grins.

“I’ve got the good job,” Sirius says later, smiling. “This week, our star baker is…”

Remus clutches Arthur’s hand. He’s sure Arthur’s done it. He’s certain.

“Arthur!”

“Yes!” Remus whoops, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulling him into Remus's side for a hug. “You did it!” He kisses the top of Arthur’s head. 

Arthur chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. This is the first time Remus has ever seen Arthur at a loss for words, and for once Remus has an abundance of words. He’s perfectly happy to return the favour, to fill in Arthur’s silences for a change.

Once they (Remus) have settled down, a significantly more morose mood falls over the tent.

“And so, that leaves me with the awful job.” Lily says. “It truly gets harder every week; we don’t want to see any of you go. You’re all amazing, hardworking, and so, so clever.” Lily sniffs, dabbing at her eyes. “And this week, we’re saying goodbye to someone who has been an absolute fixture of this tent from the very start; someone who has astounded the judges time and time again; someone who has managed to win star baker not only once, but twice —” 

Mary gasps.

“Kingsley,” Lily says, her eyes welling up. “I’m so sorry, love.”

Remus, with his arm still wrapped around Arthur’s shoulder, is completely still. 

Kingsley?

Part of Remus had been convinced that he was going home, and he’d been perfectly resigned to it. He was okay with it, even, especially with the knowledge that he’d be visiting Sirius in London next week. Hell, being eliminated would have given him more time to simply be with Sirius, rather than worrying about practising for patisserie week.

But Kingsley...

“No,” Remus says. “No.”

“It’s alright, Remus,” Kingsley says. “Bread and I have a long, sordid history.” Kingsley’s eyes are bright with unshed tears and Remus’s heart drops. 

He reaches forward and pulls Kingsley into a tight embrace. As always, he smells like fresh rain and lemon balm.

“We’ll keep in contact, yeah? You have my number?”

“Of course, Remus. I promised to introduce you to my dogs, didn’t I?” Kingsley’s tone is light, but his voice catches at the end, so Remus hugs him harder.

Eventually, he lets go of Kingsley, and scoops Arthur back up into his arms, who simply chuckles at Remus’s display of affection. He’s so proud and so sad for his friends, and he doesn’t know any other way to express it. He just wants to keep them close.

“What’s gotten into you?” Lily asks him after. “Where’s my hug, monkey man?”

Remus laughs, rolling his eyes, and pulling Lily into a hug. “You’re very short,” he says. “I can’t even put my chin on your head.”

“You’re softer than I thought you’d be.” 

“It's all the bread.”

“Shut up, you’re a beanpole. I thought hugging you would be like hugging a tree.”

Remus snorts. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“On the contrary,” Sirius says, appearing beside them. “Arthur just told me that Remus's hugs are magical, and now I’m curious. I think I might be the only person you haven’t hugged today.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t had the chance to cuddle Minerva yet either.” Remus’s voice is joking and playful, and he's smiling, but his nerves are alight as he untangles himself from Lily’s arms. 

Sirius is smiling too, but his grey eyes reveal uncertainty. Strangely, it comforts Remus; it assures him that, at least to some degree, Sirius is as affected by this as he is.

And as Remus leans forward to wrap his arms around Sirius, something settles within him. From the first moment, he’s hit with how right it feels. 

Everyone else has felt slightly awkward in his arms so far; too short, too tall. Sirius is the perfect height, and Remus only has to stoop slightly to rest his chin on Sirius’s shoulder.

And, god; he smells amazing…

“So, I’ll be seeing you on Tuesday, yeah?” He can feel the rumble of Sirius’s voice through his chest and he wants more. He wants to sink into Sirius’s chest and carve out a home for himself. He’s about to burst from it; from all the sensations, his wants, and his desires.

“Mmm,” Remus hums.

“Text me the time. When you're arriving, I mean.”

“Alright."

“Alright.”

Chapter Text

Remus takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The sky is dark, and he’s been travelling for most of the day; from his village, to Cardiff, and now to London. Through his earbuds, gentle finger-pricked guitar washes over him, and he fiddles with the cord, twirling it around his finger, then releasing; twirling, then releasing. 

As the train passes Heathrow, Remus bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. It’s only really out of respect to the other passengers that he stops the smile before it takes over his face; he thinks he’d look a little unsettling sitting there in the dim train carriage, grinning to himself. 

Even so, he’s become less reticent with his smiles lately. Even his Ma has noticed it.

“You’re smiling,” she’d said on Monday, her eyes wet and shining, as she squeezed his cheeks. “Welcome back, cariad.”

He’d been surprised. It was just a smile, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. Had he really been that miserable to be around?

He hadn’t felt miserable. Just… hollow.

And now?

The conductor announces that they’ll be arriving at Kings Cross Station momentarily, and Remus can’t hold back the smile that spreads across his face then. 

Now he feels full. 

As Remus steps off the train and onto the platform, his backpack and satchel in tow, he weaves his way through the crowds, looking around for a familiar black head of hair. This is one of the rare moments where Remus’s height is a boon and not a curse.

Stepping to the side and out of the way, he pulls his phone out to see two missed texts from Sirius.

———

Padfoot: i’m near the sign for platform 9 

Padfoot: just a bit past it

Moony: Okay, coming :-)

Padfoot: :)))

———

Remus heads over to platform 9 and, sure enough, leaning casually against the post is Sirius. Or, at least, Remus thinks it’s Sirius. Maybe-Sirius is scrolling on his phone with his head down, wearing a cap and sunglasses. While he has Sirius’s mannerisms in the way that he holds himself and his phone (and Remus feels creepy for knowing that), he isn’t dressed anything like Sirius ordinarily is. He’s wearing a cap and sunglasses for starters, with a pair of blue jeans and a plain black windbreaker. Remus hesitates, unsure, until he realises, slightly delayed, that of course Sirius doesn’t look like himself. He’s famous . And in a very public place. Alone.

Remus takes a steadying breath before he approaches Sirius and taps him on the shoulder. 

Sirius turns to Remus and grins. Remus’s breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t seen Sirius in days and, even through his disguise, even through the plain clothes, he’s struck by how stunning Sirius is. His thoughts are a continuous stream of sappy and inadequate metaphors: he’s marble and obsidian and the sea just after it’s rained, and I really don't know how he’s real, how he seems to become more beautiful with every week, how he seems to become more beautiful every time I look at him.

Instead of vocalising these thoughts, Remus chokes out: “Hey.”

“Hey, you.”

“No security?” Remus jokes, his voice is still rough.

“I escaped,” Sirius says, his eyes bright behind his sunglasses. “But we should probably get out of here. That girl over there has been eying me up, and it’s only a matter of time until she figures it out and starts taking pics or asking for an autograph.”

Remus nods. “Of course.”

They’re moving towards the exit when the girl jogs over to them, smiling nervously. Sirius tenses, and Remus aches to touch him, to put a steadying hand on his waist, his shoulder. But he shouldn’t; not while they’re in public, at least.

But instead of turning to Sirius, she turns to Remus. “Sorry to bother you, but… are you Remus Lupin?”

That… was not at all what Remus expected. Sirius relaxes beside him.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m… him.” Remus says awkwardly.

The girl beams at him.

“Oh, I’m such a huge fan! I love all of you so much, but you’ve been my favourite since the very start!”

“Oh,” Remus says. “Um, thank you. That’s very sweet.”

“You’re so tall in real life,” the girl continues. “Like, obviously you’re tall on telly, but… wow.” The girl looks him up and down and then, to Remus’s horror, blushes . 

Sirius snorts beside him and Remus gently jabs him with his elbow. Unfortunately, this has the effect of drawing the girl’s attention towards Sirius.

“You know, for a second I thought that might be Sirius with you… But then I realised that Sirius Black would never wear blue jeans!” Her eyes widen and she turns to Sirius, expression apologetic. “Sorry, no offence!” 

“Ah, none taken,” Remus says, grinning now. He’s going to give Sirius hell for this later. “And you're quite right: blue jeans aren’t nearly ostentatious enough for Sirius. Between you and I, I don’t think he owns a single item of clothing that isn’t either white or black. Or silk. Or leather. This is my cousin… Davey.”

Sirius makes a choking sound beside him.

“Oh! Nice to meet you, Davey! Do you live in Wales too?”

“Er, sorry. He’s extremely shy. Doesn’t like crowds, either, so we should probably be off before he gets upset.” He smiles at her apologetically. “It was, um, lovely to meet you…?”

“Ella!” She grins. “It was so nice to meet you, Remus! Good luck with this weekend. You’ll be amazing , I just know it.” She reaches out and squeezes Remus’s hand, before she ducks her head and brushes some of her hair behind her ear, blushing deeply. “And, um… tell Sirius I say hi.”

“Will do. Nice to meet you, again!”

As they walk away, Remus struggles to hold down the laugh that’s bubbling up his throat. As soon as they turn a corner, the laugh escapes and Sirius gently shoves him. Then, he's turning to face Remus and pushing down his sunglasses to allow his glare its full effect.

“What the hell, Remus? Davey!? Do I look like a Davey to you? And ostentatious? You’re secretly evil, you are,” he huffs.

Remus is still laughing when he holds up his hands in surrender and says, “I’m sorry, I was stressed! I thought she was onto you! It was the first name that came to mind!”

Sirius stills. “I thought she was going to melt when she was talking about your height, you know.” Something about Sirius’s tone is oddly cold and assessing, and Remus doesn’t know what to make of it. It feels like a test, but of what, Remus isn’t sure

“Well, unfortunately for Ella, my taste has never quite extended to women, so…” he says, praying he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels.

In fact, it’s only after the words leave Remus’s mouth that he realises it’s the first time they’ve ever broached the topic of sexuality. Remus swallows nervously.

But to his relief, Sirius smiles. “Ah well, that’s too bad: Britain's baking mums will be devastated.”

Remus laughs.

“But then,” Sirius continues, “I’m sure a few of the baking dads will be pleased.”

Remus blinks. Sirius’s words are oddly reminiscent of a comment that Remus vaguely remembers making weeks ago, all the way back in cake week. He can’t believe Sirius remembers. Remus remembers every comment Sirius has made, every conversation they’ve had, always mentally storing away every little detail and puzzle piece about Sirius somewhere in his mind. Somewhere precious.

Has Sirius been doing the same with him?

Interrupting his thoughts, Sirius pushes his sunglasses back up into place. “Come on, then,” he says. “Let’s go home and have some dinner. I’m starving.” He draws out the vowels in the last word, in that drawling southern way that Remus has come to associate with Sirius.

And then it hits him: he’s going home with Sirius. They’re going to have dinner together. 

He takes a deep breath and follows Sirius to his car.

Sirius’s flat is fascinating. It’s in an old building and, on the outside, looks like every other swanky Marylebone flat. On the inside, it’s something else entirely. The living spaces are all open-plan, nothing like the stuffy, contained Victorian layout that Remus has come to associate with London flats. It’s decorated in a cacophony of bold colours, shapes, and designs, and furnished with funky mid-century pieces. Walking through the rooms, Remus is surprised by how light and bright it feels, even at night.

It’s also rather tidy. Remus is certain that Sirius, being a celebrity, probably has a maid or a cleaner. But he also suspects that it’s also, in part, just Sirius. 

As he glances into Sirius’s bedroom—which while still tidy, is the most lived-in room of the flat so far—he wonders what Sirius would make of Remus’s bedroom. Remus, at the very least, endeavours to keep the main parts of the floor accessible, but that’s about where his tidiness ends. Marlene often makes fun of his infamous piles; the piles of clothing in the corners, the piles of books on the floor, the piles of paper on his desk, and the stacks of cups on every surface. Marlene finds the cups particularly amusing and frustrating. Whenever she comes to visit, she often makes a note of his cup-count as she clears them from his room. 

“Thirteen cups, Remus. Thirteen! At least leave one for Hope to drink out of!”

Yeah, Sirius would probably hate it. Looking around Sirius’s bedroom, Remus notices a definitive lack of cups. He notices Sirius’s neatly made bed with its stacks of pillows. Remus often forgets to make his bed. He only has one pillow and it’s a flat, old thing. 

As he moves through the house, following Sirius through each of the rooms, and feeling increasingly more insecure, he reminds himself that Sirius knows Remus is a mess; he’s the one who dubbed him a Disaster in the first place. It hadn’t seemed to bother Sirius then. 

He hopes that’s enough.

***

Sirius leans against the doorway and smiles to himself. Remus is sitting on the floor of his lounge, his back hunched and his long legs folded beneath him as he looks at Sirius’s book collection. 

He watches as Remus mutters to himself and strokes the spines of his books. Gentle. Reverent. It’s reminiscent of his own behaviour at the bookstore the week before; touching the books as if they were his lifeline to Remus. 

And now here Remus is, in Sirius’s own house, repeating the same action.

He shivers.

Remus pulls out a small, thin book, and Sirius doesn’t have to see the cover to know exactly what it is. 

“‘I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,’” Remus reads. He turns to Sirius and grins up at him. “Always gives me shivers.”

Sirius ducks his head and smiles. Something about Remus being in his house and looking at his things makes him feel exposed and shy.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t know what to expect, that he never knows what to expect from Remus. Sirius has tried to anticipate Remus’s moves, his words, his steps, but he’s found it impossible. Remus is impossible to predict; he has his own strange little way of consistently surprising Sirius.

Sirius wouldn’t change it for the world.

And then Remus frowns. “Is that Twilight?”

***

Remus sits down on Sirius's couch, carefully balancing a steaming plate of food, careful not to spill anything on Sirius’s leather couch. 

Once he’s settled, Sirius hands him a glass of wine and Remus holds the crystal glass gingerly in his hand. He lifts it up to his nose and sniffs, and he must make some kind of dissatisfied expression, because Sirius frowns. “You don’t like wine? You should have said. I can get you something else.”

“Oh no, I like it. I’m just used to different stuff.”

“Oh?” Sirius says, quirking his head to the side questioningly.

“You know, the two quid stuff.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, scrunching his nose up as if he can’t help it. “Well, I don’t have any of that, sorry.”

“Of course not,” Remus teases. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to offend your posh sensibilities with such swill.” Remus takes a sip of the wine. “Oh! It’s quite good. Doesn’t taste like pee. That’s new.”

Sirius snorts. “Very funny, Lupin. I was serious though. I have beer too, if you’d prefer.”

Remus shakes his head. “This is fine.”

Sirius seems placated by that, and turns back to the TV, scrolling through the channels. This, too, amuses Remus; he doesn’t know anyone other than his Ma who still uses freeview. He can’t even remember the last time he watched the news. 

Sirius squints at the telly, clearly looking for something, before he exclaims, “aha!” and grins. 

Remus doesn’t look at the TV, at whatever’s gotten Sirius so excited. He’s distracted by how comfortable and calm Sirius looks. It feels incredibly intimate seeing him like this; glasses on, hair in a bun, and dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Remus wonders what Sirius looks like when he wakes up.

He turns away and takes a deep breath, trying to quell the heat that’s threatening to spread through his body at that thought. He can’t afford to go down that road right now; especially not when he’s on Sirius’s couch in Sirius’s home. It’s too dangerous, too slippery a slope. 

He looks at the telly to see what Sirius is smiling at and snorts. “Grand Designs, Sirius? Really? Suddenly, you deciding to host Bake Off isn’t so surprising,” he says, his tone light and playful.

“Hush, you. Grand Designs is fantastic. It calms me.”

Remus smirks as he takes another sip of his wine. It really is quite pleasant. “I suppose there’s nothing quite like Kevin McCloud’s dulcet tones. Bit posh, though,” he teases.

“Not a fan?” Sirius asks, looking over at him.

Remus hums. “I’m more of an Amazing Spaces boy if I’m being completely honest.”

“Oh, fuck off; Kevin is better than George any day of the week.”

Remus shakes his head, smiling at Sirius’s irritation. Teasing Sirius is fun. “George is cute and sweet. Kevin’s—”

“Mature! He knows his shit! He’s tall, sarcastic, and capable! It’s quite sexy, actually…” he says, leering at the TV in a way that tells Remus that he’s joking. Well. At least a little.

Remus is more than happy to play along. “Oh, please. Next, you’ll tell me you have a thing for Monty Don.”

Sirius smirks. “Well, I mean…”

“If you were going to build a house, what would you do?” Sirius asks a little later, once they’ve finished their food.

“Cob house,” Remus says, feeling warm, fuzzy, and a little soft around the edges. “Or I’d build into a hill or a mound. I’ve always wanted to live in a hobbit hole.”

Sirius laughs softly, running a fingertip around the rim of his glass. Remus shifts in his seat and looks away. “What about you?” he asks.

Sirius hums and taps that same finger on his bottom lip in thought. “I’d like to restore something old, like a ruin or a manor, y’know? But not in a stuffy old-ladyish kind of way. I’d like to find a way to breathe new life into it.”

“Not like this twpsyn!” Remus says, motioning to the TV. “I still can’t believe they ripped those tiles out! They were from the 20’s and in perfect condition!” He shakes his head. He sighs and turns to look at Sirius, who’s looking at Remus with an odd expression.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“You sound more Welsh when you drink,” Sirius says. “Your accent’s thicker right now. All… lyrical.”

Remus snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

“Do you try to disguise it? On Bake Off?”

Remus shrugs. “I guess so? It’s more out of habit, though.”

Sirius looks down at his hands. “You should speak Welsh more often. I like it.”

“Okay,” Remus says, smiling. “Disgleirio fel ceilliau ci.”

Sirius shifts in his seat, his cheeks red. “What does that mean?”

“Dog’s bollocks.”

Sirius groans and throws a cushion at a laughing Remus.

A few hours later, and a bottle of wine deeper, the sound of the TV is nothing but a gentle hum in the background of their conversation. Sirius is laid out across the couch, his knees bent over the arm of the couch, with his feet dangling over the edge. Remus is sitting on the ground, his long legs stretched out under the coffee table, and his back against the couch with his head back. 

“You went to boarding school? There? Jesus.”

Sirius laughs. “Yeah, I know. Proper ponce.”

“Your family must be loaded,” Remus says, unthinkingly.

Sirius hums. “Yup. House of Lords and all that.”

Remus turns around to look at him. “You’re serious?”

Sirius smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Always.”

Remus rolls his eyes, and Sirius snorts. “C’mon, Moons. It’s obligatory.”

“It’s a dumb joke,” Remus says, his voice rough from use. He doesn’t think he’s talked this much in one sitting ever .

“Alright then, Mr Wolf Wolf. But what’s the fun in having weird names if you can’t torture people with them?”

“Ugh, the wolf thing got very old very fast. Kids used to howl at me, you know. Treated me like I was actually part wolf.”

“Those kids were tossers, wolves are fucking cool. I’d have wanted to be your best friend.”

Remus huffs out a laugh. “I dunno about that, I was pretty quiet. And odd.” 

“Opposites attract,” Sirius says, shrugging. “You might’ve even been a good influence on me and James.”

Remus snorts. “That’s also unlikely. I wasn’t kidding about the rebellious phase, you know.”

“Give me your worst, Moons. We flooded the school chapel. Twice.” Sirius grins up at him proudly.

“I’ve been arrested.”

Sirius’s mouth drops open. 

“Multiple times.” 

“What? What for?”

“Once for arson—although that was an accident! Another time ‘cause I got into a fight, outside Nando’s too, of all places,” Remus says ruefully, motioning to the scar on his brow. “I also got caught stealing a few times.” He shrugs.

“What the fuck? I can’t believe that you have an actual criminal record.” Sirius shakes his head, laughing. “You’re an enigma, Remus Lupin.”

Remus ducks his head. It’s not something he’s ashamed of, quite, but he’s not proud of it either.

Sirius’s expression deepens into something a little more serious. “Did you, um. Did you need to steal? To survive?”

Remus can’t hold back his laugh then: mostly at the tone of Sirius’s voice, which is uncharacteristically hesitant. “No, Sirius. We weren’t quite that poor.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, looking apologetic. “I don’t—I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I just—”

Remus puts his hand on Sirius’s arm. “Sirius, it’s okay,” he says, withdrawing his hand and pulling his legs up to hug his knees. “Mum’s wonderful. An angel, really. Her name’s Hope, which is very fitting. But Da… we’ve always had a weird relationship.” Remus chuckles again, but it quickly gets lost somewhere in his chest. Instead of amused, it sounds hollow. “We were so similar in so many ways, but also so different in others. In the ways that mattered, anyway. I don’t think he really knew what to make of me. So he kind of… didn’t?”

“So you got into trouble,” Sirius says gently. “To make him pay attention. To make him understand?” Remus risks a glance at Sirius and is surprised at the understanding and care he sees there.

“Yeah, I... Yeah.” Remus bites his lip and lays back down, settling his head back on the couch, the top of his head now touching Sirius’s. “Anyway, can we rewind a bit? The House of Lords?” As Remus says the words it clicks, and the pieces slide into place. “Oh, shite! Black . You’re related to those Blacks? I don’t know why I never made the connection.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. We have very little in common other than the name,” Sirius says, the timbre of his voice reverberating through Remus’s head from where they’re touching. 

“Aren’t they a bit…? Uh…”

“Racist? Classist? Generally awful people? Yeah. Suffice to say, they’re not my family anymore. Never really were, to be honest. At least, not in the ways that mattered,” he says, echoing Remus’s words back to him.

Sirius’s voice sounds empty and stark and Remus sits up again to look at him. Sirius’s expression is one of careful disinterest, but there’s a line on his brow. Remus is tempted to touch it, to massage it away with his fingertip.

Ordinarily, Remus wouldn’t act on his desire. But Remus has wine in his system. Liquid courage. 

So, with his elbow resting on the couch beside Sirius’s head, he reaches over and strokes the line on Sirius’s brow with his thumb, his fingers gentle and featherlight on Sirius’s soft skin. 

Sirius gazes up at Remus, and while his mouth wears a frown, his grey eyes are wide and vulnerable. Beneath that is some kind of unidentifiable simmering emotion. It makes Remus pause for a moment, at the sheer intensity of it. Remus swallows but doesn’t withdraw his hand.

At Remus’s gentle touch, Sirius’s eyelids flutter closed, his dark lashes fanning out across his gently flushed cheeks. The contrast of his eyelashes against his skin looks so painterly and perfect that if Remus wasn’t already touching Sirius’s skin, he’d want to touch Sirius’s eyelashes to make sure that he’s real and not actually a painting.

With his fingertips featherlight on the skin of Sirius’s brow, it occurs to him that he could lean down and kiss Sirius. He wants to. He wonders if Sirius would let him.

At that thought, Sirius’s eyes flutter back open and he gazes up at Remus. Only, this time the vulnerability is gone, eclipsed, and now his gaze is burning, a storm of grey, a siren’s call, and Remus is helpless to say no. He’s about to lean down, his heart thundering in his chest, when Sirius’s phone rings.

Remus jumps at the sound, so jarring against the quiet and tenderness of the moment. 

He runs a shaking hand through his curls as Sirius gets up to answer his phone. He needs to get a grip.

“What the fuck, Prongs. It’s nearly 1 am.”

Prongs? Remus wonders who that could be. Deep down, he feels selfishly jealous, the feeling swirling and acrid in his stomach. He knows he’s not the only person that Sirius has a nickname for, and he’s literally heard Sirius making up nicknames for other people in the tent. But, says that too-loud part of his brain, but you thought you were special; that Moony was special. Remus burns with jealousy, and just left of that jealousy is shame. 

Lost in his thoughts, Remus is startled when Sirius collapses on the couch and groans.

“Sorry, that was James—”

James . Remus feels completely foolish, but he can’t help the relief that courses through his body at that moment.

“—the weirdo wanted to know what I thought Lily’s favourite flower is.”

“Roses. Lily loves roses.”

“Oh, I’ll text him that. Thanks, Moony.” Sirius sighs. “We should probably head to bed though. I didn’t realise how late it’d gotten.”

Remus smiles and ducks his head. Time always seems to pass strangely around them. When he’s near Sirius, he tends to forget that it exists entirely. Thirty minutes blurs into five hours, and instead of feeling tired by the end of the conversation, Remus feels more awake. 

Still, tingling nerves or no, Remus can’t help his yawn then, and Sirius laughs.

“Shit, sorry. I’m a terrible host.”

They manoeuvre around each other, getting ready for bed, and then they’re standing in their subsequent doorways, Sirius’s spare room directly across from his bedroom. Still, despite his bone-deep tiredness, Remus isn’t quite ready to leave Sirius’s company, and he hovers in the doorway. 

Sirius seems reluctant to bid him goodnight as well, and they spend another thirty minutes like that, standing in opposite doorways, engaged in sleepy conversation, putting off the inevitable.

“Okay, Moons. Good night—for real this time.”

“Night, Pads.”

Remus burrows under the covers, his long limbs tucked into him, as he makes a nest for himself in the spare bed. Everything is soft: the mattress beneath him moulding into the contours of his body and the sheets silken against his skin. He feels like he’s wrapped up in a cloud. 

And yet, when he closes his eyes, he pictures himself in another bed. Another bed one room over. Another bed where his breath mingles with Sirius’s in the space between them, hands touching under the duvet, Remus’s long fingers intertwined with Sirius’s, Sirius’s calloused fingertips making patterns on the back of Remus’s hand…

In fact, the longer he lays in Sirius’s spare bed, encased in sheets and blankets that smell like Sirius, the more aware he is of his proximity to the other man. He’s hot with the knowledge that Sirius is just across the hall. And the more tired he gets, the more he yearns to open his door, to cross the hall, and to slip into bed beside Sirius. 

It’s a long time until he falls asleep.

***

When Remus shuffles into the kitchen the next morning, Sirius laughs. Remus’s brown eyes, which usually turn rich and amber in the sunlight, are dull and dead in the morning light of Sirius’s kitchen. Remus’s expression is stormy as he blinks at the light. Sirius sits at the kitchen bench, elbow resting on the granite counter and his chin resting on his fist, as he watches Remus move through the kitchen. He looks thoroughly lost.

It had taken Sirius a while to fall asleep the night before. The image of Remus with his curls and mile-long legs in his spare bed had been burned into his mind, and had him arching his back against his mattress in the early hours of the morning.

Still, Sirius has always managed to operate just fine on a lack of sleep.

Remus, it would seem, does not.

“Not a morning person then?” Sirius asks, his voice light and airy.

Remus flops down beside him, his long arms spilling onto the counter, and grumbles something that could be interpreted as affirmative, but Sirius really isn’t sure.

“French press or espresso?” Sirius asks, standing up.

Remus yawns. 

“Espresso it is,” Sirius says, laughing to himself as he pours beans into the grinder.

As Sirius moves around his kitchen, he’s distantly aware of Remus sleepily watching him, and when Sirius places a cup of coffee down in front of Remus, he blinks up at him. Sitting there, taking small sips of his coffee, the sharpness of his features softened with sleep, Remus looks like a fawn, with his dark lashes and amber eyes, his freckles and golden skin, his hair in disarray, a halo of soft curls.

Sirius’s heart is in his throat and he swallows, willing it back down before he says something stupid and truthful like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He watches as Remus slowly wakes up and comes to life, inch by inch, minute by minute. As his smiles become brighter and his eyes begin to sparkle, Sirius has a terrifying realisation. Half asleep and frayed at the edges, or wide awake and glimmering; it doesn’t matter. Sirius wants it all.

“So,” Sirius says, later, when Remus has fully woken up. “What do you want to do today? There’s a really nice bakery just down the road. I’m very fond of their almond croissants.”

“Mmm, croissants…” Remus says, closing his eyes and stretching out his long legs in the sun. “That sounds wonderful. I also need to go to the supermarket at some point to get ingredients for my bon bons.”

They’re halfway down the street when Remus realises that he’s left his phone and wallet back at Sirius’s. Sirius insists that it’s okay, I can pay, it’s not a big deal, but Remus is resolute in his refusal.

And now Sirius stands in the doorway of his spare bedroom as he watches Remus rummaging around, hunting for his wallet and phone.

“Um, wow,” he says, laughing.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry… I’m a bit of a disaster,” Remus says sheepishly.

Remus has been at Sirius’s for less than twelve hours, and has somehow already managed to leave his mark on Sirius’s spare room. There are clothes everywhere, corduroy and wool draped over the furniture (even the lamp, Sirius notes with interest) and on the floor. All of the pillows, sans one, are scattered around the room, the duvet is a scrunched up ball in the middle of the bed, and Remus somehow managed to un-tuck the fitted sheet on two corners.

He can already tell Remus would be an absolute nightmare to share a bed with, and weirdly, it only serves to make Sirius’s pangs of want sharper and more stark than ever before.

“Remus Disaster Lupin,” Sirius says, and Remus rolls his eyes.

"That's me."

They retreat to Sirius’s local bakery for a late lunch, an almond croissant each, and they eat them under the shade of the trees in Paddington Street Gardens. Even though the park is right in the centre of London, it’s always felt private and clandestine to Sirius. Sometimes, when the afternoon light hits just right, and if he tunes out the distant hum of the cars, he can almost pretend he’s back at the Lakes.

When Sirius looks at Remus, he finds Remus’s eyes already trained on him, the corner of his mouth upturned and his sunlit eyes unspeakably fond.

Sirius swallows.

Maybe, Sirius thinks hopelessly. Maybe. 

At night, in the dark of his bedroom, Sirius is convinced that he’s imagined it all; the lingering looks, the heat in Remus’s eyes, the loaded touches. And then, other times, like right now, it feels like a dance: one where neither one of them is sure where to stand, or where to put their hand, but they’re still hopelessly tied together and caught in the same magnetic field. It’s in these moments when Sirius is so certain that Remus is on the same page as him. 

But then something will happen that throws it all into doubt. He keeps remembering how good Remus looked with Mary tucked under his arm. Beautiful, sunshiney Mary with her curls and golden brown skin. They had complimented each other beautifully; summer and autumn incarnate. And Sirius… Sirius is more like winter, really. He burns too hard and too fast, like the frost. His own potential for cold and destruction terrifies him. Remus is gentle and golden and Sirius is so afraid that, in his worst moments, he’d freeze Remus from the inside out. Sirius couldn’t stand that.

But then Remus will look at Sirius like he’s looking at him right now and his stupid heart thuds in his chest and he forgets all about that and thinks maybe maybe maybe. 

The back and forth of his own thoughts is exhausting. He’s never felt so uncertain about another person before; been so uncertain whether they like him or not. He’s never cared whether someone has liked him so much before. James keeps joking that Sirius finally gets to experience dating like every other person in the world. 

“Why Marylebone?” Remus asks suddenly, jerking Sirius from the landslide of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“I would’ve thought you’d live in Soho or something. Somewhere more hip and lively. More you.”

“Marylebone’s plenty hip, thank you very much.” Sirius jokes, before slipping into a more serious tone. “The apartment was my uncle’s. I inherited it. I’ve thought about moving, but… it’s the only thing I really have left that connects me to my family. And he was always good to me.”

Remus looks thoughtful. “This the uncle with the duck?”

“Alphard,” Sirius says, nodding.

Remus smiles. “He sounded wonderful.” Then he frowns. “Where on earth did he keep a duck? The garden’s tiny!”

“I told you; it was an indoor duck. Slept on his pillow, ate at the kitchen table.”

Remus laughs. ”What all good ducks deserve.”

“What about you?” Sirius says, his tone gentle. “Why Wales?”

Remus cocks his head in question, his brow furrowed.

“I know it’s your home,” Sirius continues, “but it doesn’t seem to make you very happy.”

Remus’s expression shutters, like a cloud passing over the sun. “I… I’ve never really thought about it like that before. It’s not that I don’t like Wales—I love it. I always will. As you say, it’s my home . But…” Remus takes a deep breath. “Wanna hear something stupid?”

Sirius nods, certain that whatever Remus says next will not be stupid in the slightest.

“I don’t really care about winning Bake Off. Like, it’d definitely be nice and I’d be happy if it happened… But every time I think I’m going to be eliminated, I’m not sad because I won’t win. I’m sad because I won’t be going back to the tent. I’m sad because I won’t still have that escape to look forward to every week.”

“That’s not stupid at all, Moons.”

“And I feel awful for even feeling that way. Especially because I know what winning means to the others.” He sighs. “And I know that it’s not my Ma’s fault that she’s not ready to move, that she’s not ready to move on.”

“Have you talked to your her about this? About how you’re feeling?”

Remus shakes his head, averting his gaze. “I don’t want to burden her.”

“You’re not a burden, Remus.” He reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Remember?”

Remus nods, but it doesn’t look like he believes it. Sirius resolves to himself that by the time Remus leaves on Friday, he’ll believe it.

“Promise me that you’ll tell her how you feel,” Sirius says. “You might be surprised at what she has to say.”

Remus nods shakily and Sirius smiles. “Good.” 

He stands up, pulling Remus up with him. “Now, that’s enough heavy shit. Let’s do something fun.”

The afternoon finds them at the nearby Waitrose in search of ingredients for Remus’s bon bons. 

Remus is wide eyed as he walks through the supermarket, while Sirius trails behind him, pushing the trolley as Remus throws the ingredients he needs into it. 

“10 quid for butter, Pads. 10! Better be hand fucking churned at that price,” he grumbles. A woman beside them in a red coat with a matching beret shakes her head in disapproval at Remus’s vulgarity. Sirius winks at her from behind his sunglasses, which earns him a matching glare.

Remus abruptly stops when they reach the produce section, and Sirius narrowly misses hitting him with the trolley. 

“They have yuzu! And clementines too! I can never find these at our Lidl.”

Sirius scoffs. “No wonder; it’s Lidl.”

“Oh, shush, you. Don’t be a snob.”

Remus starts tossing random fruit into the trolley, and Sirius looks down, perplexed by the strange assemblage of ingredients that Remus has put together. “So, er… What did you say you had planned for the challenges?”

Remus shrugs. “I didn’t. Gonna wing it.”

Sirius snorts. “Fair enough. Minnie would approve. ‘Trust your gut, Remus!’” He says, putting on a shrill and exaggerated voice.

“Mmm. And my gut says yuzu. Ooh, kletskoppen!” Remus says, abruptly stopping again.

This time, Sirius isn’t so quick to respond. 

“Oof,” Sirius says as the trolley collides with Remus, sending him stumbling into the shelf and taking several jars of pickles down with him, which shatter on the ground. 

“Shite,” Remus says. “Oh, fuck, I stood on one.”

Remus looks gingerly at the pickle squashed into the sole of his shoe and Sirius laughs.

“Did you hear that?” They hear from the aisle beside them. “Did something break?”

Sirius and Remus’s eyes meet, and Remus says, “Run.”

Laughing, they race to the other side of the store, almost hitting several other shoppers with their trolley in their mad escape.

“Sorry! Shite—sorry!” Remus says, as they narrowly miss clipping a toddler in the head with the trolley. 

“Oh, fuck, that was a close one,” Sirius says, laughing. “We almost killed a kid.”

“I told you, Pads; I’m a bad influence.”

On the walk home, one of the bags splits, sending Remus’s precious fruit tumbling onto the footpath and road.

“No! Not my yuzu!”

Sirius clutches his stomach as he laughs, watching Remus’s lanky form dashing out onto the road, madly chasing after the little yellow fruits and only narrowly missing being hit.

Remus attempts to placate a furious cab driver, waving the yuzu in the air in explanation. The cab driver shakes his head, looking completely baffled by the behaviour of the strange tall man before him, and yells, “tosser!” as he drives off.

Remus ignores him, smiling down at the fruit in his hands.

Sirius smiles and shakes his head as he watches the scene unfold before him. He knows his expression is hopeless, but he couldn’t stop it if he tried. 

That evening, Sirius learns that for all Remus’s baking finesse, he cannot cook to save his life. Even Sirius, whose cooking skills are (at best) passable, is better than Remus.

He comes back from the washroom to find a sheepish looking Remus and a kitchen full of smoke.

“What happened, Moons? All you had to do was heat up the sauce!”

“Um,” Remus says. “Yeah, about that…”

Sirius huffs out a laugh. “Takeaways it is.”

Later over dinner, Sirius asks, “How is it that you’re one of Britain’s top bakers and yet you don’t know how to cook?”

Remus blushes. “Baking’s all about proper measurement and following instructions. It’s basically science. Cooking’s more intuition based. I dunno, it’s more like… art I guess. I was always pants at art.”

“It’s a good thing that you’re top notch at putting out fires. There’s hope for your intuition, yet,” Sirius teases.

It’s that night that Sirius realises he’s fully gone, that he’s well and truly lost down a path of no return, with no map and no compass. Really, it’s been a slow-burning realisation, a culmination of every moment over the past day, over the past four weeks.

But it’s that evening that Sirius realises for the first time that Remus has carved out a special little space in Sirius’s chest for himself.

It’s 12 am and they should really both be in bed, or at the very least be winding down for bed, but they’re both wide awake. 

The smoke is gone from the kitchen, instead replaced by the intoxicating scents of plum and yuzu. Remus is stirring chocolate on the stove as he practices his showstopper, bouncing his head and humming to himself.

Sirius is sitting at the counter, his guitar in his lap as he tries out different chords for a song that he’s been writing.

As Sirius is writing down lyrics on a piece of paper, he catches Remus humming the tune of the song that Sirius has been writing and something clicks. That’s what the song is; what it’s about, who it’s for. It’s Remus.

“Any song requests, Remus?” 

Remus hums in thought as he licks chocolate off of a spoon. Sirius feels a familiar heat rising throughout his body and has to look away.

“Surprise me,” Remus says.

“You said you liked the Fleet Foxes, yeah?”

Remus nods. 

“Any particular record?”

“Their first is my favourite,” Remus says, and then shrugs. “But their latest is probably more your style.”

Sirius types into google, searching through different songs and albums until he finds what he’s looking for. He tries out the guitar chords a few times to get them right. Thankfully, they’re relatively simple. He reads over the lyrics, thankful for his perfect pitch.

He clears his throat. “Alright. This one’s for you, Moons,” he says, and begins to pluck out the notes on his guitar.

Summer all over

Blame it on timing

Weakening August water

Loose-eyed in morning

Sunlight covered over

Wading in sight of fire

Sirius risks a glance at Remus, who has forgotten entirely about the chocolate on the stove. Instead, he watches Sirius, his gaze warm.

And we're finally aligning

More than maybe I can choose

Mmm…

Sirius ducks his head to look back down at the lyrics even though he knows what’s next. The heat of Remus’s gaze is too much and he can feel his cheeks flushing. Still, he goes on.

Soon as I knew you

All so wide open

Wading inside of fire

As if I just saw you

Cross Second Avenue

Wading in waist-high water

Sirius looks back up.

And I love you so violent

More than maybe I can do

Remus swallows.

Now we're finally aligning

More than maybe I can choose

Mmm…

The final notes of Sirius’s guitar linger in the air between them and Sirius takes a shaky breath. 

Remus looks oddly stricken. “Thank you.” He looks down at his hands, breaking their eye contact. “I. Wow. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Moony,” Sirius says, his voice husky. There are words in his throat, threatening to escape, but Sirius isn’t ready for that. 

Not yet.

***

The next morning, Remus is slowly making his way through a mug of coffee—four shots, black, extra hot—and slowly coming to life when Sirius’s front door bangs open.

“Honey, I’m home!” An unfamiliar male voice stirs Remus from his sleepy haze. 

Oh god; honey? 

Not helping Remus’s impending crisis one bit is Sirius’s expression, which is one of exasperation and mild terror.

Oh god, oh god.

Then, bounding into the kitchen is none other than James Potter.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, Pads! How’s hibernation treating you? You’ve been a proper wee hermit this week, haven’t you? It’s okay, Daddy’s home and he’s here to take care of you.”

Somehow oblivious to Remus’s presence (although Remus suspects that James’s eyesight is to blame, if his squinting is anything to go by), James moves around in Sirius’s kitchen, going to grab some plates when he abruptly stops, having seen Remus’s practice bon bons from the night before. 

He slowly turns to face Sirius, who’s leaning against a bench, looking very much like a dog who’s just been caught doing something naughty. Remus, who’s sitting at the table in the sun, curls into himself, wishing he could fade into the background. Not for the first time in his life, he wishes he were invisible. 

The past few days at Sirius’s house have felt like days spent in a secret world, one inhabited by just the two of them. James’s presence feels like an encroachment on that. It’s as if with James comes reality, and Remus isn’t ready for that yet. 

“Trying your hand at baking then, Pads? I must say, you really do have hidden depths, old pal. Y’know, if you’re trying to impress—”

“Jamie!” Sirius half shouts, before clearing his throat. And then, tone lower: “What are you doing here?”

“Er. It’s Thursday morning!” He holds up the paper bags and a tray containing two take away coffees in his other hand. “Coffee and pie time!”

Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I completely forgot.”

“Is everything alright? You’re acting weird and there’s actual, honest-to-god professional French pastries on your bench.” He pauses, and lowers his voice so that Remus has to strain to hear. “Is there someone here? A baker ? Do you have an actual baking kink now? Y’know, beyond the whole dough thing.”

Remus takes a desperate sip of coffee, but it goes down badly and he lets out a strangled cough.

James slowly turns to fact him. His eyes widen in recognition and he grins. 

“Oh,” he says, and then laughs. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”

And then James— James Potter, what the fuck—is moving towards Remus and sitting opposite him, grinning.

He holds his hand out for Remus to shake, who just stares at it. “Hello, Remus. I’ve heard a lot about you, mate.”

James is very attractive in person. If not for Sirius, who’s currently standing behind James, anxiously wringing out his hands, Remus would be tempted to say that James is the most attractive person he’s ever met. His skin is deep, his eyes impossibly brown, and he has a natural warmth to him, a natural charisma that’s carried in every expression and gesture he makes. Something about him, between the quirk of his mouth and his messy hair, makes Remus immediately take to him. 

“I’m a big fan,” Remus says, the words slipping out before he realises what he’s saying. He winces.

James just grins and claps him on the shoulder. “Oh, goodie! That must mean you’re a fan of Sirius too, then?”

Remus glances at Sirius and then ducks his head, shrugging. “He’s alright.”

James laughs and his grin deepens, his smile pushed to every corner of his face. “Oh, I do like him, Pads.”

“Oh shove off, Prongs,” Sirius says, scowling as he sits down at the table with them. He leans back in his chair, his grey eyes cool as they stare into James’s. Silent words seem to pass between them, and then Sirius looks away and shakes his head. James laughs.

Remus looks between them feeling a bit lost, a bit like he doesn’t belong, until Sirius looks at him and smiles. Remus smiles back, and they look at each other for a long moment, before James snorts. 

Remus blushes, taking a sip of his forgotten coffee just to give his hands something to do. He hardly needs it now; James’s presence has thoroughly woken him up.

“So, what have you guys been up to?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says cagily. 

After a moment of silence, James says, “Well, this is awkward. Feels like I’ve walked in on you both with your trousers down.” Sirius moves to hit James, who moves out of his way, sniggering. “Calm down, I’ll be out of your hair in a mo.”

James turns back to Remus. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Remus. I can see why Sirius wanted to keep you to himself.” But before Remus can say anything, James turns to Sirius and jerks his head towards the hallway. “Sirius? A word?”

***

Sirius is seconds away from strangling James; James with his handsome smile that has so obviously charmed Remus and lured him into a very false sense of security. Evil James with his evil little plans and evil little comments. 

“So that was… interesting,” James says, when they’re in the hallway, grinning.

“Shut up.”

“You’re so obvious. Both of you. I thought it was bad enough on Bake Off, but I was never totally sure, you know? Those editors need a raise. That tension is… something else.”

Sirius runs his hand through his hair, an action he can’t seem to stop doing this morning, a nervous tic. James will be the death of him.

“Does Emmeline know?” James asks

“Know what?” Sirius responds, his voice petulant to even his own ears.

“Know that you’re having a little romantic retreat with the contestant that you have a big gay crush on?”

Sirius sighs. “What do you want me to say, Jamie? No, she doesn’t know, and I don’t plan on telling her, publicist or no. It’s no one else’s business. We’re not doing anything, anyway. We’re friends.”

“Hey, I don’t disapprove, Sirius, you know that. I’m just thinking about your contract. You know, the contract that you seem to have conveniently forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten it, James.” 

“Well, all I’m saying is that this seems like an odd way of resisting temptation.”

Sirius sighs. “We were friends first, James. I can be around Remus without wanting to jump his bones.”

James snorts. “Barely. If you told me that the two of you had done nothing but sit there, smiling dopily at each other, I’d believe it.” James’s expression becomes serious. “It’s more than that, though. If anyone found out that he was staying with you, in the middle of the competition… It’d look bad, Pads. For both of you.”

“It’s not like I’m a judge. And anyway, they won’t find out.”

“So you’ve just been locked up here the whole time?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Someone could have seen you, Sirius.”

“I’ve been careful, I’ve worn a disguise. I’m not an amateur.”

“I know.” James frowns. “Just… think about what I’ve said, okay?”

Sirius sighs. “Yes, Mum.”

“Okay, good.” Then, James is smirking. “He’s quite nice to look at, isn’t he? Not conventionally handsome, but there’s definitely something about him…”

“Please leave before I strangle you,” Sirius grits out.

James laughs and opens the front door. “Okay, okay. Don’t miss me too much!” And as he’s halfway down the hallway, he turns back and yells, “And don’t forget to use protection!”

***

After James leaves, things are… awkward. Sirius comes back into the kitchen frowning, his expression sharp and irritated, and Remus doesn’t know how to deal with it. 

So he decides to give Sirius some space, hoping that if Sirius wants to talk, he’ll seek Remus out himself. He picks a random book off of Sirius’s bookshelf and sets himself up outside in the sun.

While the book proves a worthy distraction, Remus still feels sick to his stomach. Despite James’s suggestive teasing, Remus feels more nervous and inadequate than ever.

A few hours later, Sirius comes to find him. He sits down on the bench beside Remus, biting his lip nervously. 

“What are you reading?” Sirius asks. 

Remus holds up the book to show Sirius, and reads out a line from the page he’s on. “‘Nothing of me is original.’”

“‘I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known,’” Sirius finishes.

“This book is fucking weird,” Remus says, closing and putting it down on the table.

Sirius laughs, and Remus can feel the tension peel away at the sound. “Yeah. Yeah. It is a bit.”

“Brilliant though.”

Sirius clears his throat and looks down at his hands. “I’m… sorry about all of that. James is…”

Remus shakes his head. “Sirius, it’s fine. I liked him.”

Sirius sighs. “I just… I didn’t really think about how it would look. You know, if fans found out that you’re staying with me.”

Remus frowns. “There’s nothing wrong with us being friends, Sirius.”

Sirius looks like he’s going to say something more, and then he sighs, and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

After James’s visit, they decide to stay home for the day. While both of them are confident in Sirius’s disguise—really, the blue jeans are transformative—neither of them feel like pushing it after that.

Instead, Remus spends the afternoon practising his baking and trying out different flavour combinations, while Sirius retreats to his in-home studio. While things aren’t awkward between them anymore, there’s still a current of lingering tension that makes Remus not want to push things.

For dinner, they make pasta, only this time Remus is firmly relegated to boiling the water, as Sirius doesn’t trust him with anything else.

As they eat, they watch TV and while it’s pleasant, Remus can tell Sirius’s mind is somewhere else. He can tell Sirius is holding himself back. He wishes he could grab Sirius’s hand and a bottle of wine and drag him somewhere, to the river or the park, to try and get Sirius out of his own head, to help shake off all the tension, but he knows he can’t.

So he bites his tongue and turns back to the TV.

“What’s it like? Being famous?” Remus asks as he taps his fingers on the arm of the couch. Sirius’s socked feet are tucked under Remus. Unlike the previous nights, he’s not had a drop of alcohol, yet his body tingles as if he’s half a bottle deep.

“It feels kind of inevitable.”

Remus snorts.

“Shush. I know it sounds douchey—”

“Little bit.”

“—but, with my family being who they are… I was always going to be known, you know? I’m glad it’s on my own terms, at least.”

“Do you enjoy it though?”

“I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said that there isn’t a small part of me that loves it, that lavishes in the attention. But… it’s not easy. One minute, you’re at the top, and then you blink and you’re at the bottom. There have been times, though, where I’ve wanted to leave it all behind. Especially after Regulus.”

Remus watches Sirius closely, whose eyes are fixed on a spot on the wall, trying to find the right words. He wants to ask about Regulus, but every word, every possible phrase, feels too vulgar, too harsh. Sirius’s eyes flit up to Remus’s, where they hover for a few seconds.

Something must show in his gaze, because Sirius takes a deep breath and begins to talk. “My parents are… difficult people. Impossible to please. So I decided to do the opposite, I stopped trying to please them and I pushed back, and they pushed harder, and… you get the idea.” 

Sirius sighs. “The whole time, Regulus was there, on the fringes. We used to be so close when we were little. I don’t know what happened… pressure, I guess. From fame. Our parents.” Sirius shrugs, and it’s a sad motion of his shoulders. “He retreated into the shadows while I set everything on fire. It’s kind of ironic, actually. I always thought he had it so easy. He was the golden child and I was the bane of their existence, but I didn’t see the cost that that had on him, not until it was too late, at least. Turns out that however hard they came down on me, they came down on him tenfold. They were determined not to create another me, you see.” 

He smiles a shaky smile and Remus makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but Sirius continues. “Of course, I didn’t know about any of that until it was too late. I thought I’d already lost him. I hadn’t talked to him in a year before it happened. A year… In the end, Jamie was the only support he had left. And it wasn’t enough.”

“Sirius…”

“The worst part is that in my head, rationally, I know it’s not my fault. But in my heart...”

“Sirius…”

“I know, Remus. It’s stupid.”

“The last thing I ever said to my Da was that I hated him,” Remus blurts out, his voice rough. He fiddles with the rug on Sirius’s couch, the repetitive motion a futile attempt to calm his nerves, to smooth the roughness of his emotions. “He drowned. Just off the coast, not even five minutes from our house. You asked me if I like going home… I used to. The beach used to be where I’d go to clear my head. Even when I moved away to uni, if I came home and sat by the sea, everything would be okay. But after Da died, it just felt like this massive, endless graveyard. I’d go there and it’d just be him and there wasn’t room for anything else. I couldn’t stand it.” 

“What changed?” Sirius asks.

“Hmm?”

“You said you couldn’t stand it. As in, in the past tense. What’s changed?”

Remus’s cheeks redden and he bites his lip, trying to stop the word from coming out. Still, the word tumbles out: “You.”

“Me?”

Remus nods, his cheeks on fire. “The water on the coast is this incredible grey colour, especially after a storm. It’s wild and warm. It’s kind of terrifying, but also comforting… I’ve never seen anything like it… Well, other than in your eyes.” Remus clears his throat. “So now, when I’m there, when I feel myself starting to feel overwhelmed or upset, I think about your eyes instead. It helps.”

Sirius is staring at him, grey eyes wide. He looks terrified, and Remus wants to die.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says quickly, laughing nervously “That’s a really intense thing to say—”

“Remus.”

“What?”

He risks a glance at Sirius to see him looking at Remus, his eyes wide and swimming. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, please, forget I said anything—”

“Do you mean it?”

“What?”

Sirius swallows. “That you think of me. And it makes it easier.”

“I…” Remus exhales. He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

Sirius scrunches his eyes closed. “Fuck. This is killing me.”

“What? What’s killing you?”

Sirius turns to him. Remus doesn’t realise how close they’re sitting until Sirius’s grey eyes are right in front of his own. Their noses are almost touching, their breath mingling.

“Remus…” 

A hand winds around the back of Remus’s neck, fingers soft and nimble, twining with the curls there. Remus closes his eyes. He can hear Sirius exhale, can feel the breath on his lips. 

And then there’s a soft, gentle press of lips to his neck, to his pulse. Remus gasps, and Sirius pulls back. Then, Sirius is winding his other arm around Remus’s waist and pressing in harder, pressing his lips to Remus’s throat. 

Sirius is kissing his neck. And then he’s gently biting it. Running his tongue over it.

Remus groans, and Sirius whimpers in response, and heat shoots through his belly. This is happening, it’s happening; their dance is finally culminating and Remus feels dizzy with it, as if Sirius is spinning him around and around and around.

And then he’s pulling back, and Remus whines pathetically at the loss of contact.

Sirius takes a deep, shuddering breath. His grey eyes are burning into Remus’s. “I shouldn’t have done that, I can’t. But…”

“But… ” Remus repeats, his voice honeyed and syrupy even to his own ears. He doesn’t care. 

He twists in Sirius’s arms, straddling his lap, and leans down to press his own lips to the juncture of Sirius’s jaw, to the hollow there. It’s the same place he’s fantasised about licking sweat from countless, countless times. So he does it; he tastes it. He kisses first, a gentle press of lips, and then harder, then followed by his tongue, and repeats it.

Sirius’s head falls back, exposing more throat to Remus, and he takes advantage of it, following the line of Sirius’s jaw, nosing along it, brushing his lips over the pale skin of Sirius's neck. Their positions have reversed, and now Remus is all over Sirius, who’s soft and floppy with his head thrown back, while Remus looms over him, his face pressed to the crook of his neck, nosing at the skin there. Sirius’s hair is soft, so soft, under his fingers.

And Sirius… Sirius has his eyes closed, his mouth open, small gasps falling from his mouth… Remus presses his lips to Sirius’s adam’s apple, then pulls back. Then he’s kissing it again. Then gently, gently biting down, and following it with another kiss. Sirius’s hand winds up in Remus’s hair, fingers gently tugging on his curls, and Remus groans.

Remus pulls back and looks at Sirius, whose pupils are blown, whose cheeks are coloured with a deep blush, his lips wet, his hair a mess. He looks debauched. Remus is sure he looks much the same.

They stare at each other, and Remus licks his lips.

Sirius sighs. “Fuck…”

“Mmm.”

Sirius groans. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Remus asks, moving closer.

“Do that thing you do, that humming thing. It makes… it makes me…”

Remus presses another kiss into Sirius’s throat and smiles as Sirius’s voice trails off.

“It makes you what?” Remus murmurs into Sirius’s skin.

“It…”

“Mmm?”

Sirius groans and Remus smirks, pulling back and moving to the side, out of Sirius’s lap. They’re toeing a dangerous line here and Remus knows he needs to stop now before they do something they’ll both likely regret.

Well. Remus wouldn’t regret it. But he probably should.

His body is thrumming, his cheeks are burning, and his pants feel extra tight. He doesn’t need to look down to know that he’s tenting. He covers his lap with a cushion.

“You’re something else, Remus Lupin,” Sirius says, watching him and shaking his head. He looks overcome. And yet, it’s Remus who’s left feeling overcome by the heat of Sirius’s gaze. Remus ducks his head, his confidence replaced with something shyer and more fragile. 

Their hands are resting on the couch beside each other, and Sirius hooks his pinky with Remus’s. It feels like a turning point.

That night, when they part ways in the hallway, Sirius bites his lip and watches Remus with a prolonged stare, his gaze travelling up and down his body.

After Remus closes his door, he leans back against it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He touches his neck, his jaw, the places where Sirius kissed him and grins.

The next morning, Sirius sees him off at the train station. They hug briefly and the smell of Sirius’s hair immediately sends Remus back to the night before. He knows his gaze is burning as he bids goodbye to Sirius. To Remus's delight, that heat is mirrored right back at him.

———

Marlene: how’s it going, lover boy? ;DDD

Marlene: reply to meeeeee

Marlene: i know you’re reading these, fool

Marlene: you better be being shagged out of your mind right now

Marlene: i’m having phone sex with dorcas

Marlene: on your bed

Marlene: it’s very uncomfortable

Marlene: why is ur pillow so flat :\

Marlene: scratch that

Marlene: why do you only have one pillow

Marlene: this is awful

Marlene: it’s impossible to hump

Remus: :-|

Marlene: he lives!

Marlene: sooo…

Marlene: how was it!?

Remus: Good

Marlene: did you get lots of baking done?

Remus: Lol

Remus: No

Marlene: did u kiss

Marlene: omg

Marlene: remus

Marlene: did you kiss????

Marlene: reply to me goddammit

———

———

Padfoot: i just realised something moons

Moony: Hmm?

Padfoot: we never even made it to the bookstore

Padfoot: lol

Moony: Oh

Moony: I totally forgot about it

Moony: Guess I’ll just have to visit you again, won’t I?

Moony: :-)

Padfoot: :)

Padfoot: x

———

Chapter Text

Comments on: “Remus Lupin, GBBO 2022’s Unlikely Heartthrob: Spotted in London with Mystery Man!”

canismajor: unlikely heartthrob?? /unlikely/????? who tf does this journalist think they are??

underproveddough: @canismajor i mean… he’s just a guy! i love him but you couldn’t pay me to explain why he makes me go so feral. he literally dresses like my pop. 

canismajor: @underproveddough he’s not just a guy. he’s the best guy.  

yee2thehaw: why is he with this storebrand sirius when he could just have the real thing i’m So Upset i’m Fuming i thought they were in loooooove -_-

ChocolateHobNob: @yee2thehaw I mean… It could still be Sirius… Couldn’t it? He kinda looks like him? If you squint? 

yee2thehaw: @ChocolateHobNob yeah sure, he totally looks like sirius. if you close ur eyes haha

_BigChungus_: @ChocolateHobNob are we looking at the same photo? those jeans hhahaha. sirius *wears velvet and a leather jacket in the height of summer* black would never

ChocolateHobNob: @_BigChungus_ Ahaha okay yes fair point. My wolfstar heart just doesn’t want to believe it :’(

SiriuslyElla: Hiii, I actually ran into them in London and talked to Remus! He’s definitely not Sirius, and he’s not Remus’s boyfriend either! It’s his cousin :) (Also Remus is Very Tall irl! Like... wow!)

yee2thehaw: @SiriuslyElla COUSINS!!!!!! AND THEY WERE COUSINS (yesss tall king)

ChocolateHobNob: @SiriuslyElla You’re my hero #WolfstarLives

Comments on: “Episode Four of the Great British Bake Off 2022: What You Missed”

SaltnVinegarCrisps: [photo of Arthur smiling, holding his bread basket] the friend they deserved AND the friend they needed!

remus4starbaker: remus was literally never more than 5 inches away from another man’s face this whole ep. he was just hopping from one man's arms to another 

_BigChungus_: @remus4starbaker but we all know whose arms he wanted to be in :side eye: :kissing: :sweat:

xxhufflethepuffxx: if mary doesn’t get star baker at least once i’m egging minerva and albus’ houses

SeitanSnacker: @xxhufflethepuffxx Don’t use eggs, bestie! Remember to use a vegan alternative. :)

DaddySirius89: [photoset: Sirius Black blushing and looking cute during GBBO episode 4]

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78:

marauder’s era sirius: :-l “it’s rock n roll, innit?” :-l *sets guitar on fire*

bake off era sirius: :-D “hello darling lily!” :-D *skips through the tent* 

ILoveEggs: I’ll be honest, I didn’t really understand the Remus thirst until this week… He’s a bit tall and gangly for my usual tastes, but gosh, doesn’t he look pretty kneading bread?

FitzwilliamTheThird: I can’t believe Kingsley was eliminated! Bake Off is rigged.

underproveddough: @FitzwilliamTheThird but who else could have gone? everyone was solid this week, unfortunately kingsley’s was just the weakest of the lot

FitzwilliamTheThird: @underproveddough They literally said that Remus’s bake was boring! He should have been eliminated. The only reason he’s still in is because he’s Sirius’s boytoy. Sirius obviously has sway with the judges and Remus knows it.

underproveddough: @FitzwilliamTheThird they said the exact same thing to kingsley! the worst thing about remus’ was that his basket was over-proofed. they didn’t say it was bad or unimaginative, just that they know he can do better and that they want him to push himself 1/3 

underproveddough: @FitzwilliamTheThird remus’ worst is still better than the majority’s best. kingsley’s was /all/ under proofed and albus couldn’t taste any of his flavours. also his basket wasn’t even technically a basket so he didn’t even fill the brief! 2/3

underproveddough: @FitzwilliamTheThird i love kingsley too, but he had a bad week, and that’s not remus’ fault. also your implication at the end is unfair and high key homophobic. sirius isn’t a judge and they wouldn’t keep remus in just cause sirius told them to lmao. they’re all professionals. 3/3

ILoveEggs : @FitzwilliamTheThird Yeah, also it’s literally Sirius’s job to be friendly with the contestants? Like he’s just doing his job? Also if they do like each other it’s actually not a crime. They’re being professional about it so I really don’t see the issue.

KingsleyGBBO: @FitzwilliamTheThird Hey, I usually try not to comment on this kind of stuff, but it makes me really upset seeing people saying this about my friends. Sirius is incredibly professional and excellent at his job. He never treated anyone differently in the tent; we were all equals. 1/3

KingsleyGBBO: @FitzwilliamTheThird Remus is a phenomenal baker and is absolutely 100% deserving of his success, and no one should get any credit for that other than him. It’s incredibly disheartening and upsetting seeing people trying to discredit these two amazing people, especially in the name of defending me. 2/3

KingsleyGBBO: @FitzwilliamTheThird Let me be clear about one thing: I do not in any way, shape, or form support or encourage these kinds of comments. I think they’re disgusting. If you want to support me, this is not the way to do it, and you’re not my friend if you do. Thank you. 3/3 

yee2thehaw: @KingsleyGBBO omfggggg. they don’t call him KINGsley for nothin! stay slaying KING

***

Instead of heading home to Wales after London, Remus heads straight to Windermere. Sirius and the rest of the cast will be arriving that evening anyway, and, in theory, it'll give him a little bit of extra time to practice and assemble everything that he needs for the challenges.

In theory.

The train ride is a blur. Remus rests his head on the window as the countryside passes by in flashes of green. His body is hot and tingly, he can’t stop smiling, and his stomach swoops every time he thinks about the previous night. It all feels like a dream. Part of Remus can't believe it actually happened: that Sirius had not only reciprocated it, but initiated it. Even on his best days, Remus struggles to not think about Sirius. It’s even worse now. He can’t get Sirius out of his head, every thought he has is consumed by Sirius; especially now that he’s had him close, has tasted his skin, has heard his moans... Any chance of him getting over Sirius is gone. He’s in Remus’s system now.

Remus can’t stop smiling.

And yet, says a tiny yet insistent part of his brain, he doesn’t know what this means for them, for their relationship. For Remus, it had felt like a natural and inevitable climax; the turning point of their friendship into something truly sweet, intense, and beautiful... But he's more than aware that it could have meant something entirely different to Sirius: it’s not like they sat down and talked about it afterwards. Maybe it was a friendly kiss? People kiss their friends all the time. Hell, Remus himself had snogged most of his friends back when he actually had them. During his wilder undergrad years, his propensity for kissing his friends had been a running gag in their group, with Marlene joking that you weren’t really part of the group unless you’d snogged Remus at least once. What if that’s all it’d been to Sirius? A good, friendly snog? On Remus’s neck? That had left him gasping and Sirius whimpering?

His phone vibrates, interrupting his thoughts.

Padfoot: i miss you already

Remus exhales sharply as heat blooms through his body. He ducks his head as he feels his cheeks heat up, turning what he imagines is a bright, tomato red. Before he left Sirius's flat, he’d snuck to the bathroom and secretly sprayed his wrist with some of Sirius’s cologne.

Now, he lifts the cuff of his cardigan up to his nose and inhales. He smiles and his eyes flutter closed. Hope bubbles up inside him; fragile, but bright.

***

“Hey Em,” Sirius says, answering his phone. He’s reclining in the spare bed, his arms crossed behind his head, surrounded by Remus’s faint scent. He doesn’t know if it’s Remus’s cologne, or his shampoo, or just his essence, but it’s intoxicating. And Sirius plans to lay in bed and revel in it until he physically has to leave for Bake Off. And then, once he’s arrived, he plans to hunt down Remus and try to get close and sniff him some more.

He knows he should feel like a bit of a creep. And he doesn’t care.

On the other side of the phone, distracting him from his increasingly heated thoughts, he hears a deep sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me, Sirius Black,” Emmeline says. “Have you been on twitter at all today?”

“Yup.”

“... And? Are you not even going to attempt to defend yourself?”

“What’s there to defend? I had a delightful week with my very good friend,” he says brightly.

“Your good friend whom you obviously have feelings for. Who also happens to be competing in the show that you’re presenting.” Emmeline sighs. “You were photographed, Sirius.”

“And yet no one knows it was me. I told you: the disguise is genius. Never underestimate the power of an ugly pair of jeans.”

“People aren’t completely stupid. Someone’s bound to figure it out.”

“Then I’ll deny it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Em.”

“Let me preface this by saying that I’m happy for you, Sirius. I’m delighted that you’ve finally found someone that makes you this happy. But you signed a contract, and there’s a reason that contract exists, and it’s not to torture you. If the public found out about the nature of your relationship, it would look bad.”

“Why, though? Why would it look bad? It’s not like I’m a judge.”

“True, but you do hold a position of authority and responsibility in that tent. And while not strictly against the rules, it definitely doesn’t exude professionalism.” 

“Fuck professionalism. I’m so sick of this sodding contract. I don’t care if they kick me off, I’ll quit now if I have to.”

Emmeline snorts. “Now, now, Sirius. No need to be dramatic. Keep in mind that this doesn’t just involve you, but it involves Remus too. While you might be prepared to set your reputation on fire, it doesn’t mean he is too. He doesn’t have the same resources as you. He doesn’t have a publicity team or a legal team to bail him out when shit hits the fan.”

Sirius groans and then turns his head to bury it in the pillow. The smell of Remus soothes him.

And as much as he hates to admit it, Emmeline is right. His reputation has been a shaky and volatile thing for years now, and even with the support that he has, he’s learnt to weather it. These days, he even kind of embraces it. Sirius Black: Britain’s controversial heartthrob. It kind of makes him feel like a badass. 

Remus, though… Gentle, sensitive Remus, who despises social media and being the centre of attention, who looks like he wants to run away and hide even when Minerva and Albus are complimenting him…

Sirius sighs. “Alright then. What do you propose?”

Emmeline snorts. “No need to sound so forlorn! All I’m asking is that you keep it in your pants until after the final. That’s only a week and a bit, Sirius. Can you do that for me?”

“How soon after the final? As soon as filming’s over? Or after the episode airs?”

“After filming should be adequate,” she says, her voice deeply amused.

“And in the meantime… Are we ruling out cuddling?”

“Cuddling is fine. It is unwise, though. We all know how handsy you can get,” she says wryly.

Sirius snorts, thinking of how Remus’s neck had felt beneath his lips. Handsy indeed. “What about sexting? Phone sex? Does it count if we’re not physically touching?”

Emmeline is silent for a moment. “I… I suppose that’s technically a grey area? Just don’t send any… suggestive photos. If anything somehow got out, they’d be much harder to disprove. Actually, you know what? I’m going to erase this conversation from my brain. No snogging and no fondling. Don’t get photographed again, don’t send any dick pics, and don’t be an idiot. Goodbye, Sirius.”

Emmeline hangs up and Sirius sighs, turning his face back into the pillow. He imagines Remus’s long arms wrapped around him and smiles.

***

———

Unknown number: Hi Remus!!

Unknown number: I need to chat to u about Sirius!!

Remus: Who is this…? 

Unknown number: Oh hahahahaha

Unknown number: James!!

Unknown number: James Potter!!! We met earlier this week

Remus: Oh, of course! 

Remus: Hello James :-)

James: :DDD

James: So yea, Sirius

James: Its my job as his best friend n platonic life partner to make sure ur intentions r pure

Remus: Of course

James: Esp given that his parents totally dropped the ball 

James: Like. Dropped it, stood on it, rolled it over with a bulldozer, set it on fire……

James: Oh shit 

James: U probs dont know about that

James: Hes gonna murder me!!

James: When they find my body say that it was Tom Riddle

James: I hate that guy

Remus: James!

Remus: It’s okay! We’ve talked about it!

James: Ok!!! phew 

James: So yes. Anyway. Hes a Very Special Boy 

James: And even tho he looks so cool n collected on the outside hes just a soft little worm on the inside

Remus: … A worm? 

James: Shhhhhhhh 

James: Let me wax poetic

Remus: Oh, it’s poetry alright

Remus: ;-)

James: Wow ur just as bad as he is

James: Why am I not surprised XD

James: Anywho I kno he acts like nothing gets to him, but lots does

James: Actually this feels v weird 2 be texting 

James: Can I call u??

Remus: Of course

———

“Remus?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Hi James.”

“Okay, great. This is much better! It gives my thumby thumbs a break,” James says. “So, Sirius… How much do you know?”

“We’ve talked a bit about his parents, nothing too in depth, but I think I’ve got the jist of it. Same with Regulus.”

“Oh,” James says, his voice soft. “He talked about Reg?” James’s voice catches on Regulus’s name, and it’s enough to make Remus regret mentioning him. Sirius hasn’t said a lot about James’s relationship with Regulus, but what he has said is enough that Remus thinks he understands.

“Sorry. I’m sorry for bringing him up,” Remus rushes out in a single breath, “I should have known better—”

“Shh, no Remus. It’s okay. Please don’t apologise. I’m just… surprised. Sirius never talks about him. Not even to me.”

“Oh,” Remus says, as acrid guilt swirls in his stomach. “I’m sorry, James.”

“Please stop apologising.” If Remus didn’t know better, he’d think that James almost sounds fond. “I’m honestly just relieved Sirius is talking about him at all.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighs. 

“So,” James says, picking back up some of the same peppy timbre from before. “You’ve got the idea, then. Fucked up childhood—” Remus swallows, feeling sick “—and a string of relationships with shitty people whose love for him was conditional. Forgive me for being so blunt, Remus, but I don’t really see the point in messing around here.” James sighs. “He’s… precious, Remus. And so, so unbelievably sensitive.”

“A soft little worm,” Remus says, repeating James’s previous words, which seemed absurd at the time, but now begin to make sense. 

James chuckles. “Exactly.”

“He’s been such a help to me,” Remus says softly. “Even him just being there makes me want to be better. All I want is to be the same for him, whatever that means. If it means we just keep being friends, I’m okay with that. I just want to be close to him. To stay close to him.”

“I’m really happy to hear that, Remus,” James says, and Remus can hear James’s smile through his voice. “I guess I’m—I guess I also wanted to warn you, too. Sirius has a tendency to… self destruct. People want Sirius because he’s gorgeous and charismatic, and because being loved by someone as beautiful as him makes them feel good about themselves. But they don’t want to deal with what comes after that. Because while there’s nothing in the world more beautiful than Sirius at his best, his worst can be ugly. And nobody is more aware of that than him.” James sighs. “I just want you to understand that he’s not perfect. I want you to understand that being close to Sirius sometimes means that you'll get burned.”

Remus smiles sadly, idly massaging the mottled scar tissue that he knows winds around the side of his thigh, beneath the material of his pants. “Well. It's lucky that I know a thing or two about dealing with fires.”

James chuckles. “Yes, I’ve heard as much from Sirius. Very capable, from the sounds of things. Sexy too, I believe he also said.”

Remus chokes. James cackles.

Once James’s laughter has eased, and Remus has gotten in control of his blush he starts to talk again, “But… I understand, James. I do. I’m not perfect either, but I’ll always try my best. I just want to stay close to him, whatever that means. If he’s hurting, then I’ll try to listen, and I’ll try to help. If he’s being a git then I’ll tell him as much. But I don’t expect perfect from him. Anything but perfect.”

“Good,” James says warmly. “Amazing. That’s… amazing.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

“Fantastic,” Remus laughs.

“Alright,” James says, chuckling. “Good luck with this weekend. And keep Pads out of trouble.”

“I’ll try my best.”

On Saturday, Remus wakes up to vague memories of bizarre dreams that are like little blips in his memory rather than lucid thoughts. Many of these memories feature a tiny earthworm with Sirius’s face, and Remus batting away hoards of birds as they try to swoop in and take Sirius. In the end, Remus’s arms had been covered in scratches, with rivulets of blood pouring down his body, but worm-Sirius had been safe. Remus had kept him safe.

Internally, he curses James for putting the absurd image of worm-Sirius in his head. But perhaps even more absurd, he thinks, is that he knows if Sirius was in fact a worm, he’d bat away every bird in the world if it meant protecting Sirius from them.

“Remus, my boy! How was your week?” Arthur asks as Remus hugs him tightly. 

Remus is just so… fond of Arthur. Of all of them. He can’t bear the thought that one of them will be going home tomorrow. Part of him hopes it’s him, so that Peter, Mary, and Arthur don’t have to experience the heartbreak of elimination. But then, at the same time, Remus doesn’t want to leave. It’s a conundrum. He wishes Bake Off would go on forever, that nobody had to get eliminated, and that it wasn’t just six short weeks.

“It was good. Great, actually.” Remus blushes, remembering exactly how great it’d been.

Mary notices his pink cheeks and laughs and it sounds like bells in the breeze. “Special week with a special someone, huh?” She says, nudging him. “I saw the photos. I know that look, Lupin.”

“What look?” He says in a voice that he tries to keep light and unaffected. It goes to hell when he sees Sirius enter the tent in his peripheral vision. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“‘Remus Lupin spotted in London looking smitten with a mystery man,’” she recites. And then, to Remus’s horror, she looks pointedly at Sirius, and then back at Remus. She winks. “Yes, a mystery indeed.” 

Shite.

Arthur, thankfully, seems completely oblivious as he untangles himself from Remus’s arms. He flicks on the kettle, preparing four cups with four teabags.

“Soo,” Mary says, jumping up to sit on his bench, swinging her legs. “Gonna give us any details? Or are you going to keep playing coy?”

“I’m not playing coy,” Remus protests. “I’m just… there’s nothing to say, really.”

“Indeed. Nice hickey, by the way.”

Remus’s face instantly heats up and he slaps a hand to his neck. He was so sure they hadn’t left marks, he’d double checked, triple checked, he didn’t want to get Sirius into trouble, didn’t want to—oh. There are no marks. Mary’s just teasing him.

Mary guffaws. “Oh my god! You little minx!”

“Shut up,” he whispers hotly. “Please, Mary. It’s… it could get him into trouble.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, lowering her voice so that only Remus can hear. “I must say, I’m impressed. I was so sure you’d both finally caved and gone for it last Saturday when you made your cheeky little escapes from the pub, but nope. Sunday was still all UST and longing glances.” She sighs sadly. 

Remus stares at her. Mary is…

“What? You thought I didn’t notice?” She winks at him. “Both of your flimsy little excuses? I know a sneaky link when I see one!”

“It wasn’t a sneaky link!” Remus splutters. “It was a—a conversation! We talked! About things!”

“Sexy things?”

“Not even remotely!”

“Taxes?” She drawls, putting on a husky voice. “The state of the economy? The meaning of life? The—”

“My dead dad,” Remus blurts out. Remus winces and Mary blinks at him, her expression shocked. It quickly morphs into concern, and then sadness. That... was not at all what he'd meant to say.

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing, her brown eyes impossibly warm and kind. She reaches out and softly squeezes his forearm. “Remus, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mary. Really,” he says, and he’s surprised at how true the words are. It is okay. And it feels good to be honest. “It’s been… really tough, but I’m working through it. Sirius is helping. He helps.”

A slow smile spreads across her face that exposes every one of her white teeth. She squeezes his forearm again, and opens her mouth to say something when Peter bursts into the tent.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Did I miss it? I slept through my alarm! What time is it?” Peter’s hair is a mess and he’s still in his PJ’s. There are pillow creases on his cheek. Remus laughs, standing up and ruffling Peter’s already messy hair.

“You’re just in time!” Arthur says sunnily, straightening his tie, which has little eclairs and profiteroles on it. “We start in twenty!”

Peter deflates. “Thank god.” He sways a little on the spot. “I was having the weirdest dream… We were all different bugs! Remus, you were a praying mantis, and Mary was a ladybug! Arthur was a snail, and Sirius... Sirius was a worm! How weird is that?”

“Surely you mean a caterpillar! Sirius is clearly a butterfly,” Mary says.

Peter shakes his head. “No. He was just a grubby little earthworm.”

Mary guffaws. “Oh my god, Pete! Don’t let him hear that! I don’t think I could deal with the dramatics that’d ensue.”

“Very odd,” Remus says, smiling to himself. “What about Albus and Minerva? Were they bugs too?”

“Minerva was a cat—she kept trying to eat Sirius. And Albus was this giant, flaming thing… Like, a flaming… chicken? Terrifying,” he shudders.

Remus and Mary share a look of bemusement, and Arthur smiles as he strains the teabags.

“You should probably get dressed, Pete,” Arthur says. “You’ve got time! And there’ll be a hot cuppa waiting here for you.”

“Okay. Thanks Arthur,” Peter says, taking a deep, steadying breath, before he turns and runs out of the tent, his little blond head bobbing as he races across the lawn back to the hotel.

Mary turns to Remus and they make it a whole two seconds before they start laughing.

“Hello and welcome back, my lovely, lovely bakers,” Lily says, and out of the corner of his eye, Remus can see her beaming at them.

But Remus… Remus can’t take his eyes off of Sirius. He hasn’t properly seen him since they said goodbye at Kings Cross the day before. Standing there, behind his bench, Remus can’t believe that he’s pressed his lips to the pale, perfect column of Sirius’s neck. To his collarbones, to his jaw. Looking at him now makes Remus want to melt; especially as he remembers how it felt when the perfect curve of Sirius’s lips has been pressed to his neck…

There’s a tiny, shrinking part of his brain that squeals, that says I can’t believe I kissed Sirius Black. But more than that, bigger than that, is the part of Remus that relishes in how right it had felt. Yes, his whole body had been tingling, his nerves alight, but when it came down to it, it had felt right; like it’s what he’d been made to do. And in the moment, idol worship had been the furthest thing from his mind. Because he didn’t kiss Sirius Black. He kissed Sirius, and that difference is astronomical.

Sirius; who Remus has learned unashamedly loves Grand Designs and Twilight, who folds his socks and undies, who has a specific system in his kitchen for herbs and spices even though he doesn’t know how to use them, who rides around Waitrose on the trolley like a little kid, who likes to play guitar until the early hours of the morning. Who goes to bed at 3 am and wakes up at 8, bright and effervescent. Who has faced more unkindness at twenty three than most people see in their entire lives. And who, despite all of that, still wants to help people. Who still wants to help him.

Remus knows now how Sirius’s skin feels beneath his lips. He knows the tiny, pinprick scar on Sirius’s jaw. The prickle of his day-old stubble. The lines that crinkle around his eyes when he smiles. The way his fair skin goes pink from the lightest brush of contact… 

Sirius isn’t perfect. And the more Remus thinks of that Sirius, the real Sirius, the more he can’t believe that they haven’t come together sooner. He can’t wait to kiss Sirius properly, lip to lip; hands in his hair, on his hip, on his jaw. To share his breath, to pass it back and forth until it’s not his nor Sirius’s, but theirs. He doesn’t know what that kiss will mean when it happens, whether it’s a promise of more to come or something more temporary, but Remus wasn’t lying when he said to James that he doesn’t care. He wants it all. He wants whatever Sirius will give him, however large or small it might be.

Across the room, Sirius lifts his gaze to meet Remus's. Remus instantly feels heat pooling in his stomach. Sirius’s gaze hasn’t cooled in the 24 hours they’ve spent apart. Sirius’s gaze is full of promise.

“Moony.”

Remus’s head shoots up to reveal Sirius in front of him. His stormy eyes are trained on Remus and he swallows, blushing. They smile at each other.

Lily clears her throat and the sound makes Remus jump. He hadn’t even realised she was there. “Alright, Remus?” She asks.

He nods, still looking at Sirius, who’s now grinning. “Yeah,” he says, his voice breaking. “I, um. Getting there.”

“What are you making for us today?”

Remus frowns. “I don’t… know?”

“Oh.”

“He’s winging it, Lils,” Sirius drawls, cocking his hip. Remus should really look away from Sirius. Because Sirius looks absurdly hot, somehow even more so than usual, and it’s very distracting. As is usual with Sirius, he looks effortlessly graceful yet ruffled in a white button up shirt that he wears rolled up at the sleeves. 

He notices Lily looking up at him expectantly. Oh. 

“Hmm? Sorry, did you say something?” 

Lily looks between Remus and Sirius, her expression deeply amused. “Do you two need a moment?”

Sirius bites his lip to (unsuccessfully) stop himself from smiling. Remus just stares at him helplessly.

“Oh my god,” Lily says, dropping her head into her hands. “This is worse than bread week. Kill me.”

Sirius laughs softly, but he’s looking up at Remus under his eyelashes. He wore the same expression after Remus had kissed along his jaw. Remus runs his tongue along his bottom lip, watching Sirius’s grey eyes track the motion.

Remus smells burning.

Oh shite. His chocolate. Shite shite shite.

Sirius and Remus move at the same time, both moving to remove the smoking pot from the hob. Their hands touch, and they both jolt back as if they’ve been burned. 

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time.

“This is absurd,” Lily says, shaking her head. “Neither of you can function like normal people right now. Sirius: other side of the tent. That’s an order. If you set foot near this bench, I’ll set your leather jacket on fire.”

Sirius looks vaguely offended, but he obeys Lily, muttering under his breath. As he sweeps past Remus, he lightly squeezes Remus’s hip with his hand. Remus shudders.

Lily watches him carefully with her arms crossed, her expression equal parts amused and annoyed. “This is for your own good, you know. We’re twenty minutes into the challenge and all you’ve done is burn your chocolate. There are cameras everywhere. This is damage control. You’ll thank me later.”

Remus nods, scrambling his brain for coherent thoughts; really, even one will do. Pâtisserie week. Sirius. Signature challenge. Sirius. Mille-feuille. Sirius. 

Lily laughs. “Oh, you’re both hopeless.” She smiles up at him, emerald eyes twinkling. “Just… please try not to get eliminated just because you’re horny? Please?”

Somehow, he makes it. Barely. But he pulls it off.

“Nine!”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Remus rushes out as he pipes his design on top of his mille-feuille. They aren’t nearly as neat as his usual bakes, but they aren’t horrific either. Mostly, he’s impressed that he’s managed to complete anything at all given his disastrous start to the challenge.

“Eight!”

“Shite,” he says, as his shaking hand slips and he messes up his design.

“Seven!”

Remus grabs a toothpick and tries to encourage the chocolate back to where he wants it to be.

“Six!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, as he tries to hold up his mille-feuille, which is looking increasingly unstable. “Bollocks.”

“Five!”

“Here,” Arthur says, holding it steady so Remus can finish his design. “I’ll hold it for you.”

“Four!”

“Cheers,” Remus says, and resumes piping, biting his lip, trying to move as quickly and neatly as possible.

“Three!”

Remus feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He’s so close, so close…

“Two!”

Remus stands up and throws the piping bag back on the bench. 

“One!”

He runs his hands through his hair, and takes several shaky breaths. He’s finished.

“Time’s up, bakers!”

Arthur gently releases Remus’s mille-feuille and it doesn’t topple over. They both exhale. Arthur wraps his arms around Remus's shoulders

“Well done,” he whispers. “You did it!”

Remus nods, unable to speak. Adrenaline is coursing through his body. That was close, so close, too close.

He exhales. “Yeah. Shite.”

Arthur squeezes him. “Cuppa?”

“Yes,” Remus nods again. “Please.”

He looks around the tent. As is usual during the challenges, Remus has spent the past hour in a zone of intense concentration, completely unaware of anything else going around him. Now, he looks up to see an ashen-faced Peter, who’s looking down at his mille-feuille as if they’ll bite him. Mary’s standing by the window, hand on her chin, frowning as she stares out to the distant Windermere peaks.

The judging is tense.

First up is Mary, whose mille-feuille—white chocolate, strawberry, and matcha—are beautiful and well executed, but whose pastry is tough and lacks the crispiness that the judges want. Minerva puts this down to the fact that they’re vegan, which makes Mary frown.

Peter’s pastry, on the other hand, is crispy but far too thick. As the judges try to cut down through his tiramisu flavoured mille-feuille, all of the creme pat spills out the sides. 

“Well,” Minerva says through a mouthful. “They’re not pretty, but they definitely taste the part.”

Albus’s face is unreadable as he stares at Peter. Peter looks like he’s about to spew.

“You do love your tropical flavours, Arthur,” Minerva says, once they’ve moved on to him.

Arthur’s mille-feuille are white chocolate, passionfruit, and mango. They’re not the neatest in the tent—those would be Mary’s—but they look better than Remus and Peter’s.

“Hmm.” Albus says. “I’m not getting any passionfruit.”

“Me neither. The mango chunks are nice, but I’m mainly getting sweetness from the white chocolate. They would do well with something to cut through it.”

“Oh dear,” Arthur says, chuckling. “I think I forgot to put the passionfruit in! Oops.”

“Oops indeed,” Says Minerva, her tone stern but kind.

Albus looks less than impressed. “We should be a bit beyond forgetting ingredients this late in the competition.”

“Yes, it was a silly mistake,” Arthur says lightly. “But a human one, nonetheless.”

Remus smiles. Arthur’s unwavering positivity is deceptive; he’s kind, but he’s not a pushover.

And then, at last, the judges are in front of Remus.

“Well,” Minerva says. “Not quite as… polished as your usual bakes, Remus. But that’s alright.”

Albus frowns. “Pâtisserie is all about precision and technique. I’d have thought it’d be exactly your style of baking, Remus. And yet… These are all different sizes. The piping’s wonky.” 

“I guess the nerves got the better of me?” Remus says. He carefully avoids looking at Sirius.

“Seems to be a common trend in the tent today,” Minerva says kindly. “Which is understandable, of course. The pressure is really on now that we’re in the semi final.”

Albus grunts. 

Minerva ignores him. “So… What flavours do we have here?”

“Dark chocolate, sour cherry, and pinot noir,” Remus says.

“Ah, chocolate pastry!” Minerva taps it with her spoon. “Always hard to tell when it’s properly baked, but this looks nice and crispy. And what’s this on top? Music notes?"

"Is it from a song? Can you sing it for us?” Albus asks.

“I made it up. I can’t even read music,” Remus lies.

He can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into the side of his head. On top of his mille-feuille, with sour cherry flavoured white chocolate, Remus has piped a music score onto the dark chocolate ganache. It’s a shaky re-creation of the song that Sirius had been writing while Remus practised for Bake Off. As soon as he arrived in Windermere, Remus called Marlene, who, with her perfect pitch and classical training, had helped him figure out what the correct notes were. He knows it’s not accurate, but based on Sirius’s expression—wide eyed and pink cheeked—he got enough of it right.

“That’s a shame. Perhaps Sirius can read it, then. He is our resident musician, after all,” Albus says.

Sirius laughs nervously. 

“Oh stop it Albus! Don’t put them on the spot like that. Let’s give this a taste, shall we?”

All is quiet as the judges each try a mouthful of Remus’s mille-feuille. 

“Oh,” Minerva says, her eyes widening. “That’s quite scrummy.”

Albus’s blue eyes twinkle at him. “Good wine.”

To the side, Sirius huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Well,” Minerva says, her expression pleased. “It’s certainly not your usual standard of presentation, but the flavours pack a punch. I’m excited to see what you do with your bon bons, Remus!”

As the judges move away, Sirius edges closer to Remus’s bench. His arms are crossed and he’s looking at Remus with an expression that Remus can’t quite decipher; his brow is furrowed, but his eyes are bright.

“Pinot noir, hmm? Your regular two pound bottle?”

“Mmm, no. Some posh stuff. Stupidly expensive, but at least it doesn’t taste like pee.”

Sirius laughs. “Something tells me Albus isn’t a two pound pinot kind of man.”

“No,” Remus says. “But, as I’m discovering, neither am I.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, sounding pleased. He looks down at his shoes, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m glad.”

***

For the pâtisserie week technical, the judges ask the bakers to make spelt croissants.

“Any words of advice, Albus?”

“Make every. Second. Count.”

Lily nods sagely. “A line that would strike fear in the hearts of even the most seasoned bakers, I’m sure.”

“It’s the semi final,” Albus says. “They should be afraid.”

“... Lovely,” Lily says. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, says, “Alright then, McGoogles, Dumbles: out with ye,” and shoos them off.

Once the judges are out of the tent, Sirius and Lily turn back to the bakers.

“Well, now that Albus has instilled fear and uncertainty within all of you, let’s begin, shall we?”

“On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“Bake!”

Sirius is trying to be good. Really, he is. But the technical is proving to be… tempting. Now that there are less contestants to talk to, Lily and Sirius have more down time, and Sirius has been using his extra time wisely. He’s been doing a lot of watching. Although it’s not outright kneading as it was with bread week, the croissants are proving to be very handsy. And, well. Remus has extremely nice hands. Sirius likes them rather a lot.

It’s both better and worse than bread week, somehow. The shock is gone. In the week since, Sirius has had plenty of time to come to terms with his want. He’s seen the less perfect sides of Remus too now. He’s seen his cranky mornings and bed-destroying tendencies, and instead of disrupting the romanticised version of Remus that he’d built up in the aisles of a bookstore, it’s just made his want sharper. Starker. Deeper. That which started out as white hot attraction has deepened into something else: something dark red and soft like velvet. It’s more intense, but also softer. Gentler. 

Well. Gentler in some ways. As Sirius watches the tendons of Remus’s hands move beneath his skin, he pictures all the different ways he wants Remus’s hands on him in decidedly un-gentle ways. He licks his lips.

Lily elbows him. “Bloody hell, Sirius,” she whispers. “If you’re going to salivate, do it in secrecy.”

“You’ve seen the state of Bake Off twitter, Lily,” he drawls. “All the viewers are thinking the same thing.”

Lily grimaces. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I really don’t know why they’re all so horny all the time… Poor Remus.”

“The hands, Lils. It’s the hands.”

Remus looks up at them then. They’re far enough away that Sirius is certain that Remus can’t hear them. That doesn’t stop Remus from glancing at Sirius and promptly blushing then ducking his head, his curls tumbling into his eyes.

Lily snorts. “Ridiculous, Black. You’re both ridiculous.”

“Don’t start with me, Evans. You’ve turned James into a giggling schoolboy. James Potter! He was number 9 in the hottest 30 under 30, you know.”

Lily smirks at him, despite her blush. “Yes, and I was 6. And you were 3! And yet here you are; simultaneously acting like a swooning maiden and a horny teenage boy.”

“One more week, Lils. One.”

“So it’s official, then?” She asks. “You’ve both talked about it?”

“Well,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. “Not officially? Not in explicit terms, at least. But the attraction’s definitely mutual.” Sirius feels his cheeks flush.

“Oh my god. I know he visited you this week… Did you two, you know...?”

“Not officially. There was some, um… light touching. Some, er, neck kissing,” he whispers.

Lily snorts. “Oh dear. You’re hopeless. Couldn’t even wait two weeks, could you?”

“Patience has never been my strong suit,” Sirius agrees. 

“You should talk, though. Even just to make sure you’re both on the same page. It’s not easy loving our kind.”

Sirius doesn’t have to ask what Lily means by ‘our kind.’ He knows. It’s been on his mind. He knows that Remus is a private person. He doesn’t let people in easily. And unfortunately, whether he likes it or not, Sirius’s life is open to the public, constantly subject to scrutiny, to people looking in. He’d understand if Remus didn’t want that. Most of the time Sirius doesn’t even want it.

Now, at least, he’s certain that Remus is physically attracted to him. He'd confirmed as much when he was groaning into Sirius’s skin… But there’s more to this than just that. Sirius is ready to dive in head-first, and he’s fairly certain he’d give Remus everything if he asked. But he doesn’t know if Remus wants everything. He doesn’t even know if Remus wants anything beyond a quick shag, even if Sirius suspects he does. He also suspects that Remus isn’t a ‘quick’ shag kind of man; that he’s the kind of man who takes his time…

“It’s… complicated,” Sirius says to Lily, voice hushed. “We do need to talk, but it’s also just so easy. We understand each other. It’s like we’re in sync.”

“You have synergy,” Lily says. “Even I can see that when the two of you interact. But you can’t rely on that for everything. That’s where miscommunication happens.”

“I know,” Sirius sighs. “It’s just so simple and pure right now. I don’t want to mess that up.”

Lily snorts. “I don’t need to see your mind to know that there’s nothing pure about your thoughts right now, Sirius.”

“Oh, hush. I mean that he has no ulterior motive. He doesn’t seem to care about any of the extra stuff. All the baggage. The money. I feel like I could take him on a date to the chippie and he’d be thrilled. Fabian was never like that.”

Lily reaches over and squeezes his hand. “He’s a goodie. But he can’t read your mind. Nor you his.”

Sirius bites his lip and looks back at Remus. He knows this; of course he does. But he’s so afraid of stifling this gentle, sensual, lovely thing between them before it even takes off. 

“I know.”

***

Remus loves making croissants, he’s decided. It’s exactly the kind of baking he likes: highly technical, fiddly, and challenging. 

It’s tough working with the butter-rich dough in the heat, though. It’s stifling in the tent, and if Remus doesn’t put his dough in the fridge regularly, the butter begins to melt. Still, he makes it work, and even enjoys the process.

Sirius hasn’t been over to talk to him since the beginning of the morning (which is really for the best), but Remus often catches Sirius looking at him, and he’ll either wink at Remus or send him a glance that’s full of promise. It really feels like they’re teetering at the edge of something. It’s thrilling.

As he rolls out the dough for the final lamination, Remus thinks of different ways around Sirius's contract. He remembers the comment Marlene made a few weeks ago about sexting. At the time, he’d been starkly opposed, but now… The thought of Sirius breathing through the phone for him makes Remus feel hot.

He looks up to see Sirius and Lily in the corner, standing close together and talking. It looks like a serious conversation. Sirius’s arms are crossed, his brow furrowed, and Lily’s expression is one of gentle concern.

Sirius notices him looking and smiles. It’s a slow, dirty movement of his mouth and it makes Remus’s knees feel weak. 

Remus ducks his head, turning back to his croissants. For this challenge, he needs to stay focused. 

“Oh Remus… I’m really not very good with pastry,” Arthur says, frowning. “It keeps crumbling and falling apart! It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”

Remus’s croissants are in the oven. He’s doing well time-wise: he even has time to tidy up his bench somewhat.

“Erm… ideally not, no. Do you need help, Arthur?”

“Ah, that’s very sweet of you to offer, dear boy. I’m not sure it’d do any good… These are a bit beyond help, I think.”

“A cup of tea, then?”

“Sounds lovely,” Arthur sighs.

Remus places first in the technical. His croissants are near perfect, but lack exactly the level of lamination that the judges were hoping for. In the end, they put this down to the extreme heat in the tent, rather than a lack of technique. Mary is next, then Peter, and then Arthur. 

Arthur, as per usual, takes the criticism well, but there’s a definite tension to his brow as they all walk back to the hotel. Remus feels conflicted; conflicted by his own ambitions, and his desire for Arthur to stay in the running. He really doesn’t want any of them to leave.

***

Sirius is enjoying an evening walk through the hotel gardens, taking in the last vestiges of sunlight and the sound of the birds' final chirps before they put themselves to bed. He tries to savour it all. It’s odd to think that there won’t be any more of this after next week.

He’s in the rose garden, turning a corner, when he collides with Severus.

Severus sneers, wiping his shirt as if Sirius’s touch is dirty. “Get off me, Black.”

“With pleasure.”

“Oh please,” Severus scoffs. “As if you’d turn down an opportunity to try and cop a feel.” 

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone knows you’ll jump anything with two legs. Poor Lupin’s had to bear the brunt of your lecherous ways. Who’s to say I won’t be next?”

Sirius crosses his arms. “Are you calling me a slag, Snivellus? Go on, say it.”

“I don’t need to. Everyone knows it; everyone’s thinking it.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at Severus’s superficial attempt to provoke him. He tries to push past, but Severus reaches out and grips his shoulder, stopping him.

“Oh?” Sirius says, his voice light and airy, “Thought you didn’t want to touch me? Now you can’t keep your hands off of me. Make up your mind, Snivelly.”

Severus removes his hand as if he’s been burned. He looks down at Sirius with distaste. Sirius’s mirrors that same expression right back at Severus. 

“I’m sure the network would love to know that one of their presenters is in bed with one of their contestants. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” 

“Excuse me?" Sirius snorts. "I’m not in bed with anyone.”

“Mm, I’m sure you invited Lupin to your house for purely platonic reasons. Did you bake scones together? Watch Coro Street in your jammies?”

Sirius can't help laughing; laughing at how much more accurate that description is than whatever else Severus is implying. “How typical. Once again you’ve utilised your keen eye for observation and have come to the wrong conclusion.”

“You’re a sad man, Sirius Black,” Severus sneers. Sirius must have struck a nerve. “I see right through you. All the attention in the world isn’t going to give you what you want. It’s not going to change who you are. Nothing will. Not even tall freaks who want to bed you just to brag that they shagged Sirius Black. Not much of a brag, though, is it? Not when half of the world has already gotten there first.”

Sirius bites his tongue so hard that he tastes blood. He feels a familiar burning rage rising within him. He knows he needs to get out before he does something stupid, before he lashes out. It’s the kind of feeling that gets him into trouble, that’s sent Sirius spiralling down dangerous tunnels that James has to drag him out of, tooth and nail. It’s the same impulse that’s driven him to drugs. To shirking rules and hurting people. He wants to hurl the same vitriol back towards Severus and make it hurt. He wants to hurt him. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of his own capability for cruelty. Just like his mother.

He needs to calm down.

He needs to get to Remus.

***

Remus is dipping a piece of chocolate into his tea when he hears a rapid knocking on his hotel room’s door. The noise startles him, and he accidentally drops the chocolate into the cup. 

Remus scrambles out of bed and opens his door to reveal Sirius. Sirius’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed, his cheeks are flushed, and he’s panting. He looks wild. Unpredictable.

“Sirius. Is… everything alright?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

Sirius exhales sharply and pushes past Remus into his room. Remus has never seen him like this before. It’s like he’s a coiled ball of pure energy; pure energy that Remus is worried is about to explode.

Sirius paces around Remus’s room.

“Sirius,” Remus tries again. “Can I… help?”

Sirius turns to him, his usually storm-grey eyes the bright quicksilver that Remus had initially expected. “I feel…” Sirius swallows, his eyes flitting to the floor and then back to Remus. “I almost punched Snivellus in the nose.”

Remus blinks and then laughs. Sirius looks offended, straightening his shoulders as if he's about to leave. “Sorry, I'm sorry, Sirius,” Remus says apologetically. “It’s just… I did warn you that I was a bad influence.” He points to the scar on his brow. “You don’t want any of these, do you?”

Sirius’s expression softens. “I like your scar.”

“Scars,” Remus corrects. “I’ve got a few.”

“Oh,” Sirius says. “Well. I’m sure I’d like them too.”

Remus blushes at the thought of Sirius seeing the scars on his torso and legs. He clears his throat. “Is that why you came here? ‘Cause you were angry?”

Sirius looks away sharply. “I haven’t felt anger like that in a while. I wanted to hurt him so badly, Moons. What does that say about me? Even now, I just want to… I dunno. Do something. Fight Snivellus. Get high. Run away.”

“I’m glad you came here instead,” Remus says, surprised at how calm he feels in the face of Sirius’s anger. He pulls a light woolly cardigan over his pyjamas. “Let’s do something. Let’s go somewhere.”

Sirius looks somewhat stunned, standing motionless in the middle of Remus's hotel room. Then he nods. “Okay.”

They sneak through the halls of the hotel, and Remus is reminded of how it felt when they broke into the kitchens to make scones. Only that time, the energy had been light and playful. This time it’s tense. 

Eventually, Remus finds a window that opens up to a patch of grass, where the drop isn’t too high. Remus unlatches it, and in a show of uncharacteristic agility, manages to slip out of the window with little trouble at all. Sirius, on the other hand, gets stuck as he’s halfway out the window. One of his pockets gets stuck on the latch, and Remus has to carefully unhook it. They both blush. 

Once Sirius is free, they sneak around the side of the hotel, with Remus in the lead, and Sirius following.

“Oops,” Sirius says, after he accidentally looks into the window of a guest’s room. “Hold on. Is that Minnie?”

Remus stands up and peers through the window. “It is! Look; she’s even having a cheeky vino. Good for her.”

“Hmm,” Sirius says, his head centimetres away from Remus’s. Remus flushes at the proximity. “I wonder what she’s reading?”

Remus squints. “I’ve seen the cover before; Marl’s got it. It’s a sexy sapphic novel, I think. Knowing Marlene.”

Sirius whistles, but there’s a pink flush on his cheeks. “Nice. I wonder if Albus is next door. I’ve always wondered what he does in his free time.”

“Listens to opera,” Remus suggests. “Taxidermy. Crafts train sets. Collects haunted dolls.”

Sure enough, the next window is Albus’s. They both peer in to see Albus is sitting in his armchair, his back straight, as he stares at the wall.

Sirius laughs under his breath. “He’s like a cyborg. I’m convinced he’s not a real person.”

After that, they scamper across the hotel lawn and jump the fence. They land in a field, and Sirius narrowly avoids stepping in sheep poo.

“It’s because I’m not Welsh,” Sirius says teasingly. “I don’t have a built in radar for sheep defecation like you do.”

“Defecation?" Remus laughs sharply. "God you're posh. I forget sometimes how posh you are, then you come out with shite like defecation. Some sheep poo would probably be good for you, you know. It’s a humbling experience that everyone should have at least once.” 

After crossing the field—and successfully avoiding any more manure—Sirius spots a nearby lane.

“A path!” Sirius cries. “Civilization!”

Remus rolls his eyes but follows Sirius nonetheless. The lane is picturesque under the light of the moon, with trees lining either side of it. In the distance, Remus can see the moon shining off the lake, and the warm air is heavy with the scent of heather and thyme. It's exactly the kind of scene that Remus had pictured when he heard Bake Off would be hosted in Windermere.

At the end of the lane, they find a grove at the edge of another field. To the right is a babbling brook, and in front the field stretches down the hill towards a stone fence. Then, it’s trees, a glimmering Lake Windermere, and her hills.

It’s just them, the moon, and the stars. Remus looks at Sirius and, for the first time that weekend, lets himself gaze at Sirius uninterrupted. He drinks in the image of Sirius beneath the moon, his pale skin illuminated, and the wisps of his black hair falling into his eyes. Sirius’s silver earring, the same crescent moon from those weeks before, glints up at Remus. There’s an ethereal cast to him like this. He looks like a Byronic protagonist under the cast of the moon, wild yet statuesque.

Sirius makes sense here, Remus thinks. He’s a little bit ruffled, and a little bit rough around the edges. His celebrity facade is smudged and hazy. 

It occurs to Remus then that very few people get to see Sirius like this.

“Look,” Sirius says, pointing to the sky. “It’s me.”

Remus squints at the sky and thousands of stars blink back down at him. “Er, where? Which one?”

“The brightest one, look, right there.” Sirius gently grasps Remus’s arm and directs his hand so that he’s pointing up at the sky. Heat pools in Remus's belly at the contact. He can feel Sirius’s hair on his cheek. He shivers.

“There,” Sirius breathes. “Do you see me?”

Remus doesn’t. He’s struggling to concentrate on anything other than Sirius’s touch, let alone a star. “Oh. Yes, you’re very bright.” He turns his head slightly to smile weakly at Sirius. 

Sirius smiles back and lets their arms drop. He doesn’t move away.

“There’s Regulus,” he says, looking back up at the sky. The tone of his voice is wistful, and it reminds Remus of his conversation with James. “My whole family is up there, you know. Orion, Regulus, Sirius, Bellatrix… Andromeda. It’s an odd little family tradition. James assumed my parents were hippies when we first met; even asked if I wanted some Rajasthani incense to give to my Mum. Sweet James... My mother was definitely not the incense burning sort.”

“I’ve always thought Sirius was a beautiful name,” Remus says honestly. “The dog star. It suits you. You’re kind of dog-like, you know.”

“Gonna have to stop you there, Moons. It sounds like you’re mere moments away from confessing to being a furry, and I don’t think I could cope."

“No, I,” Remus splutters, his cheeks burning. “Not like that! Not in a furry way! Not that there’s anything wrong with furries! I mean—it’s definitely not for me, but I would never want to shame anyone. Like… you do you, y’know? Not that that's you! Or me…”

Sirius laughs and lays back, crossing his arms behind his head. “That’s a relief to hear, wolf boy. I was starting to wonder if there was a deeper, more sordid story behind your name.”

“No, that’s just a weird family tradition as well.” Remus chuckles, still feeling flustered. “My dad’s name was Lyall.”

“Oh,” Sirius says. “Erm. Great.” And then, after a beat. “What does that mean?”

Remus snorts. “It means wolf in Norse. I guess that technically makes me Wolf Wolf the Second.”

“Holy shit. Really?”

“I know.”

“Here I was thinking your Dad just really liked Roman myths... Oh my god. Was he a furry, Remus?”

Remus laughs. “Definitely not. He was a mythologist. My bedtime stories weren’t fairytales or Beatrix Potter. I got Beowulf and the Epic of Gilgamesh.”

“Lucky you; I got the bible.”

“Oh,” Remus says, unsure what else to say. 

“I hated it for years…” Sirius continues, in lieu of Remus’s response. “But I recently remembered how much I actually liked the stories. It was all so magical to me as a kid. I remember laying in bed wishing that angels were real. I was so sad when I realised that I didn’t believe in them. I have very few nice memories from childhood, but those ones aren’t bad. Me and Reg curled up in bed while my mother read to us… I know that probably sounds weird.”

“I don’t think that’s weird at all, Pads. There’s a reason those stories connect so many people. It goes beyond individual faith, I think. Dad always said that religion is part of our culture and it's important to try and understand it; whether you believe in a god or not.”

“He sounds like an interesting man,” Sirius says.

Remus rests his chin on his knees. “He was. He was always searching for something, though. Searching for knowledge, for answers, for more . Everything was always this big, intellectual pursuit for him: even cooking dinner. I don’t think he was ever truly satisfied. I know he always wanted more of that from me too, more of that same curiosity. In some ways, I do have it, but it’s different. He wanted the keys to the universe… I think I just want the keys to happiness, to be honest.”

“Is that why you started doing your PhD, do you think?” Sirius asks. “To please him?

“I don’t know,” Remus answers honestly. “I was so sure it was what I wanted… but now I’m not really sure at all.”

“What do you want?”

Remus laughs softly. “To bake. To help people. I think I’d really like to teach.”

“I think you’d be amazing at that, Moons, if your scone lessons are anything to go by.”

“You almost started a fire!” Remus protests, laughing

“Yes, and you put it out,” Sirius teases. 

There’s a long, stretching silence afterwards. It's comfortable, but Remus can still see tension in the line of Sirius's mouth.

“Are you feeling better?” Remus asks carefully. 

Sirius groans. “God, I’d forgotten all about Snivellus. What an utter bastard…” Sirius lets out a long exhale. “Thank you, Moons. I think I would have done something very stupid if you weren’t here.”

“Of course, Pads. Anytime.” 

Sirius smiles up at Remus and Remus stares down at him, until he catches sight of something white out of the corner of his eye. 

“Pads,” he says slowly. “Stay very still. Don’t move.”

“What? What is it? Moony, what’s going on? Is something there?”

Remus takes in a shuddering breath. 

“Remus? You’re freaking me out.”

“It’s a… goose.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, relaxing. “I thought it was something dangerous.”

"It is dangerous," Remus hisses.

He stands up slowly in an attempt to exaggerate his, already considerable, height. He flaps his arms at the goose in a way he hopes is vaguely threatening. All he sees is its beady black eyes staring back up at him: black eyes that hold a considerable lack of fear. Its eyes are a void.

It honks. Remus runs.

As the goose chases Remus around the field, Sirius stands beside the strean and laughs.

“Shut up!” Remus yells, as he ducks away from the goose’s attacks and swoops.

Sirius laughs harder.

“I hate geese,” Remus pants out, as he jogs over to Sirius, beside the water. “They’re evil.”

Sirius won’t stop laughing.

“Shut up, Pads!” Remus says weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, wiping away tears. “You’re just so tall.... And it was so angry. What did you do to it? Kill its babies? Its geese-lings?”

“No,” Remus huffs, standing beside Sirius and peering around to make sure that it’s safe. He hears nothing; just the gentle breeze as it weaves through the trees. Remus relaxes.

And then, just as Remus's guard is down, the goose flaps out from behind a nearby thicket. Remus jumps, flailing, and trips over his own feet, colliding with Sirius and sending them tumbling into the shallows of the brook. In the distance, he can see the goose running through the grove and it lets out a final, cursory honk.

Sirius shrieks as his body makes contact with the cool water of the creek. This time it's Remus's turn to laugh.

“Shut up, Moons,” Sirius says, glaring up at Remus, who’s propped up above Sirius with hands either side of his head. Their legs are wound together in the water. Suddenly, it's not very funny at all. Remus stills. 

Sirius seems to realise how compromising their position is at the same time Remus does. He looks up at Remus, biting his lip. It looks like he’s thinking about something. Remus doesn’t need to think too hard to guess what that might be. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, his voice hushed and husky. It sets Remus on edge. A good kind of edge. The kind of edge that’s moments away from a free-fall where the only thought he can hold in his mind is Sirius Sirius Sirius. 

“Mmm,” Remus hums, and smiles to himself when he watches Sirius shudder. 

“So... Geese, huh?” Sirius tries, but he’s looking at Remus’s lips. 

Remus licks his lips. Sirius follows the motion with his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering. Remus's body moves forward of its own volition, and Remus is helpless to stop it. Now centimetres away from Sirius’s face, Remus leans in slowly, slowly enough that Sirius can tell him to stop. He can feel Sirius’s short, sharp breaths on his lips. His body is tight; coiled from how he’s holding himself back. He doesn’t want to rush this. He doesn’t want to force Sirius into anything.

Sirius makes a quiet noise at the back of his throat, and Remus inhales sharply, shifting his body above Sirius’s at the same time as Sirius wriggles beneath him. The movement brings them briefly into contact. They both gasp, Sirius arches his back and pushes up, up, up, and Remus feels like he’s about to black out from the pleasure of it. 

He forgets everything. Forgets the stakes; forgets what they’re not allowed to do. They’ve definitely already toed that line. Pushed over it, even. But right there and then, under the moon and the stars, in the shallows of a countryside stream, they’re moments away from a fully-fledged free fall, from saying fuck the line altogether, from finally aligning, and—

Sirius tenses beneath him. “Remus.”

Remus pulls back immediately. He sits up, moving away from Sirius and taking a deep, shuddering breath. He runs a shaking hand through his hair. He's afraid he's misread this situation entirely; the last thing he'd ever want to do is take advantage of Sirius.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Sirius rushes out, sitting up, and seemingly reading Remus’s mind. “I do. So badly. But if we start down that road, I won’t be able to stop. I can barely control myself as it is. And as much as I hate to admit it, they’re right; James, Lily, Emmeline… it’s not just my reputation anymore, but yours too.”

Remus exhales, the anxiety seeping away. “Of course, Pads. I can understand that. This is…”

“Torture,” Sirius says firmly. “It’s hell. I have to stop myself from climbing you every second I’m in that fucking tent.”

Remus groans. “Is it bad that I wish you would?”

“That’s just the problem, Moons. We barely have a lick of self-restraint between the two of us.”

“Yeah, well, if it were up to me, I’d spread you out on my bench for all Britain's baking mums to see.”

Sirius bites his lip, his eyes ablaze. And then his shoulders slump and he huffs out a laugh. “For fucks sake. We’re hopeless.”

Remus looks down at his hands. There are little indents on his palms from the stream's pebbles.

“There are ways around it, though,” Sirius says slowly, and Remus raises his head, gazing at Sirius in interest. “We could text. Call. As long as we’re not physically touching… Is that something you might be interested in?”

Remus nods rapidly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice husky. “Yup. Yes. Absolutely.”

Sirius laughs under his breath. “Good.” And then he stands up, grimacing at what Remus suspects is the feeling of wet fabric pulling across his skin. He holds out his hand for Remus, who uses it to pull himself up. For a second they stand there, too close together, their noses brushing. Once again, Remus feels Sirius’s breath puffing out over his lips.

And then Sirius is stepping back, shaking his head, and rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, staring intensely at Remus’s lips.

“Hell, Remus. This is hell.”

The walk back to the hotel is meandering and quiet. They don’t say much, but they don’t need to. The silence doesn’t weigh heavily between them; it’s loaded, but not with awkwardness. What once felt like an errant hope now feels inevitable. 

At the edge of the first field, Sirius picks a flower and puts it behind Remus’s ear, and somehow that action makes Remus blush harder than he did when Sirius was pressed up against him.

“This is me,” Remus says quietly when they reach his room.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Sirius says, his voice gentle but teasing. “Wouldn’t want you to lose focus tomorrow.”

“I’ll be distracted either way,” Remus says. “Might as well make the most of it...”

Sirius laughs under his breath and shakes his head, his cheeks pink. “Night, Moons.”

“Sweet dreams, Sirius.”

Sirius smiles, a slow, drawling movement of his mouth, as he backs down the hallway to his own room, his eyes not leaving Remus’s. “Oh, they’ll be sweet, alright.”

Remus wakes up the next day feeling surprisingly refreshed considering how late he’d gone to sleep.

He’d gotten off once in the shower when he got back, and then again when he’d gotten into bed. He definitely would have gone again in the morning if he didn’t have to rush to the tent. Now that he has Sirius’s permission, and the knowledge that Sirius is doing the same, any barriers that once were up have come down. Any shame that might have stopped him from touching himself and imagining Sirius has dissipated. It’s like he’s fourteen again. He can’t get enough , and something tells him that he won’t be satisfied until it’s Sirius’s skin underneath his hands. 

He and Sirius share a long, heated look when he enters the tent, but other than that they keep themselves under control. They even manage to hold a conversation in front of the cameras, much to Lily’s surprise. It’s only slightly sexually charged.

“How’s pâtisserie week going for you, Remus?” Lily asks.

“It’s been… surprising,” he says. “There have been a lot of highs and lows.”

Sirius smirks. “Seems like mostly highs from where I’m standing. How did Minerva describe your croissants, again?”

“Girthy.”

“Mmm, indeed.”

Lily coughs. “So… What have you prepared for your showstopper, Remus? What are you doing for your bon bons?”

The tent is quiet over the next four hours. The atmosphere is charged and tense. It seems to have all hit them simultaneously; this is it . It’s the semi final.

Remus’s bench is chaotic as ever, but his movements are precise and intentional. He knows what he wants to do, and he lets himself have fun doing it. He thinks of the bright colours of Sirius’s flat and lets that steer his decision with the flavours. On the outside, his bon bons look like him: nondescript and rustic, decorated in earthy tones. 

On the inside, they’re bright and experimental. Surprising. Exciting.

“Well, then.” Minerva says, looking down at Remus’s bon bons. “This is very you isn’t it? The colours, the rustic whimsy… It’s exactly what I’d expect from you,” Remus can hear a hint of disappointment in her last words.

Remus smiles to himself. “Yes, I suppose it is. I hope you like the flavours.”

Minerva selects one of each and places them on a plate.

“We’ll try the mossy pebble first. How does that sound, Albus?”

Albus nods, his lapis eyes imperceptible as they're fixed on Remus.

Minerva cuts into the mossy green bon bon to reveal layers of bright colours inside: bright greens and deep reds cut a vibrant image against the subdued green and greys of its exterior.

“Oh!” Minerva says, her eyes widening. 

“It’s a radioactive pebble,” Albus says, his mouth lifting at the corners. 

“It’s matcha and sour cherry,” Remus says.

“What else is there?” Minerva asks giddily. Remus is glad it’s making Minerva excited. He’d hoped it would. “Are they all like this?”

“Cut into them and find out,” Albus chides.

Next, Minerva selects the little brown toadstool and cuts into it. Inside it are layers of yellow and pink.

“What’s this one, Remus?”

“Raspberry, coconut, and Thai lime leaf.”

And again, the chanterelle, whose soft mustard yellow exterior is cut open to reveal bright purple and yellow inside. 

“That’s blackberry, yuzu, and gin.”

Minerva smiles at the mention of gin.

And, at last, they cut into the morel, whose mottled brown reveals light, pastel colours inside. 

“And this is…?”

“Lemon, almond, and lavender,” Remus says.

“How exciting!” Minerva exclaims, looking down at the bon bons.

“It’s all rather psychedelic, isn’t it? They look like regular mushrooms on the outside, but on the inside they’re magical.” Albus’s blue eyes are sparkling.

“Let’s have a taste, shall we, Albus? Find out if they taste as magical as they look?"

There’s a long moment of silence as the judges quietly taste each of the different flavours. Neither of them say anything, and by the end, Remus is starting to get nervous, shifting from foot to foot. His left thumb goes to start worrying the nail bed of his right thumb out of habit, but he stops. He breathes. He waits.

“Wow.”

“Mhmm.”

“I… Wow. Remus.”

“Incredible,” Albus says. 

“This kind of baking really plays to your strengths,” Minerva says, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “As Albus said yesterday, the precision and the technicality of pâtisserie really speaks to your style of baking. But, of course, we always knew you’d be fine with those aspects. What’s really exciting is seeing you pushing yourself to experiment and play around with ideas and flavours; to bring a bit more excitement into your baking. I was expecting 40 bon bons filled with chocolate, caramel, and warm spices: the kinds of flavours we know you’re comfortable with. I wasn’t expecting so much brightness and freshness. I don’t know what you did this last week, but it worked!”

Remus glances at Sirius who’s watching him closely. “Yeah,” Remus says, not taking his eyes off of Sirius. “I think it did too.”

Mary’s judging goes smoothly, as does Peter’s, but Arthur’s is bumpy at best.

“Pina colada… again, Arthur? I feel like we’ve seen this flavour from you a million times before.”

Remus grinds his teeth at the way Albus is speaking to Arthur, at the condescending slant of his mouth. 

“That’s because it’s delicious, Albus,” Arthur says lightly. 

“Maybe so, but you can’t keep doing it over and over. That’s not the point of this competition.”

“Hmm, that’s intriguing,” Arthur says. “Did you know that thirty-four of your cookbook’s fifty recipes feature raspberry and lemon as the main flavours? I’d have thought you’d be more open-minded, Albus. After all: you can’t beat a classic, can you?”

Remus is stunned. And, based on the resounding silence of the tent, so is everyone else.

Minerva coughs. “I rather like the margarita one. Very zingy!”

There’s a strong sense of foreboding in the tent leading up to the elimination. 

Arthur’s smile is terse and frayed around the edges. He declines Remus’s offer of a hug, and Remus doesn’t know what to do, so he holds onto Arthur’s hand and squeezes it to remind Arthur that he’s there. Arthur squeezes back gently. 

When the time comes, the contestants are all lined up with their arms linked. Lily hasn’t even started talking when Remus feels his eyes well with tears. Remus looks around, committing the tent and his companions to his memory. He looks at Arthur. Arthur, who’d been so kind to Remus before they’d even set foot in the tent. From the moment he met him, Remus knew that Arthur was the kind of person he aspired to be: one who’s kind and open-hearted, and always there for his friends with a cup of tea in hand.

He squeezes Arthur’s hand harder.

“I, of course, have the wonderful job of announcing this week’s star baker!” Lily says. “This baker has proven time and time again to be a force to be reckoned with. A tornado, whose talents more than make up for the absolute state he leaves his bench in every week without fail.” Everyone laughs. “Remus, love, congratulations.”

Arthur squeezes his hand, and Mary wraps her arm around his waist. “Congratulations, Rem!”

Sirius beams at him.

And then his face falls. “And that leaves me with the worst job in the world," Sirius says. "Truly, it’s absolutely awful. We’re a little family now. We don’t want to see any of you go.”

Arthur sniffs. Remus thinks fuck it and wraps his arms around the shorter man. He feels Arthur deflate in his arms.

“And so… this week, we’re saying goodbye to someone who I know has touched every single person in this tent. This is someone who always has a cup of tea ready when it’s needed, who’s always eager to help, who has been the unwavering emotional backbone in this tent for five long weeks. Who has the world's most extraordinary tie collection.” Sirius lets out a shaky breath. “Arthur,” he says gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur exhales. And smiles. “Thank you, Sirius,” he says. “That was very kind of you to say.”

Remus blinks, feeling tears trickle down his cheeks. It’s awful; so awful. He pulls Arthur to his chest. He buries his head in the crook between Arthur’s head and shoulder.

Arthur laughs wetly. “I’m okay, Remus. It’s okay. You don’t need to cuddle the sadness out of me.”

“I can try,” Remus says, his voice muffled by Arthur’s shoulder. He squeezes him harder. “Oh, Arthur,” he sobs.

“Remus!” Arthur says, his voice so very fond. “You’re star baker! Please don’t cry!”

“Too bad.” Remus pulls back from Arthur and wipes his eyes. “Too late.”

Arthur reaches a hand up and wipes a stray tear from Remus’s cheek. “Don’t cry for me, Remus. I’m not sad! I can’t believe I made it this far. And it’s all thanks to you, to all of you.” 

Beside Remus, Mary sniffs, and Peter’s face is scrunched up in an attempt to stop himself from crying. 

Arthur grasps their hands with his own and holds them up to his heart. “I’m so proud of you all. The final! You’ll all be amazing. I know it.”

After an extremely teary farewell to Arthur, where Remus refuses to let go of Arthur until he physically has to—"I'm sorry, dear boy, but I have to pee!"—Minerva approaches him. She holds her arm out, and for a split second Remus thinks she’s about to give him a very delayed handshake. What she does instead is perhaps even more surprising: she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a hug. She's softer than he expected. Warmer too. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, squeezing him. “You’ve come such a long way. For the first few weeks, you were like a deer in headlights! Any time we told you you’d done well, you looked like you were waiting for the shoe to drop!”

“I was,” Remus confesses. "I thought it was all a massive hoax, to be honest."

“Be proud, Remus. You deserve it.”

Later, as Remus is just exiting the tent, a hand reaches out and pulls him behind a tree.

Sirius.

“Congratulations,” Sirius says, smiling up at him. The sunlight shines through the leaves above them, casting dappled light and shadows on Sirius's face. Remus wants to touch him to make sure he's real. “I’d give you your reward, but… it’ll have to wait.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mhm. I think you’ll like it. I think it’s worth the wait,” Sirius says, his voice as smooth as honey.

“I know it is.” 

Sirius chuckles quietly. “I also wanted to check… were you serious? About us texting? And calling?”

“Very Sirius,” Remus teases.

Sirius rolls his eyes and gently bats him on the arm. “Shut up,” he says, not at all sounding like he means it.

“If that’s what you want.” Remus says, stepping back. He can hear the voices of the other contestants coming closer. They don’t have long. “I’ll do whatever you want, Sirius,” he adds lowly.

“Is that so? Anything?”

“Anything.”

Sirius licks his lips. “Good.”

“Great.”

“I’ll text you.”

“You’d better.”

Sirius smiles and it makes the skin around his eyes crinkle at the edges; cracks in the marble. “I’ll miss you, you know. I want to hear about your days too. What you eat, what you see. How you’re feeling. It doesn’t need to be all… physical. I want it all.”

Sirius’s expression is so sweet and earnest, and he says the last four words like a confession. It’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to talking about feelings, to talking about the beyond of their obvious attraction for one another. 

“Pads... I’ll miss you too. Especially after this week... Tell me about the studio, okay? Tell me about the songs you’re writing, or the ones you're not writing. Your almond croissants. Even Grand Designs. All of it. Pretend I’m there with you.”

Sirius smirks. “That won’t be very difficult...” His smirk softens into something sweeter. Deeper. He reaches out and squeezes Remus’s hand. “Not long now, Moons. Not long now…”

Chapter Text

Remus’s father had always loved to fish. Whenever he needed some peace, or a place to think, he’d take his rusted little dinghy with its colony of barnacles out to the ocean to bob on the slate-grey waves. 

For as long as Remus could remember, Lyall had turned to the waves for solace and for silence. As a child, Remus hadn’t understood it. He hated his father’s impromptu fishing trips; the wind was cold and savage, the waves choppy and rough, and all he could think about was how big and expansive the ocean was compared to his tiny form. As his father relished in the water, Remus would curl up, his small arms tightly wrapped around himself, and refuse to look over the edge, terrified of the ocean beneath. It was all too much: too much space, too deep, and too unknown. So, he tried to hide from the sea, but in his father’s tiny dinghy, that was impossible. He could close his eyes, but he couldn’t hide from the persistent, sickening rocking of the dinghy on the waves. He craved dry land: solid ground beneath his feet, not the grey, murky depths of the ocean as the waves careened beneath him.

When they returned home, Hope would bundle Remus up and hold him beside the fire, stroking his hair as he cried. Through his tear-distorted gaze, Remus would watch as Lyall rolled his eyes and retreated to his room, while Hope whispered in his ear that he was brave, that it wasn’t his fault; that there was just too much of her in him. She’d never liked the ocean either.

But Remus kept trying: he kept trying to understand the ocean in an attempt to understand his father. Yet no matter what he did, the water remained terrifying and unconquerable, and Remus remained afraid. 

Once Remus turned twelve, and Lyall’s fishing trips still hadn’t endeared him—his tears replaced with gritted teeth and the snappiness that came with adolescence—Lyall finally admitted defeat. It was the first in a series of events that made Remus feel as though he’d failed his father.

As Remus grew older, he grew to love the ocean, but always from a safe distance. Always from the shore. Atop the waves, the ocean reminded Remus of how small he was, and how easy it would be for the ocean to swallow him whole. It reminded him how insignificant humans ultimately were compared to the world that they inhabited. From a distance, feet firmly rooted on the ground, the ocean made him feel calm. His insignificance wasn’t dangerous; instead, it was a balm to his anxiety. His smallness wasn’t a threat, but a reassurance. And from the shore, he could see the sea, and he could hear it when he closed his eyes, but everything was still. He wasn’t confronted with that sickening rocking sensation that his father loved so much; a constant reminder of his own vulnerability. In fact, it was only years later that Remus would understand that his father loved the ocean for the same reasons that Remus hated it. It was one of the many ways that Remus and Lyall had misunderstood each other; mismatched puzzle pieces, similar in form, but never quite slotting together. 

Now, Remus sits on a piece of driftwood and stares out at the horizon, wishing he was in his father’s rusted boat, bobbing on the waves. It strikes him what a cruel irony it is that it’s only now, after his father’s death, that Remus understands. It’s only now that he’s gazed into Sirius’s eyes—eyes brimming with beauty, delight, and danger —that Remus understands his father’s yearning for the casual violence of the ocean. For the sublime nature of it.

Remus inclines his head to the south, to the rugged cliffs where Lyall’s dinghy was found, battered by the jagged rock. Remus often wonders what his father had been thinking about that last day. Had he been thinking about Remus? Had he been thinking about that last argument? The last words that he’d said to Remus—the same words that Remus had spent his entire adult life anticipating: that he was disappointed in Remus. Or had he been thinking about what Remus said, in a rare moment of white-hot fury, when he had lied and said that he hated Lyall?

Remus will never know. And now, he has to learn to live with it.

Remus returns to the cottage, his curls wild and salty from the sea breeze. Hope is sitting at the scarred wooden table, and she looks up as Remus enters, his long arms wrapped around himself, his only protection against the blustery coastal winds.

“No jumper?” She says.

“I forgot.”

“Mmm, take one with you next time. Don’t want you to get a chill; autumn’s almost here,” Hope says, smiling up at Remus, the skin around her tired brown eyes crinkled like crepe paper. “Cuppa? The kettle just boiled.”

Remus nods, his shaggy, windswept curls bouncing with the movement, and sets to filling up the teapot with tea leaves. When he’s finished, he carries the pot and a jug of milk over to Hope, roughly placing them on the table beside two teacups from earlier. 

“Careful!” Hope admonishes. “You’ve already broken two of my favourite teapots; now you want to take all my crockery down with them!”

“Sorry Ma,” Remus says, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. 

Hope shakes her head as she pours tea into each of their cups, but her expression is fond. “Your father was the same, you know. Always treating porcelain as if it were plastic.” 

Remus bites his lip at the mention of Lyall. It’s not just him who has been tight-lipped about his father following his death. Most of the time, Hope seems content to pretend that he’d never existed.

“Did you have a nice walk, cariad?” Hope asks.

Remus nods. “Yeah. I went down to the beach. The ocean’s nice today. Chilly, though.” He smiles and takes a sip of his tea.

Hope rolls her eyes. “Go sit by the fire and warm up. I’ll fix us some soup for tea,” she says, standing up to the fetch ingredients from the pantry.

“Sounds good,” Remus says, blowing on his tea, and then taking a sip. He watches Hope as she moves around the kitchen.

Much like his own, Hope’s golden skin has become brighter over the past several weeks. And when she turns around and catches Remus watching her, her amber eyes sparkle at him as her lips stretch in a toothy smile. Remus hadn’t realised how much he missed that expression. He can almost pretend that the past five months haven’t happened; that Lyall is just hiding in his bedroom with his books and grand ideas. 

But then the whistling wind blows through the cottage, and Remus swallows down a heavy feeling before it can settle in his throat. Sometimes, late at night, Remus pretends that the wind is his father’s voice, and when he falls asleep, he dreams of a house full of ghosts. 

“Hey… Ma?”

“Hmm?” Hope calls from inside the pantry.

Remus swallows again. “Do you think Da was disappointed? By me?”

Hope stills, pumpkin in hand. “What do you mean?”

“I just… do you think he was disappointed? That I wasn’t more like him?”

A strange expression flickers across Hope’s face then, as she moves back to the table and sits down in the chair next to Remus. She gently places the pumpkin next to her now-empty tea cup. “Cariad… not at all.”

“Okay,” Remus says, taking a deep breath. “I’ve always wondered. I wondered if maybe he wished I was… I dunno. Different.”

Hope grasps his hand tightly but tenderly. “Remus… your father was a complicated man. I loved him very much, but there were a lot of things that I wished I’d done differently.”

“Like what?” 

Hope bites her lip. “Did he ever talk about his own Da?”

“Not really… I asked him once why I only had one lot of grandparents when everyone else at school had two. And he said his Da was a bitter old man and I was better off not knowing him.” 

Hope sighs. “They had a complicated relationship, cariad. And it carried over.”

“Oh.”

“He was afraid, Remus. He feared a lot of things.”

“Me?” 

“No, never you, sweetheart. He was afraid of himself. You know, when I was pregnant with you, Lyall let himself be happy for one whole week before the fear took over. And he left: he disappeared in the middle of the night and returned a month later, strung out on guilt and fear. He thought he was doing the right thing by leaving, you see. He thought we’d be better off without him.” Hope looks down at the table, tracing the lines that marr the wood. “Mum and Dad thought I was mad taking him back. Maybe I was. But I understood why he did it. He was terrified that he’d be like his own father. He didn’t want that, he said no child deserved that. And he didn’t know what to do, or how to avoid it. He said that he’d already become his father by leaving in the first place.”

“And what did you say?” 

“I said: ‘then don’t be.’ I said: Lyall, make a choice: choose to be the kind of father that you needed and didn’t have, and do everything in your power to be that father. Make a choice . And he did… but I think he was always at war with it, deep inside. I don’t think that fear ever really left, especially after your accident… he thought it was his fault.” Hope sighs. “It didn’t help that he refused to get help. It was nothing a bit of fishing couldn’t help, he always said. So old fashioned...”

“And… What was his Da like?”

“He was distant. Non-existent. He didn’t care about what his children did. He’d been in the war, you see, and he was in no fit state to raise children. All he cared about was escaping his own head in any way that he could; through booze, through women… anything but looking after his kids.”

“Is that why Da was so…”

“Hard on you? Ydy. His Da didn’t care at all. Your Da cared a lot, Remus. He cared so much.”

“I just wanted to make him proud,” Remus says honestly, and his voice catches on something in his chest. His heart.

Hope squeezes his hand again. “You did, cariad, and never for one second think you didn’t because you did . He was so proud of you. It’d kill him to know that you thought otherwise. That’s part of what makes this all so… so agonising , is the fact that I know you’ll never be able to have this conversation with him yourself. And that kills me.” 

Hope lets out a gentle sob, and Remus squeezes her hand, reassuring her in the only way that he knows how. She squeezes back, takes a deep breath, and continues: “It kills me that he can’t explain it all for himself. That you can’t be honest with each other. That he can’t tell you how proud he was of you and how much he loved you. Because he did, Remus. He did. I just wish it’d never happened like it did. I just… I’d never want you to feel like it was your fault.”

Remus isn’t aware that he’s even started crying until he tastes his tears. “Oh,” he croaks out.

Hope reaches out and cradles his face, turning him so that she can look into his eyes, amber on amber. “It wasn’t, Remus. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Even if—even… do you think he hated me?”

“Remus, cariad, no. He never hated you. He loved you so much.”

“Even in the end? Even after…” Remus tries to shake his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. Hope’s hands hold him steady. “I never meant it. I didn’t mean it. I never wanted that to be it .”

“I know. He knew. We knew. Remus, love… this isn’t your fault. It’s never been your fault.” 

Hope lets go of his face, shuffles her chair closer to him, and then pulls Remus into her arms. He lets himself fall, lets himself be held, and he sobs into her shoulder in a way he hasn’t since he was a little kid. Now, his tears come quickly and easily. After months—no, years —of drought, Remus is in his mother’s arms, crying like he’s still five and afraid of the ocean. In between was a time of stagnation, where Remus held his tears back because it was all he knew how to do. He didn’t cry after the accident, and he didn’t cry when the children at school laughed at the scarred skin weaving around his torso and leg. He didn’t even cry when he got the call from Marlene—“Remus… it’s your father. They’ve just found his boat… I’m so sorry, Rem…”

He doesn’t know why it’s only now that he’s remembered how to cry, but he’s glad he has. Perhaps it’s because he’s lost love and had to re-learn how to accept it. How to give it. Perhaps it’s only now that he’s met Peter, Arthur, Mary, Lily, and Sirius that he’s remembered why it’s such a wonderful thing to love .

Remus can feel Hope’s chest shuddering with sobs of her own. It occurs to him then that he hasn’t seen her cry once since it happened. Like Remus, she’s been a shadow of herself; floating through the days, untethered to reality. It strikes Remus then how similar they are, and how much they need each other.

“I’m so proud of you,” Hope says, her voice shaky with her sobs. “I know I haven’t been much of a mother to you, this past year—”

“You’ve been a mother to me my whole life, Ma. A few months was never going to change that.”

“I’m still sorry I let it get as bad as it did… I’m sorry that I haven’t been here for you—”

Remus pulls back and shakes his head rapidly. “No, Ma… Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. I don’t think I’d have let you talk to me, even if you tried. I wasn’t talking to anyone; my therapist, even Marlene… And you were still grieving too, Ma.”

“Precious Marlene… I don’t know how we’ll ever make it up to her. She’s been our rock, hasn’t she?” Hope smiles sadly. “I just want the best for you, Remus.”

“I know. And I,” Remus swallows as his honest thoughts bubble to the surface; hidden and contained for too long. He decides to release them: “I don’t think I can stay here any more, Ma. I don’t know how to be happy here.” 

Hope reaches out and strokes Remus’s wild hair. “I’m not surprised, lamb. I’m not very happy here either. Not anymore.”

Remus’s eyes widen in surprise.

“I’ve been thinking about going home. To the Valleys.”

“Oh. To your parents?”

Hope nods. “I’d like to be near them. They don’t have much longer, and I’d like to make the most of them. Of the time that they have left. Life’s too short to not spend it with the people we love, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” Remus says, nodding vigorously. “We can do that. Let’s do it. Let’s go. Next week?”

Hope’s smile widens. “Oh, love.” She ruffles his hair affectionately. “Aren’t you sweet? You’re always welcome, of course, but something tells me that England’s calling you right now…”

Remus smiles, despite himself.

“Ah, yes, that expression! When were you planning on telling me about him, hm?”

“Erm…”

“He’s the same boy, isn’t he? The one you had all those posters of? With the nice hair and eyes? Nice chest, too.” Hope winks.

Something catches in Remus’s throat and he coughs.

Hope laughs, and it’s lighter and brighter than Remus has heard from her in months. “Oh? You thought I’d forgotten about your posters, hmm? I am your mother, Remus. Hard to forget the man that your son had dozens of shirtless pictures of.”

Remus feels his cheeks heat up. “You, um. You knew about those?”

“I had to see them every time I made your bed, sweetheart. Under the mattress isn’t most subtle hiding spot when you’re in the habit of pulling out your fitted sheet every single night.” Hope laughs at Remus’s expression.

“Oh… I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed, cariad. Anyway, it’s all worked out pretty well for you now, hasn’t it? You won’t have any need for shirtless photos any more; not when you have the real thing.”

Remus blushes harder. “Mum…”

“Oh, there it is! I’ve seen every episode, Remus. I know that face you make. I know what my son looks like when he wants something. I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t approve: he’s very handsome. Funny too.”

“It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t approve… It’s just all so new. It feels fragile.”

“Oh to be young and in love,” Hope says sweetly.

Love . It’s a word that comes to Remus in the dead of the night, unbidden, when his walls are down and he’s too tired to hide from the full intensity of his feelings for Sirius.

“Ma… How did you know you were in love? With Dad?”

Hope beams at him, and then the smile turns a little sad. “It wasn’t one moment. More like lots of little moments that built up on top of each other until the feeling was too big to ignore.”

“Oh,” Remus says. “And what if this feels different? To the other times I’ve been in love?”

“It’s different with every person you fall in love with, cariad. Sometimes love softens everything and makes it sweeter, and sometimes it hurts and makes everything all messy. Neither one is a lesser kind of love, it’s just different. Sometimes you’ll feel like you understand them completely, and sometimes you’ll know that you’ll never understand them, but you want to keep trying anyway.”

“Is that what it was like? With Da?”

“I suppose so. In some ways. We were curious about each other. We were always trying to see each other, to understand each other, and no matter what, Lyall always wanted to see more of me. He never got bored of me, and I never got bored of him. The way your father made me feel… I’ve never felt like that before. I don’t imagine I ever will again.”

“And what if… what if our lives are completely different?”

“You’ll never be perfect for each other. That kind of perfection just doesn’t exist in real life. So much of love is hard work and compromise. Sometimes being together will feel like the most natural thing in the world, and other times you’ll have to work hard and put in work. At the end of the day, as long as you’re both willing to put in that work… Well, that’s love. We put the most effort into the things we care about the most, don’t we?”

Remus nods slowly.

“And after all, this is all just my perspective. You could have very different feelings, cariad, and they’d be valid too. We wouldn’t have spent centuries obsessing over love if it were truly that simple, would we?. At the end of the day, he makes you happy, Rem,” Hope says, smiling. “Anyone can see that.” 

Remus blushes and looks down at his hands, the hands he inherited from his father; large, with too-long, gangly fingers. He thinks of Sirius’s hands, his delicate, pianist fingers that hide calloused fingertips. He thinks of the way they’d look threaded with Remus’s; gold against ivory. Even just that thought, the thought of their hands intertwined, makes him happy. Sirius makes him… happy.

Remus smiles. “Yeah. He does.”

*** 

Tuesday, 6 pm

———

Padfoot: grand designs is wild this eve

kev is feeling extra sassy

“but is it going to work?”

spoiler: it didn’t

everything that can possibly go wrong went wrong

their windows arrived late, the house was NOT watertight by christmas

then the recession hit! 

oh yeah: and they got divorced D:

Moony: Oh dear 

Did they finish the house at least?

no :(

A tragedy

it honestly is

i’m beside myself with grief

it was going to be so good remus

it had a thatched roof

it was a cob house!

Oh my god

My dream!

exactly :(

Also so

Hey

hi x

Haha x

I have something important to tell you :-)

go on!

wait i’ll call

if it’s important, then it’s too important for texting

uno momento x

———

Remus answers his phone immediately. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Sirius says, his smile evident through the tone of his voice. “So, something important, hm? Let me guess. You pierced your belly button.”

“No,” Remus says, laughing.

“Got a mullet.”

“No!”

“Adopted a rabbit.”

“Mmm… no.”

“Bought me a birthday present?”

“Sirius, your birthday isn’t for another 2 months.”

Sirius laughs, and the sound makes Remus’s stomach swoop. “True… hey! You know my birthday. Creep.”

“It’s on your Wikipedia page!”

“Oh my god… you looked up my Wikipedia page.” Sirius sounds like he’s grinning. “They used such a bad photo.”

“What? I liked the photo.”

“Bless your little cotton socks. It’s my bad side.”

“You don’t have a bad side.”

“I dunno… my left side has a bit less cheekbone than my right…”

“That’s absurd. Your face is all cheekbone. You have the best cheekbones I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that so?”

“Shut up,” Remus says, suddenly embarrassed.

Sirius laughs. “Oh, please, by all means… continue the flattery! How did you describe my eyes again?”

“As if you bloody need it.”

“I do, Moony! Someone on twitter told me I was ugly today.”

Remus laughs, and to that, Sirius lets out a wounded noise.

“Oh,” Remus says, feeling suddenly guilty. “Wait. Really?”

“Yes really. They caught me in a moment of vulnerability.”

“Well, they’re wrong. Ordinarily, beauty is subjective. But in this case it isn’t.”

“Hmm,” Sirius says, his voice suddenly light again. “Are you suggesting that everyone in the world is attracted to me?”

“Sirius...”

“Does that include you?”

“Ha.”

“I’m serious!”

“Sirius… please don’t.”

Sirius just laughs.

“Seriously—oh, bollocks…”

“Haven’t you heard, Moony? I’m always—”

“I talked to my Mum.”

There’s a pause. And then: “Holy shit, Moons. How did it go? About your dad? What did she say?”

“Yeah… It went really well, actually. You were right. She feels the same way.”

“Moony,” Sirius breathes. “Remus. I’m so happy to hear that.”

“And we talked about my Da. And his Da. And why our relationship was so weird. I think I understand it all a lot better now. I think I finally understand him. Where he was coming from, why he did the things he did. And I… I just wish he was here. So I could tell him that.”

“Yeah,” Sirius croaks out. “I understand that feeling, Moons. I really, really do.”

“I know you do, Sirius. It’s actually… It helps me a lot knowing that.”

“Yeah? Sometimes I worry that I’m taking up too much space. Or that I’m monopolising your grief. I don’t ever want to make you feel like I’m trying to ‘out-sad’ you or anything, or that I’m making it about myself —”

“No! Not at all!” Remus protests, surprised at the firmness of his own voice. “It helps me knowing that you’ve been through something similar. Not the same, but similar , and that you’ve come out the other side. And that you’re still—you’re… and you’re you . It helps. Please don’t worry, Sirius.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Good,” Remus smiles. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Kind of amazing, to be honest… it’s not perfect, and there's still a lot we need to work through, still. But I feel so much better now. So much… lighter.” 

“I can only imagine, Moons. I can only imagine.”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t forget to be gentle with yourself, okay? It’ll come in waves. It’s normal to feel okay one moment, and not okay the next.”

“Thanks, Pads...”

“And remember, if you’re feeling not okay… well. I’m only a call away. Don’t forget.”

“Okay,” Remus laughs. “I won’t forget.”

Sirius says, “I’m serious,” and Remus groans. 

Sirius laughs, and even crackly and broken through his phone’s shitty speaker, it’s the best sound Remus has ever heard.

***

Tuesday, 9pm

———

Padfoot: how are you feeling now? x

Moony: Tired x

Weary, but happy

I feel really good, Pads. I’ve been feeling really good lately :-)

i’m so happy to hear that, moons x

Yeah x

Anyway, enough about me 

How are you?

never enough about you, moons. NEVER!

but i’m p good haha

twitter troll struck a nerve :(

but i’d been in studio all day and everything i wrote sounded like shit and then i looked in the mirror and looked like shit too

back home now though

curled up with chocolate and pinot

oh 

and sour cherries

Living dangerously, I see

and deliciously ;)

That too

hey this is random but

where do you get the inspiration for your flavours?

Haha um

Everywhere, I guess

Stuff around me, people too

people? 

Yeah

how does that work?

Idk, some people remind me of certain flavours

What they wear

How they look

oh 

okay 

am i a flavour?

I don’t know, Pads. Are you?

>:(

can i try?

make you into a flavour?

Sounds vaguely threatening ;-)

But of course 

so

your skin is the colour of caramel

or honey

Is it now?

it is

it would look good 

sorry, it would /*taste/ good with something… light 

to offset it

white chocolate maybe

cream 

Interesting

something dark too

something black 

pure black

liquorice 

Sounds delicious 

yes 

i think so

i’d like to try it out sometime

you know

for science

Well, I’m sure that can be arranged x

good 

i can’t wait x

———

***

Wednesday, 11am

———

Padfoot: wuu2 ;)

Moony: Emailing my therapist

NICE

Who I’ve been dodging for 5 months 

uh oh

i think the longest i ghosted mine was a year

(it was a terrible, terrible year)

Oh

You too?

apparently it happens a lot

comes with the territory i think

y’know

mentally ill people exhibiting signs of mental illness 

Yeah, that’s a good point

I’d never really thought about that

I thought it was just me

oh definitely not!

mine said that all of his clients ghost him at one point or another haha 

it’s a rite of passage

he was a bit upset he had to hear about rehab through the news but anywho

lovely, patient man, he is

Yeah :-)

True

God, you’re so right

i often am 

:)

Ahaha

Oh shush x

you love it x

———

***

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Reschedule Appointment? RE: PS: Congrats on GBBO :-) — APOLOGIES!!!!!!!!!!

Hi Frank,

I’m so sorry that it’s taken me this long to get back to you. I know I’ve wasted your time a lot over the past 5 months, and I’m truly sorry for any inconvenience I’ve caused you. Although I know my actions (or lack thereof) say otherwise, I really do value your time and energy. I think I thought that if I avoided you it would mean it wasn’t real. But it is real. I can finally say that now, by the way: by ‘it’ I mean my Dad’s death. 

As you know, I have avoidant tendencies, and after the first month I was honestly just too afraid to reply to your emails. In hindsight, it seems silly, but at the time it felt very real. I was afraid that you’d be angry with me and would hate me. I was afraid that by you hating me, I wouldn’t have your support anymore. But then I realised that you’re my therapist and are literally trained to deal with my shite. And I also realised that, in avoiding you, I was starving myself of your support anyway. So, again... I’m deeply sorry!

Thank you for the kind words. To be perfectly honest, I think GBBO has been the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It was terrifying at first, and I constantly thought about leaving or pretending that I was sick and couldn’t do it anymore. I don’t know why I decided to stick it out, but I’m glad I did. I was a bit wobbly in the first few weeks (I had a little meltdown on the floor), but I had a really solid support network around me and it was okay in the end. I still feel anxious every time I’m in the tent, but I think I’ve stopped trying to fight it as much. I keep remembering what you said about anxiety just being my body’s way of helping itself and it helps. Plus, if I wasn’t at least a little bit anxious, I don’t think I’d get anything done. Haha.

Also, I’ve met someone. :-) He’s helped a lot. He’s helped with the stuff with Dad, but also the stuff with me too. I’m really starting to understand the importance of a proper support system. It’s just been Marl for too long, and I’ve put far too much on her shoulders. But I’m learning.

But, yes... I can finally say it. I can finally say that my dad died. And I can’t stop saying it. It’s real. It’s really real. It keeps hitting me in waves. Sometimes I can say it casually and be okay, and other times, the mere thought of it makes my chest hurt. It hurts a lot, more than before when I wasn’t letting myself feel at all; but it feels good. Things aren’t perfect. I still feel far more anxiety than is normal, I think, and I’m still reluctant to let people in… But I’m getting there. I’ve come a long way but I still know I have a long road ahead of me.

Thank you again, Frank. And sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’m really very sorry about how shite I’ve been. I’d love to schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience. I want to work through it all properly. I want to stop hiding from the things that hurt too much. And I know I can, now. :-)

All the best. I hope you’re well.

Kind regards,

Remus Lupin

***

Wednesday, 5pm

———

Moony: Met this little guy in the village, he reminded me of you x

[photo: a large, shaggy black dog whose inquisitive grey eyes are focused on the camera]

Padfoot: moons… what did i say about the furry stuff

:-|

kidding

i love him

he looks spectral

perfectly ominous yet adorable (like me)

did he lick your face x

Fortunately not x

a shame x

a missed opportunity x

one that i will have to make up for myself

Oh? And how do you plan to do that?

with my mouth

my tongue ;)

on your cheek 

and…

2 minutes later

… And?

remus this is james 

Oh, hello James!

idk what naughtiness you guys r getting up 2 but pads was all blushy and distracted and accidentally dropped mum’s prized gravy boat 

Shite

Not the gravy boat!

disaster 

Apologies for distracting Sirius

i nabbed his phone while he was distracted doing damage control

its not going well mum looks like she wants 2 cry but is smiling thru the tears

:-(

pads looks like hes bout 2 cry

hes got auto caps turned off this is scaring me

i dont recognise the sound of my own voice D: 

my own hand. my thumbs betray me

omg i just scrolled up pads u little freak XD

good grief i need 2 bleach my eyeballs

Erm, sorry

Um

its ok rem i should have known XD

he had that classic horny sirius expression hahaha

wow i cant believe he dropped mum's prized gravy just bc he was horny D:

I'm deeply sorry for the role I played in this tragedy

sirius looks like he wants 2 murder me teehee

want a piece of advice? or a hot tip more like!!!

Go on then

he looooves being wound up

teased, if u like ;-)

looks like he’ll kill u and he’ll put on a big show but he actually likes it

like a lot

if u catch my drift 

if he starts huffing and flipping his hair dramatically u know ur in the money

Interesting

it is. use that piece of knowledge however u will. just try and avoid family dinners XD 

or all the gravy boats will surely perish :(

remus?

Yeah, still here 

Just processing that information oh my god James

not james, sirius!

Oh

Welcome back :-)

that utter berk

he deleted the texts he sent before i managed to get my phone back

what did he say?!

Oh nothing

A bit of this, a bit of that

Just chatting about gravy 

Y’know

:|

i knew james would love you 

this is a disaster

brb going to kill him xxx

———

***

Thursday, 8am

———

Padfoot: good morning monsieur moony

i know we won’t see you around these parts for several hours

but what a glorious day!

the sun is shining

the birds are chirping

life is beautiful <3

———

Thursday, 10am

———

Moony: Urggg

Padfoot: good morning moonshine

wakey wakey x

Dnt wanna

sleep well?

Vry ;-)

haha

tell me more

i’m curious

Its inappropriate :-(

i’ll be the judge of that x

Me n u 

how vague

yet titillating 

sometimes less really is more

Shhhhh none of that cheek ahaha or Ill have 2 tell u off 

;-)

oh my god

so

me and you…?

Mmm

where…?

My bench

wow 

you’re really into the bench thing, huh?

You had the prettiest expressions

Kept telling me to tug on your hair

i

details pls

right now

RIGHT NOW

moooonyyy

moons?

———

Thursday, 11am

———

Padfoot: moony?

Moony: Oh god

I’m so sorry

I just

Please ignore that

Pre-coffee Remus is a mess

pre-coffee remus is amazing

incredible even

bring him back, i say

Nooo

i can’t believe you told me that you had naughty dreams about me >:) 

and then disappeared :(

Sorry :-\

while i was in PUBLIC mind you

i had to make some diversions

and then by the time i made it to the bakery they were all sold out

no almond croissant for me today :(

Torture for you, I’m sure

Hate to think of you going croissant-less :-(

i had to go to spend an embarrassingly long time in a public bathroom yet AGAIN 

and the little old lady who waited outside was not very understanding

i panicked and told her my shoe was full of blood 

and she just shook her head

she knew :(

Again?

hmm?

You said again

That you had to go to a public toilet again

To um…

oh

yeah um

Does that happen… often?

absolutely not

that is most definitely not my usual… locale

for such… activities 

I have so many questions

not as many as me i’m sure

your bench, moony? 

were the cameras rolling? 

did we give snape an eyeful at least?

I

Don’t try to change the subject!

and my expressions

tell me more ;)))

Oh god

I’m so embarrassed 

don’t be, i just got off in a public toilet

AGAIN

shame has no place in this conversation

What happened the first time?

During your first public toilet… excursion?

actually i lied shame does have a place in this conversation

i am ashamed

It can’t be that bad :-)

oh it can

one word: cardamom buns

*Two words

And that actually doesn’t clear anything up

spice week

i will not say any more on the matter

use your imagination

which i now know you have ;)

Wait… 

What?

oops, g2g 

meeting with my publicist

Oh, okay

Convenient ;-) 

Goodbye x

we could call tonight? if you wanted

Yes

Yeah

Definitely 

okay :)

it’s a date then

talk later moony x

———

***

Thursday, 1pm

———

Remus: Marlene

Help

Marlene: yes m’dear???

I need help

Hypothetically, if one were to engage in phone sex

How would one… go about it?

oh my god

with sirius???

Yes Sirius

Who else would it be?

idk you’ve been known to be a bit of a wild card in the past 

need i remind you of the benjy/caradoc incident?

I’d suppressed that, thanks

;)

like obviously i HOPED it was sirius but one can never know with you

(you know me; always rooting for wolfstar, since day 1 ;)))) )

Are you calling me a slag?

(Wtf is wolfstar)

former slag if anything, but you know i’m all about it! 

you and sirius!!! it’s what bake off fans have started calling you on twitter hahahaha

Wait, that's a thing? 

yes, and if you ever bothered to log into twitter, you’d see it

it dominates every single bake off thread lmao

it used to be your hands, now it’s all speculation about your incredibly obvious (mutual!) crush on england’s sexiest ex-boyband member

Oh 

I guess that makes sense, actually…

does it? pray tell

Well um 

We got a little hot and heavy

Once

Almost twice

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUCKING KNEW IT

LUPIN YOU SLY DOG

But Sirius put a stop to it the second time because he was worried it’d ruin my reputation if it got out

Or something

To that effect

REMUS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not that I really give a shite about that sort of thing

But anyway

HOW DARE YOU IGNORE ME

So, I’m just saying that it makes sense!

I’d sort of forgotten that Bake Off is filmed

That people actually watch it

HOW

THERE ARE CAMERAS

IN THE TENT?????

LUPIN

I always forget Severus is even there tbh

He’s scary but sneaky

Deceivingly quiet

Also I honestly struggle to concentrate on anyone else whenever Sirius is around

Especially Severus

………… OK

CUTE

YUCK

ADORABLE EVEN

BUT CAN WE REWIND PLEASE

DID YOU FUCK

Hahahahaha

No

BUT YOU WERE CLOSE???

Well I mean, not really

Like I definitely would have cause you know me

MEGA SLAG

Precisely

But we kind of just… neck kissed

… IS THAT A EUPHEMISM ??

No like

He kissed my neck

And I kissed his

No lip to lip 

But… neck kissing… you know?

you naughty boy!

kidding… 

i’m surprised! that’s tame

especially for you

It was actually one of the hottest things I’ve ever done I think

There was /so/ much tension even though we weren’t really doing anything

I guess it’s part of the whole “we shouldn’t but we are” thing

:’))))

at last… 

wolfstar sails!!

and now you’re having phone sex?

have you done anything else?

I mean we had some ‘contact’ last weekend

If you know what I mean

CONTACT

please

i just wheezed

you mean your dicks touched????

remus??

are you blushing???

i can’t believe this

YOU who used to tell me (in graphic detail! completely unprovoked!) about all of the filthy things you did

yet NOW you choose to get shy?????

when i actually want to know?????

you could have spared me before you gave me an in-depth description of the time you licked benjy’s ASS

Lol good times

I love eating ass

see THAT is what i’m used to

now, let’s talk about eating sirius’s ass…

Marlene…

hahahaha

awww

you’re hopeless :’)

Idk… this is different!

It’s not *just* dick touching!

It’s emotional

ouch

my stomach hurts

this entire conversation has been hilarious

>:-(

okay okay

so... phone sex!!

when?

Erm

Tonight

okay

and how are you feeling?

Nervous? Excited? But mostly nervous?

i’m not surprised xx

it can be daunting for sure!

I just really don’t want to mess this up Marl

What if I say something weird and fuck it all up

here’s what i think!

take it easy, don’t push things too far because you feel like you need to

you two are still only getting to know each other!!

so there’s no need to just launch into it and like graphically describe how you want to fuck him through the mattress y’know?

even if that is what you want to do ;)

(It is)

(yuck)

start slow, feel it out

see how he’s feeling too!!

from the sounds of things you two could just get off by describing an intimate cuddle session

Mmm yeah true

and don’t be afraid to be honest! if you’re nervous, say you’re nervous. he probably will be too

Okay, okay. Yeah. Makes sense

How do I be… sexy?

hahhaa

i screenshotted that

Die

as corny as it sounds… just be yourself!

But like 

What do I say

tell him what you’re doing, what you’ve thought about doing, how kissing his neck made him feel

it doesn’t need to be extreme

like if it naturally goes that way and you’re both vibing it then sure

but don’t feel like you need to launch straight into describing hardcore sex just cause it’s an event y’know?

just have fun xx

Okay okay hahaha

Yeah okay

I think I can do this

you can you can!

just have a fun sexy time xx

and don’t forget to fill me in after ;)

I won’t but thanks xx

:’(

Love you Marl

Thank you

For listening, for the advice x

xxx

anytime remoo!!

anytime x

———

****

Thursday, 10pm

Remus blinks at his phone. The numbers on the screen tell him that it’s just stuck ten. Sirius is going to call him any second now, and his heart is beating rapidly. And beneath his nervousness is a low level of arousal that's been lingering since the morning, ever since Sirius suggested that they call. And now, heat pools in his belly when he thinks about Sirius. Sirius naked. Sirius aroused. Sirius naked and aroused because of him .

Just as Remus begins to entertain these thoughts, stretching out in his too-small bed as arousal courses through his body, his phone rings.

Remus picks up, his hand shaking ever so slightly from nerves.

“Hi,” he says, and to his credit, his voice is only slightly wobbly. 

“Hi,” Sirius repeats. Remus can hear him smiling through the phone.

“So…”

“So,” Sirius says, laughing breathily. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never? Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Moony.” Sirius sounds amused. “Are you calling me a slag?”

“No! No. I… you’re just. Well, you’re beautiful and famous and… I’d just assumed that…”

“... I was having phone sex at every given opportunity?” Remus’s stomach swoops at the way Sirius says ‘sex.’ “Well, you thought wrong. Thank you, though. I think you’re beautiful too.”

Remus’s heart races. His eyes flutter shut. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” Sirius laughs quietly. 

“I’ve never done this either. I don’t really know what to do.”

“Are you nervous?” Sirius asks.

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“Oh.”

Sirius laughs again. “Okay, let’s see…” Through the phone, Remus can hear rustling, and then: “Oh! What are you wearing?”

Remus snorts. “PJ’s.” 

Sirius hums encouragingly. “The moons?”

“Yes. What about you?” Remus asks, turning over onto his side. He smiles. They're really doing this.

“Hmm… guess,” Sirius says cheekily, and the tone of his voice makes Remus’s cheeks warm.

“Leather jacket,” Remus says, suggesting the first thing that comes to his mind when he pictures Sirius.

“No,” Sirius hums. “Try again.”

“A white silk shirt?”

“No.”

“A black silk shirt?”

“No,” Sirius laughs

“A shirt… of any variety.”

“Mmm… yes.”

“Okay,” Remus says slowly. “What is it?”

“A cardigan.”

“You own a cardigan?”

“It’s yours, actually.”

Remus’s cheeks flush as heat licks up his spine. He shivers. Sirius. In his cardigan. He knows the one too; it’s a deep burgundy colour. He bets it’d look amazing on Sirius, against Sirius’s skin, with his hair…

“Oh,” he says. He sounds as affected as he feels.

“You left it here.”

“Yes.”

“It’s very soft. Nice wool,” Sirius says coyly. “Smells good, too.”

“I’d wondered where that went,” Remus says dumbly. He’s surprised he’s even managing words right now, his brain having just short circuited.

“There’s more…”

“Uh. Okay.” Remus swallows. He can do this. He can talk. He knows words. “Velvet pants.”

“No.”

“Erm… blue jeans.”

Sirius laughs huskily. “Very funny... But no.”

Emboldened and feeling wild, Remus takes a stab in the dark. “Pants. Of any variety.

“Mmm. No.”

Remus swallows. “So… just my cardigan, then?”

“And one other thing. Can you guess what it is?”

“Boxers. Briefs. Undies. Of any variety.”

“No, no, and… no.”

Remus groans quietly and he hears Sirius’s breath hitch on the other side.

“There’s one other thing, Moony,” Sirius says, his voice low. Remus flushes, but he can feel his confidence grow, knowing that he has this effect on Sirius. On confident, beautiful Sirius… “That’s your clue. Your name.”

“The moon,” Remus says. “Your moon earring.”

“... Correct.”

“I like that earring.”

“I know you do. You stare at it all the time.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know how I know?”

Remus shakes his head, flustered. And then he realises that Sirius can’t hear him shaking his head through the phone. “How?” he asks, his voice is raspy with want.

“Because I’m always staring at you.”

Remus inhales sharply. 

“It makes me feel like you’re here,” Sirius breathes. 

“Oh,” Remus gasps. “Hold on.”

Remus leans over and grabs his cardigan—the one he didn’t leave in London—and puts it on. He’s had it stuffed down the side of his bed, next to his pillow. Part of him wonders if he should feel like a creep, but the lingering scent of Sirius calms him. And the knowledge that Sirius is currently in Remus’s cardigan, smelling him… Well. At least it’s mutual.

“I’m back,” Remus says.

“Where’d you go?”

“I grabbed my cardigan. Your cologne. It’s on the sleeve.”

“... I thought I smelt myself on you last weekend,” Sirius says, smiling. “I liked it. A lot.”

“Yeah,” is all Remus manages.

“I’m in the spare bed, Moony. It still smells like you.”

At that, Remus groans loudly, he can’t help himself. Sirius’s answering whine is loud and needy. Remus is beyond words at this point. They’ve hardly said anything that extreme and Remus feels like he’s burning up. He’s rock hard and they’re talking about cardigans. 

Sirius barrels on: “I keep pressing my face into your pillow and imagining you’re here,” Sirius says breathily. “Behind me.”

“Fuck,” Remus groans. His hand hovers around the waistband of his pants, teasing. He shivers.

“I keep thinking about your lips on my skin. On the back of my neck,” Sirius’s voice is so low it’s almost a whisper. Remus’s phone is smashed up against his ear. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that Sirius is really there, whispering to him.

Almost.

“Mmm.”

“Your fingers in my hair, holding it back. Gently tugging.”

“Yeah?” Remus gasps. “Fuck. Would you like that, Pads?”

“ Yes ,” Sirius hisses.

“Shite. Okay.”

“I want your lips on me. On the side of my jaw. On my neck.”

“Your skin.”

“Yes. Yes, Remus.”

“Okay,” Remus says, nodding helplessly even though Sirius isn’t there to see it. “Okay.”

“I wish I could look at you. At your eyes. I bet they’re amber right now. The way they get when you’re really—fuck—concentrating.”

Remus slips his hand under his waistband. Still, not quite touching, but the contact with the skin around his cock makes him groan.

“Yeah?" Sirius says in response to Remus's groan. "Can you say something, Moony? Something Welsh?”

Even through his haze of arousal, Remus bites back a grin. He knew Sirius liked it when he spoke Welsh.

“Rydych yn hardd,” Remus says. And then, lower, “Dw i’n dwli arnat ti.”

Through the phone, Remus can hear a hitch in Sirius’s breath. It makes him feel bold. Then, Sirius moans, and it sends heat up Remus’s core so fast that he’s dizzy with it.

“What are you doing right now, Pads?” He manages. “Tell me?”

“I’m—um, I’m not touching anything. Not yet. Just trailing my hands around… Teasing.”

“Do you like being teased?”

“Yes,” Sirius gasps through the phone. “What do you see, Moons? When you picture us together? What do you see?”

“Us… In—ah—a multitude of positions...”

“A multitude, hmm…? Tell me more.” Sirius’s voice is like velvet, deep and luscious. Remus wants to lather himself in it, to drown in it.

Remus laughs breathily. “You’re imaginative, Sirius. I’m sure you can think of something.”

Sirius whines, and Remus can almost imagine him pouting. “I need to make sure our imaginations are in sync,” Sirius says, voice tense. “You know. For science…”

“Your skin,” Remus murmurs. “It’s pale.”

“Yes.”

“Easily marked.”

“Yes.”

“I want to see it. Taste it. Mark it.”

“Yes. You can, Moons. Anything.” Sirius’s voice is quiet and reverent. Remus feels bold.

“I want you to know I was there. I want you to look at yourself and think of me. Where no one else can see. But we both know.”

“Please, Moons—ah!” Sirius’s voice cuts off abruptly into a moan, and then there’s the loud, clattering sound of Sirius's phone being dropped. 

“Sorry, I, shit.” Sirius’s voice hitches. “My phone fell off the bed. Both of my hands were occupied.”

Heat shoots through Remus’s body at that.

“Tell me," he murmurs. "Tell me what you’re doing.”

“One hand on my-my,” Sirius’s voice cuts off with a gasp. “And the other inside. Pretending it’s you. Inside me.”

“Oh,” Remus whispers. 

“Are you big?” Sirius asks breathily. “I imagine you’re big. What with your—ah—fucking hands.”

“My hands?”

“Your hands.”

“I’m… well. I’ve had no complaints. In that department.”

Sirius laughs breathily. “I knew it. In Remus-speak that’s basically fuck yes.”

“Is that so?” Remus teases gently.

“Remus, I—I. Tell me. Please.” Through the phone, Remus can hear rhythmic movement.

He slips his hand under the band of his boxers and finally grasps himself, gasping at the contact.

Through the phone, Sirius gasps back.

“Are you…?” Sirius grits out.

“Yeah,” Remus exhales. “Fuck.”

“It’s so… much. But not enough. Remus, I need—I. I need you.”

“Yeah?”

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Sirius breathes. “But I can’t die. Not before—before we…”

“Before we…? Before we what, Pads?”

Sirius growls, frustrated. Remus imagines him flipping his hair. “Before you fuck me through the mattress, Remus.”

“Just the mattress?” Remus teases, even though his voice is shaky. He squeezes himself and has to muffle a cry. His mother is only two rooms over. 

“Through every surface in my house,” Sirius hisses. “In the car, on your bench, in the middle of the fucking tent in front of everyone and all the cameras. I don’t care anymore, Remus. I. Don’t. Care.”

Remus groans. He can’t help it. “Pads… I. Fuck.”

“Remus,” Sirius moans. “Remus, Remus, Remus.”

“Sirius…”

“Tell me. Tell me how you’d fuck me. Please.”

Remus exhales deeply. He can do this. “I’d, hng, start out soft… and slow—”

“ Ah !”

“—easing into you… You’d be squirming… Like you probably are now—”

“Remus,” Sirius breathes. “Remus.” 

“—and trying to push back… But I’d go slow. At first. Drive you a little crazy first. My hand sliding up your thigh… My lips on your neck… I’d take my time,” Remus whispers. “Getting to know your body. Kissing down your chest, your thighs… around you.”

“Please.”

“Opening you up. Tasting you. I can’t wait to taste you. I could spend all day between your legs, Sirius…”

“Please, Remus. Please. I can’t—oh! I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

“Yeah?”

“You between my legs. Inside me. Against me…”

Remus groans. Then, desperately: “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m—ah—riding my hand.”

Remus bites his lip at the image. Fuck. Sirius will be the death of him. “I bet you’d look so good riding me, Pads. So gorgeous. So gorgeous for me…”

“Remus… your hands… ” Sirius pants through the phone.

“You want my hands? On you?" Remus's voice is low and broken and he doesn't care. He keeps going. "Spreading you open as I grind up into you?”

Sirius moans loudly and Remus has to squeeze himself at the base to stop him from coming right there and then.

“Yes, your hands,” Sirius breathes. “They’re all I think about. This is all I think about. I can’t write any music because I can’t stop thinking about pushing you against the studio wall and kissing you. About your lips. About your eyes. The way you say my name. And your fucking hands...”

Remus gasps into the phone. “You’re all I can think about. All the time. Nothing else. I’m going mad.”

Sirius whines. “I need you to touch me. I feel like I’ll die if you don’t.”

“Pads," Remus groans, overwhelmed.

“Hold me all night. Please. Fuck me ‘till I forget my name and then just hold me.”

“I will, Sirius. I won’t let go.”

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Sirius sobs. “I need you.”

“So good, Pads. So good for me," Remus murmurs. He's warm, so warm. And Sirius. With every heavy beat of his heart: Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. 

“All for you, Moons. All yours.”

“Oh,” Remus moans.

“Please, Remus,” Sirius gasps. “Please. I’m so close.”

Remus feels like he’s floating. He’s never felt like this before; so electric, so alive. His whole body is tingling and melting, every word brings with it a plethora of ecstasy, and even through the phone, physically separate, Remus can't tell where he begins and Sirius ends. 

“Come for me, Sirius," he murmurs. "Come for me.”

At that, Sirius whimpers. And then he's crying out Remus's name, his voice desperate and needy and the most beautiful thing Remus has ever heard. 

And that's all that Remus needs to let go.

Afterwards, they laugh breathlessly. Remus is surprised at how comfortable he feels, at the lack of awkwardness between them. He knows his cheeks are thoroughly flushed, but for once it’s not from embarrassment. He still feels like he’s floating.

“You’re loud,” Remus teases. “I knew you would be.”

“Shut up,” Sirius laughs breathily. “Next time, we’ll do it the other way around. I bet you make all sorts of needy noises, Lupin.”

“I can be bossy,” Remus confirms, laughing. “It’s true.”

“Good,” Sirius says, voice bright and delighted. “I love bossy.”

I love you, Remus thinks. I love you.

***

Friday, 10am

———

James: [photo of Sirius looking at his phone smiling goofily]

[another photo, taken just after the first, shot over Sirius’s shoulder, showing Sirius's phone screen. He's looking at photos of Remus on google]

Hes been like this all week :\

He keeps sneaking off 2 his room and coming back an hour later looking flushed

Im having boarding school flashbacks lol

Lily: You should see them in the tent! Lol

I’m a little worried about this next episode…

It’s going to need some major editing :|

I bet ahahahaha

Hey also!!!

Its the final

This weekend :)))

And Im invited x

As Sirius' honourary family member lol

Oh my gosh!

Wait, really?

James!

Yes really :)))

Ill get to meet you xx

Finally

:)

I can’t wait x

———

Chapter Text

Comments on: “Episode Five of Great British Bake Off 2022: What You Missed”

yee2thehaw: why are they starving us of wolfstar???? we only got one interaction in the last episode wtf

SiriusBlackIsSmexy78: @yee2thehaw it feels homophobic

ChocolateHobNob: @yee2thehaw To be fair the interaction we got was horny af. “Girthy.” I screamed.

underproveddough: @ChocolateHobNob YES WTF i’ve been a hopeful stan since day 1, but this last episode convinced me that something’s actually going on between them lol. just watch sirius’s face any time the judges are talking to remus XD

yee2thehaw: @underproveddough EXAMPLES I NEED EXAMPLES

underproveddough: @yee2thehaw  [photo of Sirius smirking at Remus as the judges taste his mille feuille. Sirius’s gaze undeniably heated]

underproveddough: @yee2thehaw  [photo of Sirius beaming as Lily announces Remus is star baker]

underproveddough: @yee2thehaw  and, of course, the diamond of my collection: [photo of Remus, blushing, and staring into Sirius’s eyes and smiling softly as Sirius talks. He looks hopelessly in love]

yee2thehaw: @ underproveddough WOLFSTAR SAILSSSSS EVERYBODY ABOARD

remus4starbaker: ARTHUR T_T

ILoveEggs: @remus4starbaker When Remus started crying, I started crying!

remus4starbaker : @ILoveEggs sirius’ speech had me in tears. The TIES.

Recent Google Searches for: [email protected]

can you fall in love in 6 weeks?

how do you know if you’re in love?

remus lupin

remus lupin hands

best scone recipe

best scone recipe to impress the baker boy that i’m hopelessly in love with

Recent Google Searches for: [email protected]

Sirius Black shirtless

Sirius Black being funny and charming for 9 minutes straight

Do people find Welsh accents attractive?

Are Welsh accents hot?

***

For the sixth week in a row, Remus finds himself back in the Lake District. Only this time, there’s a sense of finality in the air. A confusing combination of emotions battle for dominance in Remus’s chest: nervousness, excitement, relief, and, perhaps most pertinent of all, sadness —sadness that this is the final, the end , and that after Sunday he won’t have any reason to come back.

That evening finds Remus in the hotel’s garden gazebo, eyes closed, beneath the newly blooming wisteria. The last vestiges of evening sunlight are warm on his cheek, and the slight breeze carries with it the alluring scents of heather, thyme, and wisteria.

Remus sighs. Instead of thinking about the future or the past, he, for once, lets himself live in the present. He tries to empty his head of all thoughts other than what he feels, smells and hears in that moment. Remus tries to commit every sensation to his memory: the birdsong, the sunlight, and the smell of the flowers. He wants to make sure that, even if he never comes back, he remembers everything.

He opens his eyes and gazes at the stone exterior of the hotel, with its thatched roof and the ivy climbing its facade. He inclines his head to the right to see Lake Windermere and her mountains, the distant village of Bowness-On-Windermere, and the rolling hills that he’d explored with Sirius. 

All the way back in cake week, Remus remembers thinking that Lake Windermere would be a wonderful place to come to die. Now, Remus thinks it’d be a wonderful place to simply be : to write, to read, to bake, and to live . The lake, her mountains, and the tranquillity of it all has nestled into Remus’s core and made a home there. It’s all a part of him now. It will be until the day he dies.

He closes his eyes again and exhales.

It’s then that he also hears a gentle huff of breath. “Oh.”

His eyes fly open. Sirius . 

It’s the first time he’s seen Sirius since last week. Since their phone call. Since everything that’s passed between them. There’s so much that Remus wants to say to Sirius; words that demand to be released and spoken. Some of them have been said already, like I want you . But then there are other words; words that Remus holds close to his chest but desperately wants to set free . Words like I love you .

Sometimes, Remus thinks he’s imagined Sirius, and this is one of those moments. Sirius stands in the entrance of the gazebo, framed by blooming wisteria, as the last vestiges of sunlight beam through the trees, lighting Sirius up from behind. Remus can’t see Sirius’s features, but he knows it’s him. He’d know Sirius anywhere, Remus thinks; in this life, and every other.

At that thought, all of the air leaves Remus’s lungs.

Sirius’s features are hazy from the bright light behind him, but Remus thinks he sees a smile. “Fancy seeing you here,” Sirius says, his voice soft.

“Great minds,” Remus murmurs.

The space between them feels tense: the distance coiled and bound like a rope, constantly tugging and pulling them closer together.

Sirius is the first to act on it. He moves towards Remus, and with every step he takes, Remus’s heart beats just a little bit faster. By the time that Sirius is standing in front of Remus, his heart beat flutters like that of a mouse.

Up close, Remus can see the intensity of Sirius’s gaze. He watches as emotions flicker behind Sirius’s grey eyes as he reaches out to cradle Remus’s face with his hand. Like his gaze, his touch is electric, and it sends Remus shuddering, skidding off the edge and into the unknown. It feels as if everything, every part of him, is narrowed down and concentrated to the place where his and Sirius’s skin meets: to his fingertips on Remus’s jaw.

Remus stares at the gentle curve of Sirius’s mouth. He watches it curl up at the corner as if Sirius can’t quite help it. The swirling emotion in Sirius’s eyes seem to deepen then, and Remus recognises heat and awe, but there’s something else there too—something that’s harder to put a name on. It terrifies and excites Remus. It feels large and deep and expansive: beautiful and terrifying all at once. 

“So,” Sirius murmurs. “The final.”

“The final,” Remus agrees, his voice barely above a whisper as he raises his hands to Sirius’s hips. His hold is gentle enough that Sirius could easily step out of it if he wanted to. But instead of moving back, Sirius moves closer, so that he’s standing between Remus’s open legs, Remus’s knees either side of him. Despite their proximity, the invisible rope that binds them together feels as though it’s coiled tighter than ever before.

Sirius swallows and Remus tracks the movement, his gaze going down down down …

“And… after…” Sirius trails off, biting his lip. Then, he watches as Sirius’s teeth let go of the skin, leaving little indentations behind. Remus thinks wildly how he wants to smooth over it with his tongue. Smooth it. Soothe it.

“After?”

“I’ve booked a room here,” Sirius whispers. “For three nights.”

Heat so sharp and strong blossoms through Remus’s core. Three nights. Three days. For them. Here, amongst the flowers and trees and mountains. Together .

“Oh,” Remus says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is that so?”

Sirius smiles, and it’s a coy lift of his mouth. “Mhm.”

Remus stares at Sirius’s lips and he thinks maybe . No one’s here to see them. He could kiss Sirius. Just a taste. No more.

No more … 

But then, says a voice at the back of Remus’s mind, after all this waiting and trepidation, there’s no way that he could stop at just a kiss. Not with the tension that’s built up between them. He’s certain that even a small peck would send Remus hurtling over the edge.

But then Sirius’s lips part, and any hesitation or thoughts like we shouldn’t do this are banished to the back of his mind. Remus leans up, up, up, as Sirius looks down at him, transfixed…

In the distance, there’s loud, raucous laughter. It’s distant, but it’s close enough that it breaks the spell, and the tightly coiled rope releases as Sirius drops his hand. Remus’s skin continues to tingle, as if Sirius has left behind an impression of his touch on Remus’s skin. Remus idly hopes that he has.

Remus lets go of Sirius’s hips, but it’s a reluctant movement. He thinks Sirius is about to step away and out of his reach. 

Instead, he leans down, his lips brushing against Remus’s ear. Remus can feel the puff of Sirius’s breath against his skin as he whispers, ”Until then… I’ll be in my bed every night, thinking of you.”

Then Sirius pulls away. And walks out of the gazebo without a backward glance.

Remus sits there, stunned into silence, as the sun sets. He’s vaguely aware of the things that are happening around him. At one point, Minerva walks past the gazebo and double-takes as she sees Remus. “Oh. Hello Remus!” she says, and all he can manage in response is a vague wave. 

His brain is gooey. It’s molten.

And the sky is well and truly dark by the time he makes it to his room.

Remus wakes up on Saturday morning feeling hot and tingly with memories of dreams featuring dark hair and panting breaths.

And once he gets to the tent, that feeling increases by tenfold. 

Sirius seems to have made it his mission to drive Remus wild . He keeps brushing past Remus’s bench when no one’s looking, with coy looks, heated gazes, and all of these little touches . 

Sirius runs his finger along Remus’s back as he brushes past him, whispering, “I love the tie. Very sexy,” before sauntering off.

In an act of protest against Arthur’s elimination, Mary, Peter, and Remus are all wearing printed ties a la Arthur. Mary’s is embroidered with strawberries, Peter’s with cabbages, and Remus’s with hens. As he’d looked in the mirror that morning, Remus had thought the tie just made him look goofy.

As Sirius’s ice-hot gaze travels up and down his body, Remus wonders if maybe he’d judged the tie too harshly.

In response to Sirius’s flirtations, Remus is a storm of energy. Unlike the week before, where his attraction to Sirius had clouded his thoughts and made him slow, this week it makes him work faster and more efficiently. Pent-up energy thrums beneath his skin, and he pours it into his baking. 

Well. Into baking and teasing Sirius. Two can play at this game , Remus thinks to himself. Sirius wants to drive him crazy? Well. Remus is more than happy to return the favour.

As Remus stalks across the tent to retrieve some butter from the fridge, he makes sure to press himself up against Sirius’s back. 

“Sorry,” he breathes into Sirius’s ear, squeezing Sirius’s hip as he brushes past. “Tight fit.”

He watches Sirius shiver, watches as his cheeks go pink. And then Remus pulls back, saunters over to the fridge, and smirks back at Sirius as he watches Remus with burning eyes.

Later, Remus whisks the cream that will fill his profiteroles, and he makes sure that Sirius is watching when he licks the cream from his spoon, tasting it. He even closes his eyes for added effect, and when he opens them again, it’s to see Sirius staring at him with his mouth open. Remus can’t tell from where he’s standing, but he’s sure Sirius’s pupils are blown wide.

Remus is sure his own pupils are too.

“Wow,” Mary comments from beside him. “Are you quite finished?”

Her voice startles Remus slightly and he drops the spoon. “Oh, um. Hello Mary.”

She snorts. “Tastes good, does it?”

Remus nods.

“It certainly looked like it,” Mary smirks. And then she turns to look at Sirius, and they both watch as he stares into space while Lily talks to him, his cheeks attractively flushed. Unbidden, Remus’s mind is flooded with images of Sirius beneath him, with that same expression, saying please in the same sweet way that he’d moaned it through the phone…

Mary snorts. “Hopeless!”

“What’s gotten into you today?” Peter asks a little later, as Remus stalks past his bench to put his pastry cream in the fridge. “You’re all… concentrated. And commanding. It’s quite sexy.” And then his face changes, as if he’s had a thought.

Peter darts a glance to Sirius, whose grey eyes are fixed intently on Remus, and then back to Remus. Peter snorts. “Oh, I see.”

Instead of spluttering and trying to deny it, as Remus usually would, he winks at Peter. 

About halfway through the challenge, Sirius and Lily come by Remus’s bench with a disgruntled Severus trailing behind them.

As Severus fiddles with his camera, Lily says, “Sirius is under strict orders to behave. Aren’t you, Sirius?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Off to a great start,” Severus mutters under his breath, frowning as he adjusts the lens.

“Maybe I just need the right person to order me around,” Sirius says, grey eyes glinting with mischief. 

Remus smiles slowly. “Perhaps that can be arranged.”

Lily groans. “ Please , you two. For the love of god.”

Behind Lily, Mary giggles. “Good luck, Lily!” She says in a sing-songy way.

“They don’t pay me nearly enough for this,” Lily mutters as Severus hauls the camera onto his shoulder, motioning that he’s ready to start filming.

“So, Remus,” Lily says. “It’s the final! How are you feeling?”

Remus finds it difficult to focus on anything that Lily says to him when Sirius is looking at him.

Somehow, miraculously, Remus manages to drag his eyes away from Sirius. He offers a weak smile to Lily. “Excited… and nervous too, yeah. But mostly I’m thankful. I honestly didn’t expect to make it this far.”

“And you’ve been star baker not only once, but twice ! How does that feel?”

“Pretty magical, yeah. This whole thing has been a bit of a dream come true.”

“What’s been the best part?” Sirius asks. 

You , Remus wants to say. Instead, he says, “The people. I know I’ve made some lifelong friends.” He smiles. 

Despite the crackling tension between him and Sirius, Remus manages to stay on task for the challenge. So well on task, in fact, that he finishes ahead of time and is able to help a frazzled and pink-cheeked Peter arrange his croquembouche before the time is up.

As Lily calls out, “Time’s up, bakers!” Peter drops to the ground and spreads out like a starfish. He has caramel in his hair, his tie is askew, and his clothes are smeared with chocolate. He looks defeated. But it’s done; the signature is done. 

Remus lays down beside Peter and nudges him with his elbow. 

Peter opens his eyes, turning to look at him. 

“We did it,” Remus smiles.

Peter groans again and Remus laughs. He winds their fingers together and squeezes Peter’s hand. Peter squeezes back.

The atmosphere in the tent is confusing in the lead up to the first judging of the final weekend. As is usual with every judging, the air is tight with tension. This time, however, the tension feels sharper and more precise. Remus knows that all of them are thinking the same thing: this is the final. This is their last chance. Today, any little slip up that might otherwise pass under the radar could instead cost them the title of the winner of the Great British Bake Off.

They begin with Mary.

Mary’s croquembouche is arranged to resemble a cherry blossom tree. The profiteroles on the lower half are covered in dark chocolate to resemble a tree trunk. Up top, the rest have been dipped in what Remus assumes is a vegan white chocolate, some coloured with strawberry powder. The result is a dappling of white and pink blossoms. 

It’s stunning. Which is the first thing that the judges point out.

“So, Mary,” Minerva starts. “This looks absolutely stunning. I’m particularly impressed with how you’ve managed to keep this standing up. Usually, a croquembouche gets smaller towards the top, but yours has gotten larger!”

As Minerva says this, one of the blossom coloured profiteroles detaches itself from the croquembouche and hits Mary’s bench with a gentle ‘thwack.’

“Oh dear; I appear to have jinxed it,” Minerva says.

Mary giggles. 

Albus plucks the profiterole off the bench with his thumb and forefinger, and pops it into his mouth. “ Delicious . Is that yuzu?” Mary nods. “Can’t even tell it’s vegan!”

Minerva tuts at Albus. “You always have to be the first to taste them, don’t you? No patience!”

Minerva selects a profiterole for herself and bites into it. “Delicious,” she says, her eyes glittering. “I agree with Albus; I’d have no clue that’s vegan if you hadn’t told me!”

“I’m impressed, Mary,” Albus says. “As you know, I’m usually not the biggest believer in vegan baking, but this is divine.”

Mary blushes. “Thank you so much.”

Next up is Peter.

“Wow,” Minerva says. “It’s a pastry mountain!”

“Literally,” Albus says, chuckling.

Indeed, Peter’s croquembouche is modelled to resemble a mountain. Like a classic croquembouche, it’s built upwards in a pyramid shape. At the bottom, the profiteroles are shades of dark green, moving upwards into shades of brown and umber. At the top, the profiteroles are dipped in white chocolate and desiccated coconut.

“I love it,” Minerva says honestly. “It cuts a very striking image. There’s a problem, though... I believe we asked that all profiteroles be covered.”

“We did,” Albus agrees. “And do I see… a hole in the centre?” 

“Yes,” Peter says proudly, procuring a small black remote with a red button from his pocket. He hands it to the judges. “Press this,” he instructs them, grinning.

Minerva and Albus look at each other, twin expressions of bemusement on their faces. When Minerva presses the red button, everything is silent for a moment.

“Er,” Peter says nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Um. Hold on…”

And then, just as he’s about to lean in to inspect his croquembouche, there’s a mechanical noise. Then molten ruby chocolate spills forth, like lava, cascading down the croquembouche and covering the profiteroles.

Minerva gasps and Albus chuckles. Remus grins, pride coursing through him. Remus thinks that Peter's a genius; it's about time that everyone else thinks so too.

“It’s a bit messy,” Peter apologises, shifting from one foot to another. “Sorry about that…”

“It is,” Minerva agrees. “But what fun!”

“Once again, Peter, you’ve shown what an eye for creativity and invention you have!”

“But, as for finesse...”

They all look to the edge of Peter’s bench, where ruby chocolate drips onto the floor.

“Well.”

“Lovely, Remus. It’s lovely,” Minerva says, and she sounds like she means it. “What a beautiful sentiment for the final.”

Remus’s croquembouche is classic, but with a twist. He’s carefully decorated each of the profiteroles to resemble different bakes that they’ve made throughout the competition. Among others, there’s victoria sponge, pavlova, cardamom buns, and little choux bread baskets.

“This sugar work is clever,” Minerva says, gesturing to the sugar bunting flags that weave around the croquembouche. “When I think of Bake Off, I certainly think of the flags!”

Remus smiles.

“Are these scones?” Minerva asks Remus, who nods. “Am I missing something? Was there a challenge with scones?”

Albus hums. “No, I don’t believe there was.”

Sirius coughs. “Sorry,” he says. “Something in my throat.”

“That’s, er. I just… really like them,” Remus says. He can feel the tips of his ears getting warm.

It’s not as if it’s a big secret, or something that he’s ashamed of, but Remus feels oddly protective of the memory of Sirius and him making scones in the hotel kitchens. He doesn’t like the idea of letting other people into it.

Minerva smiles knowingly at him. His blush deepens. “Lovely," she says. "Just lovely.”

“Alright my lovely bakers,” Sirius says. “It’s time for your last ever technical challenge. I’m sure you’re all feeling a mixture of emotions right now. Sadness that it’s our last time together like this; relief that Albus won’t be able to torture you anymore with his tricky little technicals…”

“This week, you’ve been asked to make a savoury pie. Peter and Remus’s filling will be made of pork, while Mary’s will have a suitable vegan alternative. Here, you’ll have to call on your cooking skills as well as your baking skills,” Lily says.

Remus’s stomach drops. Cooking . He’d been afraid of this: afraid of when the judges would ask them to implement cooking in their baking. And it’s just his luck that it happens to be in the final . 

Remus can feel Sirius looking at him. Remus stares at the ground. He knows exactly what Sirius is thinking because Remus is thinking the exact same thing.

Still, he tries to banish thoughts of burnt water and pasta sauce to the back of his mind. He can do this. He can. As long as he follows the recipe, he’ll be fine .

There’s no recipe. Remus shouldn’t be surprised, not this late in the competition. Yet he is.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck .” 

He closes his eyes and takes ten measured, deep breaths. Momentarily, he feels better, feels the rising anxiety in his chest subside. Until he opens his eyes again and sees the words ‘make filling’ .

Remus can feel himself losing hold of his thoughts. He desperately pictures a pool of water, and imagines that his thoughts are simply ripples on the surface. He needs to gently ease the ripples, to still them, so that he’s able to see the bottom of the pool. But then, the pool morphs into a river and, suddenly, he’s in the thick of the rapids, trying to wade upstream. He tries to grab on to branches, but they’re wet and impossible to hold on to. He slips.

From there, it’s a rapid slide into panic.

Remus doesn’t know how long he stands there, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to ground himself. His body feels fuzzy and floaty as panic rises in his chest.

Oh no, he thinks. Not now.

He thinks he hears his name being called, but it sounds like it’s coming through a wall, from another room. Even his vision is blurry, and all that he’s aware of is how his heart thunders in his chest, too fast and too loud. Everything feels too bright and too much. He can’t breathe.

A cool hand grasps his wrist and gently leads him away. Away from the light, the noise, the people, and the panic . Remus lets himself be led. His eyes are squeezed shut; he doesn’t know whose hand it is, but he knows he can trust them. He knows he’s safe.

A warm breeze kisses his face, cool against the sweat that’s collected on his brow. He smells flowers—wisteria, heather, roses, and honeysuckle. He smells leaves and hot earth. And then he smells saffron. Sirius .

Remus exhales and opens his eyes.

Sure enough, Sirius is standing in front of him. He’s pulled Remus under the same tree as the week before, only this time, instead of a smirk, he wears an expression of concern.

“Remus,” Sirius says gently. “Deep breaths, okay?”

Remus nods, trying to exhale slowly, but his chest is tight and constricted. He gasps for air, trying to keep his breaths slow and deep, but his lungs are starving. 

Sirius gently grasps Remus’s hand and puts it on his chest, holding it there.

“Breathe with me,” he says.

Remus’s fingers curl into Sirius’s shirt, tugging on the fabric and pulling it down slightly to expose his collarbones and the tattoos underneath. Even through the anxiety and fear, he feels a little flutter in his stomach at the sight of them. 

The rest of him, however, is focused on breathing and on matching Sirius’s breaths. Sirius breathes slowly, deeply, and steadily.

Remus feels himself come back in increments: his vision sharpens and becomes less fuzzy, his muscles relax and the white noise fades, leaving him with birdsong and the sound of the wind as it dances against the leaves of the trees.

“Better?” Sirius asks gently. Remus’s hand is still held up to Sirius’s chest, but their hands are curled together now, holding each other. Remus can feel Sirius’s heartbeat. It’s racing.

Remus nods.

“Good,” Sirius smiles.

Sirius takes Remus to see Poppy, who looks over Remus with concern. He’s not able to form his mouth around words just yet, but he shakes his head furiously at her suggestion of him sitting the technical challenge out. Reluctantly, she concedes to him continuing the challenge, but she demands that he be brought back to her if he shows any other signs of an impending panic attack. Remus begrudgingly nods in agreement.

And now, back at his bench, Remus takes long, measured breaths as he tries to read the instructions.

Just as Remus is measuring the right ingredients, and trying to stop his thoughts from spiralling, a cup of tea appears in front of him. He looks up in surprise to see Mary.

Her brown eyes are warm with concern as she says, “Alright? I’m here for you, love. I’m here to help, okay?”

Remus nods. He still doesn’t think he’s able to speak. Not yet. Mary seems to understand this, and instead of waiting for him to reply, she moves around his bench and pulls him into a hug. Her perfume—mandarin and clove—calms him. It grounds him, and he clings to her smaller frame.

When Remus pulls back, it’s to discover Mary with her eyes narrowed, flashing the v sign to someone over Remus’s shoulder. 

Remus’s eyes widen, and he looks at her in question—he’s surprised to see Mary with an expression of such open-faced dislike.

“Severus,” she says in explanation. “Lily told me that if I swear or make rude gestures, they can’t air the footage.” She grins.

Remus blinks. And then he laughs. He knows that he probably sounds like a strangled cat, his laugh all distorted and strange from the tightness in his chest, but Mary looks pleased nonetheless.

Then, Mary helps Remus get his bench back in order—he’d knocked over the bag of flour in his earlier panic—before giving him gentle instructions to help him navigate the rest of the technical. It’s nothing that could quite be interpreted as cheating, but it’s enough that it helps Remus to stay focused and to fight off the waves of panic before they seize him again. 

At one point, Peter comes over to help as well. 

“I’ve got him,” Peter says softly to Mary. “You finish up. I’ll help Rem.”

Like Mary, Peter doesn’t try to coax words from Remus; he simply guides Remus where he needs to be, and makes sure that there’s always a cup of tea in front of him. 

“It’s decaf,” Peter informs him with a grin. “Nothing worse than caffeine jitters!”

Remus simply smiles in thanks.

The judges agree to extend the time of the challenge for all three contestants, and thus, with the help of his friends, Remus finishes his pie. It’s not great—compared to the other two, something about Remus’s pie both looks and smells off, which is not at all helped by the way that the fat has cracked through the side of the pie, giving it a lop-sided appearance. But it’s done , Remus reminds himself.

Still, it stings when he places last. The judges are harsh. Their harshness doesn’t surprise Remus, especially not now that it’s the final, but nonetheless, shame leaves Remus with burning cheeks and an increasingly hollow feeling in his chest. 

Albus’s blue gaze seems to strip him bare, and when Minerva asks him what happened, Remus can only shrug. She looks as if she’s about to question him further before Sirius intercepts. 

Mary and Peter lace their fingers with his. He feels warm with gratitude, which helps to make the uncomfortable feeling that’s settled in Remus’s chest dissipate somewhat. 

Somewhat, but not completely .

***

———

Saturday, 5:04pm

Padfoot: how are you feeling? x

Seen at 8:14pm

———

Sirius paces the length of his hotel room.

It’s been three hours and Sirius hasn’t heard from Remus at all. Sirius is worried. 

Part of him wonders if he’s being dramatic, if he’s just overblowing this whole thing. Maybe Remus is just tired? Perhaps he’s just asleep? Regulus was always knackered for days after his anxiety attacks…

But when Sirius pictures Remus’s expression during the technical—pinched, pained, and as if he was trying his hardest not to cry—he knows in his gut that he’s not overthinking anything.

So Sirius grabs his jacket and runs out the door.

He’s out of breath by the time that he’s knocking on Remus’s door. There’s a strange sense of deja vu, as Sirius remembers the week before, standing in front of Remus’s door and feeling like he was about to explode. Only this time, he’s not about to explode, and it’s not Sirius who needs help: it’s Remus.

Just as Sirius is about to knock again, hand poised in mid air, Remus opens the door. His red-rimmed eyes widen as they take in Sirius. Sirius’s heart throbs painfully at the sight.

“Hi,” Sirius breathes. He holds up a copy of Peter Rabbit that he nabbed from the hotel foyer on the way to Remus’s room. “I thought you might want company.”

Remus is silent for a long moment. He watches Sirius carefully, as if he’s trying to figure something out. 

And then he nods and moves to the side to let Sirius into his room.

Sirius suppresses a shudder as he brushes past Remus. Now’s not the time for that , he reminds himself. Remus is hurt .

Still, he can’t help his affectionate smile as he takes in the chaos of Remus’s room. Just as with Sirius’s spare room, Remus has made the hotel room his own. It looks as if a Remus-shaped bomb has gone off, corduroy and wool shrapnel splintered and covering every surface.

Remus is silent beside him, so Sirius decides to take charge, sitting himself down on Remus’s bed with his back against the headboard. He looks up at Remus and pats the space beside him. 

Remus bites his lip before he hesitantly reclines beside Sirius.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asks quietly. Aside from the sound of their breathing, all is silent. Hushed.

Remus sighs and stares out the window. In the distance, the mountains are lit up by the sunlight; the peaks glowing gold pyramids.

Remus turns back to Sirius and shakes his head.

“Okay,” Sirius says. “Okay.”

So he pulls out the copy of Peter Rabbit that he swiped from reception and opens it to the first page. “Ready to hear about the adventures of Peter Rabbit, Moony?”

Remus’s lips part and he lets out a quiet huff of breath that Sirius interprets as laughter. Then, he lays back and Sirius begins to read. 

Sirius finds himself getting lost amongst the pages, the story, and its characters. But even more, he finds himself getting lost in the little noises that Remus makes: the quiet huffs of laughter, and his hushed noises of surprise and curiosity. With each little noise, Sirius can feel his heart expanding over and over and over.

Halfway through the book, Remus’s breathing slows, and Sirius looks over to see him with his eyes closed. He imagines tracing the constellations of freckles that adorn Remus’s cheeks with his fingertip. He imagines counting each one.

He doesn’t. Instead, he closes the book, places it on the bedside table, and shuffles down so that he’s laying on his side, facing Remus. He’s the most beautiful thing Sirius ever seen— and ever will see says a tiny voice at the back of Sirius’s head. With his too-large nose, his pink lips, his angular jaw and cheekbones. The scar on his brow. The scar that wraps around his neck, that Sirius’s eyes trace down, beneath the collar of Remus’s woollen jumper. 

Sirius swallows. He knows what that scar tastes like. How it feels under his lips and under his tongue. He wonders, not for the first time, where Remus got his scars. How he got his scars. He wonders how much they hurt. He wishes he could take that hurt away from Remus. He wishes he could take all the hurt away from Remus.

And so, with that thought, and the sound of Remus’s breathing beside him, Sirius closes his eyes and lets the soft fuzz of sleep take over.

***

When Remus’s eyes flutter open, sunlight has just begun to stream through the window. He exhales. He feels absolutely exhausted. 

The previous day's events come back to him in parts. He remembers the signature challenge, Sirius , the disastrous technical challenge, Sirius , and the shame and grief that had settled in afterwards, threatening to swallow him whole…

Remus goes to bury his face in his pillow, but it feels odd. It’s firm. Has a heartbeat. It rises and falls with each breath. It smells delicious and familiar: like saffron, leather, and violet... Sirius .

Remus exhales sharply. Exhaustion aside, warmth ripples through his body as he notes all the places that he and Sirius are touching, from their tangled legs to the hand in his hair, its fingers gently stroking Remus’s scalp.

Remus slowly lifts his head and his tired gaze instantly meets Sirius’s. This early in the morning, Sirius’s grey gaze holds a softness and vulnerability that he’s only caught glimpses of in the past.

Sirius smiles at him as his hand continues stroking soothing circles against Remus’s scalp. “Hey,” he says softly. He lifts his other hand to brush the curls out of Remus’s eyes, and even just fresh from sleep, Sirius is beautiful in a way that takes Remus’s breath away.

“Hey,” Remus breathes, his voice rough from lack of use.

“This isn’t quite how I imagined the first time waking up in your bed.” Sirius winks.

Remus’s cheeks heat up. “Um… sorry.”

“What for?”

“For falling asleep on you.” Remus swallows. “For last night.”

Sirius’s hand stills. “Remus,” he says quietly, softly. “Don’t apologise. You can say anything to me, but please don’t apologise.”

“Oh.”

“And besides,” Sirius says, now smiling, “it was my pleasure serving as your pillow for the night.” He stretches his arms above his head. “The first of many times, hopefully.”

Remus ducks his head to hide his smile. And then, he finds words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them. “I felt like a failure,” Remus says softly, laying his head back on Sirius’s chest, his heartbeat soothing and steady in Remus’s ear. “Yesterday. I know I said I didn’t care about winning. I truly didn’t think I did, but…”

Sirius’s hand cards through Remus’s hair, fiddling with the curls at the nape of his neck. It sends tingles up and down Remus’s spine. “Of course you care, Remus. Don’t punish yourself for caring.”

“It’s more why I care. I think… I thought I’d be proving something if I did win. To my Dad.”

“Proving what?” Sirius asks softly. 

“Proving that I’m worthy. That I’m worth being proud of.”

Sirius’s hand stills. “Remus…” he starts. 

“But the thing is… I’m not even sure winning would do any good. Not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if I won, I might feel worthy for a little while... but what about after? Then I’d need another thing to prove that I’m worthy. And then another, and another, and then it’s not even about me, or my Dad, anymore. It’s about everyone else.”

Remus closes his eyes, lets the scent of saffron and violet envelop him, and continues.  “I think I need to learn how to find that inside myself. I need to learn to feel worthy. Not because other people tell me I am, but because I genuinely believe it.”

Sirius laces their fingers together and lifts their hands to his mouth, brushing his lips over Remus’s knuckles. Remus shuffles his head so that he can gaze up at Sirius, at his sea-foam eyes and dark lashes.

“It’s difficult though,” Remus says. “After yesterday, I feel like all the progress that I’ve made is gone. I feel like I just took 200 steps back.”

“Not back,” Sirius says, stroking his thumb over Remus’s skin. “Sideways. That progress isn’t gone; you still learned what you learned. You’ve just had a blip.”

“Yeah,” Remus breathes. “A pretty big blip.”

“Big or small, it still doesn’t take away from anything you’ve achieved.”

“Yeah… I guess. You’re right.” Then Remus sighs. “How are you so wise?”

“Therapy,” Sirius winks.

Remus laughs, and it’s a loud, jarring sound, but he struggles to find it within himself to care. Especially when Sirius joins in, and they’re laughing together, wrapped around one another in Remus’s hotel bed.

And then, when the laughter peels away and the quiet begins to set back into the room, Remus realises again how closely they’re intertwined, with their fingers laced and legs tangled together. Remus can tell that Sirius realises at the same moment that he does in the way that Sirius’s body tenses and he skips a breath. The mood in the room changes, a subtle shift from the sweet and gentle mood that’s hung over them since the night before to a familiar electric current that courses beneath Remus’s skin. 

Remus gazes up at Sirius, whose eyes dart between Remus’s eyes and lips. Remus knows they’re at the precipice of something yet again, for what feels like the millionth time. But, this time, the difference is that it’s not weeks that they have to stay apart; it's hours. And that makes it so much harder.

“Tonight,” Sirius whispers, as if reading Remus’s mind. “Tonight, Moony.” 

Unintentionally, Remus presses himself closer to Sirius, subconsciously trying to mould himself to the other man. In doing so, his upper thigh brushes up against Sirius. Sirius inhales sharply, his grey eyes wild and fixed on Remus. 

Remus bites his lip. He knows what he wants to do; knows that he wants to push Sirius back into the pillows, to kiss him so hard and so dizzyingly that they both forget every word except each other’s names, he wants …

Only it’s that precise moment, where Remus is grappling with an increasingly precarious line of thought, that Remus’s phone alarm goes off.

Remus rolls over and groans.

Beside him, Sirius exhales in a huff of air that sounds half like a laugh and half like a sigh. “Tonight,” he says, squeezing Remus’s hand.

“Tonight,” Remus agrees.

They take their time saying goodbye, both hovering around the door, reluctant to open it and pop the bubble that they’re inhabiting together. 

Finally, however, with a reluctant glance back at Remus, Sirius moves to leave.

Only when he opens the door, it reveals Marlene on the other side with her hand raised, clearly about to knock. 

Marlene’s hooded eyes widen for a split second as she takes in Sirius’s appearance—his flushed cheeks, rumpled clothes and messy hair—before she schools her expression into neutrality. She fixes Remus with a quick and firm expression that says we’re talking about this later.

Remus watches Sirius’s stormy eyes take in Marlene’s shaggy blonde hair and tattoos, and he makes a special note of the curiosity that he sees in Sirius’s gaze. In a lot of ways, they appear as opposites, with Marlene’s hair bleach-blonde against Sirius’s onyx, and her warm fawn skin against his pale alabaster. But rather than clashing, they appear inverted: the same but different.

And Remus watches, with particular fascination, as what looks like understanding passes between them. 

Sirius turns back to Remus. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

Remus nods, trying his very hardest not to smile: not to smile at how right it had felt waking up next to (or on top of, rather) Sirius, and how good it feels knowing that he’ll be doing it again tomorrow morning… albeit in very different circumstances.

“Yeah,” Remus says. “See you soon, Pads.”

At that, Sirius dips out, squeezing past a very amused looking Marlene who pins Remus again with that same sharp look.

“So,” she says once the door is closed. “Sirius Black. In your bed.” And then, “He’s even hotter in person. How the fuck is he hotter in person?”

“It’s genuinely not what it looked like.”

Marlene snorts. “Okay, so I didn’t just see him leaving your room? Looking rumpled and flushed? Or did I just imagine that?”

Remus feels the tips of his ears heating up. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Mm, I’m sure. Just engaged in some more hot phone sex. While laying beside each other.” Marlene leans against the wall, smirking.

“Marlene…”

“What?” she grins. “I’m happy for you, you goose egg.”

“We didn’t shag—seriously! Stop giving me that look!”

Marlene laughs and nudges his socked foot with her shoe. “So… if you didn’t shag… what did you do?”

Remus crosses his arms. “He… read to me. And then I fell asleep on him. And then we… talked.”

“Mmm, talked . I know how talking goes with you. Like the time you insisted that you were just going to Benjy’s to talk and then buttdialed me while he su—”

“This isn’t like that!” Remus insists, scrunching up his nose at the memory. “I swear. I… had a bit of a moment yesterday, during the technical.”

“What kind of moment?”

“Oh, you know,” Remus says in a way that he tries to pass off as breezy. “One of those moments where I stop functioning… and can't talk.”

“You had an anxiety attack,” Marlene says softly.

“Yes, I… yes. Anyway, I finished the challenge. But it was… not good. And neither was I. And he knew. So he came to keep me company.”

Marlene stares at him for a moment. “Rem…”

Remus shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but he can tell from Marlene’s assessing gaze that it doesn’t particularly well. “I just… well. We had to cook for the technical and you can imagine how that went…”

Marlene cringes. “A disaster.”

“Yeah. And I just… it all kind of hit me. I realised how much I wanted to win, and how much I needed to win to prove myself to Dad. To his memory.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Rem.”

“Yeah, I know,” Remus smiles softly. “I know that now.”

“Good.”

Marlene steps forward and pulls Remus into her arms. “You’re brilliant, you know that right? Utterly brilliant. Even Sirius Black thinks so.”

Remus buries his face into the crook of her neck, and into the familiar rose and oud of her perfume. “Thanks Marl,” he says, voice muffled.

“I’m so proud of you. All those months ago, when you first got that email, you were so…”

“I was a ghost.” 

Marlene hums in agreement. “And now… look at you. You’re a star baker.” She punctuates the words ‘star’ and ‘baker’ each with a squeeze. “And a finalist.”

“Mmm…”

“And you’re spooning Sirius Black. While he reads to you.”

Remus laughs.

“You never told me, you know.”

Remus pulls back. “What?”

Marlene’s brown eyes sparkle with mischief. “What he smells like.”

Remus smiles at the memory of their conversation so many weeks ago. Back then, he never would’ve dreamed that he’d be where he is now; that he’d ever wake up with Sirius’s heartbeat in his ear. 

“Saffron,” Remus says softly. “He smells like saffron.”

On the last day of the final, all of the former contestants are invited back to the tent for a celebratory picnic. Also present is each contestant's family and close friends. And so, after ruthlessly mocking Remus for drooling on Sirius’s chest, Marlene leads him to the hotel foyer, where Hope and Dorcas are waiting for them.

Dorcas rushes forward to pull Remus into a tight hug. 

“Missed you, Remmy boy,” she mumbles into his shirt. Remus chuckles and drops a kiss to the top of her braided hair.

“So… you’ll never guess who I caught sneaking out of Remus’s room…” Marlene smirks. 

Remus groans. “Marl…”

“Was it a certain raven-haired rockstar?” Dorcas teases. “Beloved Bake Off presenter?”

“The very same,” Marlene says, grinning. “And he looked very rumpled. Debauched, one might even say…”

“Remus John Lupin !” Hope cries, her amber eyes narrowed. 

“Never fear, Hope,” Marlene says, “Remus assured me that it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It wasn’t,” Remus insists. “We read Peter Rabbit for fucks sake!”

“Language!” Hope admonishes.

Marlene cackles.

Hope’s eyes are wide as she takes in the tent and the surrounding gardens. Remus doesn’t have much time before the showstopper starts, but he spends a little bit of that time getting Hope, Marlene, and Dorcas settled. Hope is brighter and bubblier than Remus has seen her in years, and she tells everyone who will listen that Remus is her son .

As Remus stands up to leave, she jumps to her feet and pulls him in for a hug. Then, she kisses his forehead and whispers, “Pob lwc! I’m so proud of you, cariad.” 

As he waits by his bench for the challenge to start, Remus feels a hand on his hip.

“Hey,” says a soft voice beside his ear. 

Remus turns to see a significantly less rumpled and sleepy looking Sirius than the one he’d said goodbye to earlier that morning. However, this Sirius’s smile is just as soft, and just as fond. Remus is certain that same expression is mirrored on his own face.

“You look like your Mum, you know,” Sirius says, leaning his hip against Remus’s bench. Remus tries not to think about how Sirius’s hip would feel beneath his palm. “Just… taller.”

“Mm, my Da was the absurdly tall one.”

“I like it.”

“Do you now?”

Sirius ducks his head, smiling. “You know I do,” he says softly, looking up at Remus through his eyelashes.

It’s then that Remus notices that Sirius has placed a cup of tea on the bench in front of him. It looks rather awful, frighteningly pale in colour, but he’s so deeply touched by the gesture that he doesn’t care one bit. 

He cradles the cup in his hands and takes a sip, swallowing down a wince at the taste: water and milk with the slightest suggestion of tea. Nonetheless, it’s the best cup of tea Remus thinks he’s ever had.

“I hope it’s okay,” Sirius says, hands fidgeting. “I’m not a tea drinker. I don’t know what you like.”

“This is perfect,” Remus lies. “Thank you,” he says softly, taking another sip. 

“My pleasure,” Sirius says, ducking his head again, and Remus can see pink staining the top of his cheekbones.

I love you , Remus thinks helplessly, and he feels the words bubble up his throat. Instead of saying them, however, he takes a hasty sip of his tea, swallowing the words back down with it.

***

“Welcome back, my lovely bakers, for the final challenge of 2022 Bake Off.”

“This is both a momentous and sad occasion,” Sirius says. “One that will probably make you want to cry and throw up at the same time.”

“Speaking from experience there, Sirius?” Lily asks.

“You know how I get after a few gins, Lils,” Sirius winks, and there’s a ripple of laughter throughout the tent.

”As much as I wish we could do this together forever, all good things must come to an end,” Lily says. “And, so, for our final showstopper challenge together in this tent, the judges have asked you all to create an edible 3d landscape that is covered by a meltable layer. This layer can be any shape that you choose, such as a dome or a pyramid, and it can be made out of any ingredient that you choose. But it must melt.”

“You each have six hours,” Sirius says. He catches Remus’s eye and holds it. It’s only a matter of hours now until Sirius can show Remus exactly how he feels about him, and the tension between them is rippling .

“On your mark.”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Sirius maintains a constant presence near Remus during the showstopper. But unlike the previous day, his touches aren’t intended to be flirtatious. Instead, they’re meant as a reminder, and as a grounding force for Remus. Remus had admitted to him that morning, with his eyes averted and cheeks an appealing shade of pink, that Sirius’s touch had helped him stay on task the day before.

“Even when I was… distracted , it still helped,” Remus had said, blushing attractively. “I just poured the extra energy into my baking, instead of… well. You know.”

Yes, Sirius did know. Does know. 

Sirius’s heart is in his throat as he watches Remus. His head is bowed, his curls hanging in his face, as he fiddles with whatever it is that he’s making—Remus told them exactly what he’d planned earlier, but he was also kneading pastry at the time, and Sirius had struggled to concentrate on anything other than Remus’s hands.

Remus’s tongue is poking out in concentration and he’s got chocolate on his cheek and in his hair. Even his tie is askew. Sirius can’t stop staring at him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Remus’s disarming beauty. And each time Remus’s brown eyes meet Sirius’s, they take Sirius’s breath away.

He thinks of the night before, of how Remus’s breath felt against his neck, how it had made him shiver. How all their near-touches have him more riled up than he’s ever been in his entire life: a frenetic kind of tension built up from passion and tenderness that’s set him aflame.

And beneath that is warmth. Pure warmth . 

That morning, after Sirius had left Remus’s room, James had taken one look at Sirius, at his blown pupils and manic grin, and had boldly asked if he was on crack.

“I spent the night in Remus’s bed ,” Sirius had breathed. “He drooled on my chest.”

James had simply laughed and said, “Ah, love: a far more addictive drug.”

Yes . That . 

Love .

Sirius loves Remus. He knows this now. It’s been a slow-building, impending realisation that’s hit him in bits and pieces, with each moment leading up to now woven together to form something warm, tender and so incredibly pure. 

From the very start, everything about Remus has felt different and inevitable, as if an invisible thread ties them together, gently tugging them closer to each other. And Sirius has discovered that he’s rather helpless to ignore that tug; to ignore Remus. 

As he watches Remus now, he can feel that same tugging sensation in his abdomen. He wants to be close to Remus. He wants to stay close to Remus. He remembers, early on in the competition, wondering if he and Remus had been friends in another life. Now, he can’t imagine another life where they’re just friends. He can’t imagine a life where he doesn’t want to sleep beside Remus every night, to kiss him, to make love to him, to sing songs to him, to write songs about him, to immortalise Remus with his words and with his voice.

Sirius can’t imagine a life where he meets Remus Lupin and doesn’t fall head over heels in love with him. 

Today, it’s Mary who breaks. She burns her finger and accidentally drops the cake that she’s spent the better part of the past hour working on. After that, the tears are close to follow.

Lily and Sirius move in sync.

Lily holds Mary, while Sirius kneels on the ground, assessing the damage. It’s not good. Still, he nabs a fork from a nearby cutlery drawer. Because even if he can’t fix the problem, he can offer her positive reinforcement. 

To his left, he hears Remus snort, and Sirius turns to wink at him.

“Like a dog,” Remus mouths, and Sirius flips him off.

Sirius brings the fork to his mouth. He chews. Then, he tilts his head to look up at Mary. “ Mary ,” he says, awed. “This is fucking delicious .”

Mary lets out a sound that sounds like a combination of a laugh and a sob, and Sirius goes back in for more. He’s meant to be reducing the amount of rich food that he eats that day in preparation for his night with Remus: a tough call, to be sure, but if it means he gets to ride Remus all night long, then a bit of baking feels like a fair sacrifice, Sirius thinks. 

Still, he simply can’t help himself with Mary’s cake.

“Sirius!” Lily hisses. “That’s well beyond the 3 second rule!”

“I don’t care,” Sirius says honestly. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

For now, he thinks wickedly. Until I get my mouth on Remus’s—

“Look at that, Mary,” Lily says. “You’ve got Sirius Black eating off of the floor .”

Mary giggles. “Sirius! Please stop!”

“I can’t,” he says honestly, around another mouthful. And then he coughs. “Eugh. I think I just swallowed a strand of hair.”

***

To Remus’s immense surprise, he manages to hold it together for the majority of the showstopper challenge. He has a shaky start, and has to talk himself back from the brink multiple times; but each time he feels himself careening out of control, there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, forearm, or hip. Sirius . 

Sirius is a grounding presence throughout the entire showstopper. And to his amazement, not even four hours into the showstopper challenge, Remus feels like the technical challenge might as well have never happened at all. He feels calm, in control, and most of all, he feels hopeful—not hopeful that he’ll win, necessarily, but hopeful that he won’t make a complete arse of himself. That he’ll make himself proud. Seeing the pride and joy in Hope’s eyes had helped too: she’d looked so proud to even be there, telling anyone who would listen that Remus was her son .

Six hours later, and before Remus knows it, it’s the end of the showstopper challenge.

Today, the judges start with Peter.

Sirius helps Peter manoeuvre his landscape to the front of the tent, and Remus admires the way the movement makes Sirius’s biceps stand out under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“Wow,” Minerva says, once Peter’s showstopper has been placed down in front of them. “What have we here?”

“It’s a rocket,” Albus says. “And I’m rather excited to see what’s inside. Minerva?”

Peter’s bake is on a stand that resembles the bottom part of a rocket. The top of the rocket has been made out of chocolate, even complete with a little window on the side, made out of sugar.

Minerva makes a show of pouring the hot custard over the chocolate nose of the rocket, which opens outwards to reveal a scene.

“Peter, this is…” Minerva begins.

“It’s visionary,” Albus says, looking up, his blue eyes bright. He laughs. “Rats in space. I didn’t know I needed it until now.”

“Care to explain the, er, inspiration for this?” Minerva asks.

Peter rubs the back of his neck, his ears pink. “I had a dream. Last Sunday, where I was a rat… in a rocket. It was very vivid. It felt like I was meant to have it, you know?” He shrugs nervously.

Albus smiles a rare smile. “Genius. Most of my best ideas came from dreams, you know.”

Minerva seems a little less convinced. “The rats are, er… fuzzy,” she says. “How on earth are they fuzzy?”

“Spun sugar,” Peter explains. “It’s basically candy floss.”

“And you did this… by hand?”

Peter nods.

“Wow,” Minerva says.

“Let’s have a taste, shall we? I’m afraid we’re going to have to behead one of these little guys,” Albus says, as he withdraws one of the rats.

“The base is cake, yes?”

Peter nods. “It’s a blueberry genoise sponge.”

“Blueberry? Mmm. And what are the seats made out of?”

“Filled chocolates. With rhubarb and custard inside!”

“And the… carpet?” 

“That’s crumble.”

“Sound like good, classic flavours!” Minerva taps the rocket with her fork. “Lovely sugar work! Let’s have a try, shall we?”

Albus nods.

“Nice genoise,” he says around a mouthful.

“Mmm.”

“Good rhubarb too.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s warm, it’s comforting. It’s everything that you’d want from a crumble.”

“But for the final?” Minerva says, her mouth downturned. “I’m not so sure...”

Next up is Mary, and again, Sirius helps her to carry her showstopper to the front. 

Mary’s is presented inside a fish bowl, so even from the back of the tent, Remus can clearly see everything. Inside, is an underwater scene, complete with a coral reef and an azure water layer on top, that Remus guesses has been made out of sugar.

“I must say, this looks very impressive,” Minerva says, looking into the fish bowl from the side.

“The fact that you’ve managed to simulate water with sugar work is incredibly clever. There’s even waves!”

Minerva nods in agreement. “What are we melting this with, Mary?”

Mary hands them a teapot that’s shaped like a conch shell. Albus laughs as he reaches out to grab it. 

“Even the teapot is on theme! I love it. Would you like to do the honours, Minerva?”

Minerva nods excitedly, and takes the teapot from Albus. They all watch as dark, almost black, chocolate cascades from the spout and onto the blue sugar. Eventually, it melts, covering the coral reef beneath with black, tar-like chocolate.

Minerva and Albus are both silent for a moment.

“Wow,” Minerva says.

“I’m assuming this is intentional?” Albus asks, eyes glittering. “That this resembles an oil spill for a reason?”

Mary nods. 

“It’s very striking,” Minerva says. “And the fact that it conveys such a strong environmental message is certainly commendable! This is exactly the kind of thing that I love to see in baking,” Minerva says. “I love it when people aren’t afraid to get political.”

The judges take their time tasting each of the components, and Mary’s lychee anemone gets her a handshake from both of the judges. Albus in particular can’t stop eating Mary’s bottom cake layer.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Sirius says.

Mary laughs.

“Last, but certainly not least… Remus: would you please bring your showstopper up to the judges table?”

Sirius steps forward to help, but Remus says, “I’ve got it,” with a wink.

Remus places his showstopper in front of the judges. He stands back, with his hands behind his back.

Albus’s gaze darts between Remus’s face and his showstopper. He chuckles. Remus flushes.

“So, what do we have here?” Minerva begins. “Looks like the night sky! There’s the moon… some constellations… Albus, you know more about constellations than me. What have we got here?”

Albus’s eyes twinkle at Remus. “I can see canis major… Leo, too. Any story behind that, Remus?”

Remus feels Sirius’s gaze on him. He doesn’t dare glance at Sirius now; he doesn’t think he could look away. He clears his throat. “I just… really like those constellations.”

Albus chuckles. “Indeed.”

“Let’s do the pour-over, shall we? I want to see what’s inside,” Minerva says, excitedly.

Minerva pours the violet syrup over the sphere, which melts to reveal mountains and a lake.

“Oh! It’s all melted to fill the lake! How wonderful,” Minerva smiles up at him. “That’s very clever Remus.”

“Oh look, Minerva: it’s us! It’s Lake Windermere,” Albus says, his eyes flickering back up to Remus. His eyes are very blue. And very knowing . “And the mountains.”

“So it is! And look: it’s the tent!”

Albus turns his head to look at it. “And the village.”

“Ah!,” Minerva says. “What a lovely bake to finish on, Remus.”

“What flavours can we expect?”

“Violet, pomelo, and mānuka honey in one mountain. And then sesame, miso caramel, and roasted white chocolate in the other.”

“Mmm,” Minerva hums. “Shall we have a taste, Albus?”

The tent is silent as the judges taste Remus’s showstopper. 

“Well,” Albus says finally. “These are some wonderful flavours, Remus. I particularly love the pomelo and honey!”

Minerva nods. “I agree. I think the violet might be a little too strong for my tastes.”

Albus nods in agreement. 

“The sesame and white chocolate, on the other hand… delicious!”

“Hm,” Albus says, “I’m not so fond of that side. I find the sesame to be a little overpowering.”

Remus can’t help his laugh then.

Minerva smiles at him affectionately. “It’s hard to please both of our fussy old taste buds, isn’t it Remus?”

Remus shrugs. “As long as you like some of it, that’s fine with me.”

Albus chuckles. “That’s a very healthy mindset to have, Remus.” He pushes his plate back. “Well, Minerva. We have some big decisions to make.”

“Indeed,” Minerva says. “Indeed.”

The afternoon sees them all outside, surrounded by their friends and family while the judges make their final decisions. Remus sits in the sun and braids Marlene’s hair, which Dorcas decorates with daisies.

“I feel like a queen,” Marlene breathes. 

“My queen,” Dorcas says, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Marlene’s nose.

Remus pretends to retch behind Dorcas’s back, which earns him a light smack on the arm from Marlene.

A little later, Lily, Sirius, and the judges emerge from the tent, and everyone scrambles to get ready. Lily grins behind two large bouquets, and Sirius walks over to the contestants with the Bake Off trophy placed precariously on his head.

“Sirius!” Minerva scolds. "Put that down! It’s fragile”

“Anything for you, Minnie,” Sirius sighs, taking the glass cake stand off of his head.

James, somewhere to the left, wolf whistles, and Remus watches in amusement as both Lily and Sirius turn to grin at him.

And then, it’s time. As they stand in front of the judges for the last time, Remus, Mary, and Peter all link up, arms around each other’s waists.

“Six weeks,” Lily starts. “We’ve seen cakes rise and fall.”

“We’ve seen sourdough starters die, and dreams be dashed.” 

“And we’ve seen quite a few soggy bottoms.”

“But it must be said,” Sirius says, “That I’ve never enjoyed soggy bottoms quite so much, and that’s a testament to all of you. I know I speak for all of us when I say that we’re so proud of how far you’ve all come as bakers and as people.” 

Minerva sniffs.

Lily smiles at them. “Truly, I cannot imagine a better group of people to have done this with. Each of you has different strengths that you’ve brought to the tent, and rather than using them against each other, you’ve used them to help each other, and to lift each other up.”

“You should all leave today feeling like winners,” Sirius smiles. “Trophy or not.”

“But alas; only one of you is able to receive the trophy,” Lily says. “And so, it’s my absolute pleasure to announce the winner of the 2022 Great British Bake Off.”

Everyone is silent.

“Mary!”

Mary gasps. Then, she turns to her right and kisses Peter right on the mouth.

James wolf whistles again, and despite the slight pang of loss, Remus can’t hold back his grin; a grin which widens when he catches Sirius’s gaze. Sirius was right; trophy or not, when Remus looks at Sirius he still feels like a winner.

“How are you feeling, Remus?” Lily asks afterwards. Severus is beside her, his camera directed at Remus.

“Good!” Remus grins. “Proud! Proud of myself, proud of Pete, and, of course, so proud of Mary . I’m a little bit sad that I didn’t win, but it’s alright: I still feel like a winner in my own way. I won other things.”

“Like what?” Lily asks, smiling.

“Friendship,” Remus smiles softly. He looks at Sirius in the distance, who’s laughing with Marlene and waving his arms around enthusiastically. Then, he looks back at Lily whose green eyes are glittering in the sunlight. “Love.”

Afterwards, Sirius grabs Remus’s hand and leads him away from the crowd. 

“Sirius,” he says breathily, unsteadily, his voice betraying his fluttering stomach. “Where are we going?”

Sirius doesn’t answer and continues to lead Remus through the garden. 

They turn a corner, and suddenly Sirius is pulling Remus behind a tree. Remus swallows. His heart is in his throat.

Sirius bites his lip. “God… I want to kiss you,” he whispers. He looks around. “But there are too many people around…” 

“Oh.” Remus says, surprised. “Why are we here? If we’re not… erm.”

“Snogging?” Remus blushes and Sirius laughs under his breath. Then, he’s motioning for Remus to look at something to their left. “Look,” he whispers.

Remus looks. 

It’s James and Lily. He can’t make out the words that they’re saying, but Lily’s ducking her head, looking uncharacteristically shy. And James is grinning down at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Remus smiles to himself. James’s expression is oddly familiar, even if he can’t exactly place it.

“They’ve been texting the whole time,” Sirius murmurs. “James kept denying it, but he finally told me this morning.” He smiles to himself. “He’s absolutely smitten.”

“So’s she,” Remus says. “Look at her.”

Sirius does. And then he turns to Remus. He’s not smiling, quite, but his eyes are crinkled at the sides as they might be if he was smiling. His expression is unbelievably soft. “I know the feeling.”

Remus’s stomach swoops. The air leaves his chest in a puff of breath. James’s expression is familiar, Remus realises, because it’s the exact same expression that Sirius has when he looks at him . And now, those slate grey eyes fixed on Remus—beautiful, dangerous, and impossibly beautiful. It’s funny, Remus thinks: at the start, Remus had thought that Sirius’s eyes reminded him of the sea. Now the sea reminds Remus of Sirius’s eyes.

“Me too,” Remus whispers. 

“Remus! Dear boy!” Arthur hugs him tightly. “I love your tie,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling. “This is my wife, Molly! And our sons: Bill, Charlie, and Percy.” Arthur gestures to a heavily pregnant woman holding a baby. Beside her, holding her hand, are two little boys of varying heights, both of whom have Arthur’s eyes and upturned nose. Together, they all look like a matching set. It makes Remus smile.

“Remus!” Molly says warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you, love. Arthur is non-stop singing your praises!”

“Oh, that’s very kind of him. The feeling is very much mutual,” Remus says warmly.

Molly looks like she’s about to say something, but it’s at that exact moment that Percy starts crying. Molly excuses herself—”nappies…” she sighs, shaking her head.

Remus and Arthur talk excitedly about the final. As Remus is telling Arthur about Peter’s croquembouche, Sirius sidles up beside Remus, grinning at Arthur.

“Sirius, dear boy!” 

“How’s freedom treating you?” Sirius winks.

“It’s rather boring after the tent, I’m afraid! I rather miss your antics!”

It’s then that Molly rejoins them. “False alarm, I think he just got overwhel…” she pauses. And then: “Sirius!” 

Sirius blinks at Molly, his expression one of caution. Then, he peers at her closely. “Hold on… I know you!”

“I’m Molly!” Sirius’s looks at her blankly. “You know: Fabian and Gideon’s sister?”

Sirius blanches for a second as recognition ripples across his features. “Ah,” he says. “Yes. Of course.”

Arthur tilts his head, confused, looking back and forth between Sirius and Molly. “Wait… do we know Sirius?”

Molly’s expression is unamused as she turns to her husband. “Arthur… how many times have I told you now? Sirius! You know: Fabian’s Sirius. His ex-band member and, erm…”

Molly and Sirius share a look, silent words passing between them. Remus manages well enough to fill in the blanks: he knows Sirius and Fabian were together. It was never public knowledge, though, and looking between Sirius and Molly now, Remus strongly suspects that that was Fabian’s decision, rather than Sirius’s.

Arthur frowns, tapping his finger on his chin. “Hmm, that is starting to ring a bell, now that you mention it…”

Molly rolls her eyes. “He’s hopeless! Utterly hopeless…”

“I just don’t care much for gossip,” Arthur informs Remus and Sirius. “Or any of that celebrity nonsense. Especially the royals… ugh. I couldn’t care less! All I know is that Fab and Gid were in a band. Couldn’t tell you the name, or any of the songs…” He turns to Sirius. “Er. Sorry, Sirius.”

Sirius smiles at Arthur. “Don’t be sorry, Arthur. It is nonsense.”

Molly fixes Sirius with a sad, serious look as she bounces Percy in her arms. “I really am sorry about my idiot brothers. I’ve tried to talk some sense into them, but they’re, well… they’re cowards, to be honest.”

“Yes,” Sirius says, his voice steady. “They are.”

“They do feel guilty, Sirius… and I know it doesn’t change anything, nor should it, but… Fabian is sorry. I just don’t think he quite knows how to show that.”

Sirius prickles. “Tell him that saying he’s sorry is probably a good start.” His tone is very careful and measured. Remus hooks his pinky with Sirius’s and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“We’re in agreement there, love,” Molly says gently.

“Alright?” Remus asks gently afterwards. Their pinkies are still linked.

“Yeah,” Sirius sighs, looking at his feet. “It just… it still hurts. And I’m still fucking pissed, to be honest.”

“That’s completely fair,” Remus says. “I don’t know what happened, but from the sounds of things… you have every right to be upset. And furious.”

Sirius smiles at him sadly. “Thanks, Moons. It’s… complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Remus says. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into telling me.”

Sirius squeezes Remus’s pinky. “I want to.” And then he exhales. “It’s a long story… you already know a little bit of it. We were already falling apart when it happened.”

“When what happened?” Remus asks softly.

“We almost got outed,” Sirius says quietly. “Some reporter got her hands on photos of us together and was threatening to release them… and, well. Fabian didn’t take it well. I was already out at the time. But he wasn’t.”

“Oh, Sirius ,” Remus says. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees. “It is. I don’t blame him at all for being upset; he didn’t want to come out and no one should have ever put him in that position, but… he blamed me. He said I’d taken the photos myself. That I’d released them myself. For the attention, or whatever. So I kicked him out and threw his shit out the window—”

“Valid.”

Sirius smiles, before continuing: “Then James and Gideon got involved, and… well.” Sirius shrugs. “Then that was it. There wasn’t much of a band left after that. Or a relationship.”

Remus bites his lip. “Sirius… I’m sorry.”

“I know he was just hurt. And scared.”

“But…”

“It still hurts. It probably always will, I think. But… time helps.”

“Yeah,” Remus says. “So do people.”

Sirius smiles. “Yeah. So do people.”

In celebration of the final, and to wrap up Bake Off, the network hosts a dinner for everyone in the hotel gardens that evening. Now that it’s August, the evening air is milder than it had been the month before. Still, it holds residual summer heat, even as the stars and moon begin to appear above them. The warm air carries with it the scent of wisteria from the garden.

Remus is sat at the end of the table with Albus, Minerva, Sirius, and his own family. James and Lily are there as well, but they’re so wrapped up in each other that they might as well be seated at their own table.

Remus sighs contentedly as he sips his wine. He tries not to blatantly stare at Sirius, but it’s difficult when he’s seated directly opposite Remus. As his eyes trail the length of Sirius’s collarbone, he thinks rather hopelessly that beneath the stars, with his face lit up by candlelight, Sirius looks like a work of art.

Hope seems to be of the same mind, and she’s giggling and lightly flushed as Sirius proceeds to charm the absolute socks off her. 

“Future son in law!” she whispers to Remus afterwards, fixing him with a meaningful look. 

He rolls his eyes, whispering back that it’s far too soon for that sort of thing. Still, he smiles into the rim of his glass, thinking about how much he likes the sound of that idea. 

As the evening wears on, both Minerva and Albus proceed to get steadily more drunk. Remus and Sirius, on the other hand, both decide to stop after one glass.

Minerva seems to take issue with this; as with the salad that Sirius orders for dinner. “Is that all?” She says, eyes narrowed at Sirius. “You barely ate any baking today, Sirius. Usually you eat all the leftovers. What’s gotten into you?”

“Just salad for me tonight, I’m afraid,” Sirius sighs. “All the gluten has been wreaking absolute havoc on my poor digestive system.” 

As Minerva huffs and turns back to Poppy, Sirius looks up at Remus from under his eyelashes mischievously. Under the table, Remus feels the toe of Sirius’s shoe nudging, teasing, on his ankle. 

Oh . 

Remus holds back a groan. It’s so close now that Remus can almost taste it; can almost taste Sirius and the salty saffron headiness of his skin. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the rest of dinner, not when he knows what they’ll be doing afterwards. He wonders if he could make a sneaky exit, if he could claim to be unwell. Would Sirius know? Would he follow? Would he—

Albus coughs. Remus glances up to see Albus looking between Sirius and Remus. When he catches Remus’s gaze, he winks, his blue eyes sparkling knowingly. Remus slowly turns what he’s sure is a bright red, and throws back his glass of water in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He’s going to die.

Remus doesn’t die. But by the time dessert is being served, it’s a very near thing. Sirius’s foot is in Remus’s lap, and he’s now lounging back in his chair, sipping idly at his La Croix. His dark hair is brushed over his shoulder, and his earring glints teasingly at Remus. If he was looking only at Sirius’s face, Remus might almost think he was bored.

But, underneath the table, Sirius's foot continues to edge up Remus’s thigh. What started as teasing touches under the table have gotten progressively more bold. 

Remus grips his glass of water and holds on for dear life.

“You alright, Rem?” Marlene asks, concerned. “You look a little tense.”

At that, Sirius brushes his foot against Remus’s cock.

Remus holds back a desperate moan, and instead tightens his grip on his glass as he tries not to shudder.

His glass shatters.

Hope gasps.

“Remus!” Minerva cries. “Are you alright? Poppy, check his hand!”

“I’m fine,” Remus says weakly. “Just… fine.”

Poppy fusses over him, checking his hand over and over to make sure that he’s not injured. Remarkably, he seems to have gotten off unscathed. Physically, at least.

Throughout it all, Remus feels Sirius’s gaze boring into him. Once everyone has settled back down, and the light conversation has resumed, Remus finally looks up to meet Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius’s gaze is burning. Molten hot silver, surrounded by dark, feathery lashes. Remus feels like he’s going to combust. 

And then Sirius is standing up.

“I’m afraid I ought to be getting off to bed,” he says. “I’m exhausted.”

Sirius doesn’t look exhausted. He looks bright and radiant, but nobody questions him. Everybody says goodbye, and Arthur even bids him a restful night’s sleep—a comment that makes Albus chuckle.

Remus is proud that he manages to wait a total of five minutes before he makes his own escape.

“Sore hand,” he explains weakly, and everyone seems to buy it. Well. Almost everyone.

Marlene, Albus, and Mary all wink at him. Remus is sure that James would too if he wasn’t so wrapped up in Lily. Hope, at least, appears to be none the wiser, which Remus is thankful for; he’s not sure she’d approve of what he has planned for the night.

And so, once Remus is inside the hotel and in the clear, he checks his phone.

——

Padfoot: room 12

upstairs x

——

Blood thrumming and every single nerve in his body alight , Remus makes his way upstairs.

His heart is in his throat as he stands in front of the door. He knocks. He waits. 

The door opens.

Remus inhales sharply. 

Sirius . His hair is ruffled, as if he’s been running his hands through it. His shirt is askew, exposing his collarbones and his tattoos. 

Remus feels as the rope between them tightens. And pulls. 

Sirius inclines his head, ever so slightly, and suddenly Remus feels himself being yanked into Sirius’s room by his tie.

Remus is vaguely aware of the door clattering closed behind him.

Sirius stares up at him with wild eyes. Everything is still, silent, for one, two, three.

They both move in at the same time. 

****

Sirius’s hands are in Remus’s hair, Remus’s on Sirius’s waist, fingers digging in, and they are finally, finally, finally kissing. Sirius’s hands are everywhere; he can’t get enough of Remus, of Remus’s body, the way that Remus’s lips feel against his own. He pushes Remus up against the door and presses himself to him, trying to push himself into Remus, to devour him, to make them one.

A torrent of emotions wash over Sirius then, but most prominent is the rightness of it: the rightness of the way Remus’s lips move against his own, the rightness of Remus’s body pressed up against his, his hands, his fingers, cupping Sirius’s jaw and leaning his head back so that he can fully access his mouth.

Six weeks have been leading up to this moment, and they’ve been simultaneously the longest and shortest six weeks of Sirius’s life. 

And, as it turns out, Remus was very much worth waiting for. Their kisses are heated, passionate, and reverent . Remus could take Sirius apart with just his mouth, he’s certain of it. And Sirius would let him. Gladly .

Sirius gasps into Remus’s mouth as Remus feels down the smooth planes of Sirius’s body. He can’t get enough. Can’t get enough of Remus’s touch, of touching Remus. He can’t believe they’re really doing this; can’t believe that Remus, after all this time, is here, gasping into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip, and exploring Sirius’s mouth with his tongue, so deft and talented.

“Off, off, off,” Sirius pants as he desperately tries to pull Remus’s woollen jumper over his head. Remus ends up all twisted up, with his tie, shirt, and jumper stuck on his head. Sirius swallows as he gazes at Remus’s newly exposed chest. He wants to lick it. He will lick it. But first, he needs to free Remus.

“Sorry,” Sirius murmurs, laughing softly as he frees Remus’s curly head from his jumper and shirt. “That was a lot smoother in my head.”

Remus doesn’t say anything, and as soon as Sirius has wrangled him out of his clothes, Remus is kissing Sirius again. He cradles Sirius’s head with his hands, his long, clever fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of Sirius’s neck. Sirius moans into Remus’s mouth, who swallows the sound and pulls him tighter. Remus kisses Sirius like he’s breathing, like Sirius is breath itself. Sirius melts .

Remus pulls back to look at Sirius, his eyes bright and wild, soft and gentle. He cradles Sirius’s jaw with his hand, his thumb brushing over Sirius’s cheekbone. His breath washes over Sirius’s lips and it’s too much and not enough and Sirius is pushing forward again, pressing his lips to Remus’s, kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

And then Remus is moving down, his lips on Sirius’s neck, on his throat, his jaw, his ear, sucking, nibbling, licking—all the sensations that Sirius has dreamed about every single night since they’d first crashed together on his couch in London.

Remus works open the buttons of Sirius’s shirt, kissing and licking the skin that he uncovers there. He traces Sirius’s tattoos with his tongue, kissing the skin afterwards.

Sirius’s hands are clenched in Remus’s hair as Remus moves down Sirius’s body, and Sirius can’t stop making noises, all these embarrassing, breathy moans. But when Remus gazes up at him, amber eyes on fire, Sirius can’t find it in him to care. He’ll shout the roof down if it means that Remus keeps looking at him like that .

And then Remus is on his knees, working open Sirius’s belt, nuzzling and kissing the skin of Sirius’s lower stomach.

Sirius moans .

Sirius’s brain is mush. He had thoughts, once, but he doesn’t remember what they were. He doesn’t remember anything outside of Remus. Outside of Remus and his mouth , and his fingers . His mouth that is on Sirius, and his fingers that are working him open so perfectly. Since that fateful day in spice week, Sirius has dreamed about having Remus’s fingers inside him. And now that it’s finally happening, he feels like he’s transcending.

Remus knows exactly what he’s doing. For a moment, Sirius almost feels jealous of all the lovers that Remus has clearly had before him. He feels bubbling jealousy at all the people that have seen Remus the way that Sirius is seeing him now: gazing up at Sirius, his eyes half-lidded, a strand of saliva connecting his mouth to Sirius’s head. And then Remus crooks his finger and Sirius’s thoughts are reduced to white static and bursts of light.

Remus pulls down his pants and Sirius bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

“Knew it,” Sirius breathes, settling in front of Remus, his hands on Remus’s hips. “I fucking knew it,” he murmurs, kissing up Remus’s shaft.

Sirius is overcome: he wants to worship Remus, wants to make Remus understand how much Sirius wants this, how much he’s thought about this, and how much this means to him. But he doesn’t think he could do that in just a single night. No, he’d need years to show Remus everything he’s thought about, all the different ways he’s imagined loving Remus.

“Afterwards,” Sirius promises, “I am going to worship you.” Remus licks his lips, staring down at Sirius. “But I need you. Now.”

Remus nods, dazed, as Sirius rummages through his pant pocket for lube and condoms. He starts trying to prepare himself, which seems to shake Remus out of his stunned reverie.

“No,” he says, batting Sirius’s hand away. “Let me.”

“Now,” Sirius whimpers. “ Please , Remus.”

They don’t make it to the bed.

Remus bucks into Sirius on the floor, his hips snapping forward, and his amber eyes burning. Neither of them has it in them to go slow. Not now, not after the intense build up. All the simmering tension between them has to be released.

And released it is. 

Sirius’s hands are everywhere, in Remus’s hair, on his arms, his shoulders, his back , holding on for dear life, his nails biting into Remus’s skin, as Remus takes him apart. Sirius has two coherent thoughts: Remus. And More .

He’s babbling, can’t stop talking: it’s just words, barely strung together. Remus can’t stop kissing him, kissing his neck, keening into Sirius’s ear as they move together, desperate and hard, on the floor. Sirius feels the burn of the carpet on the skin of his arse as Remus fucks him into the floor and he doesn’t care. He welcomes it. He hopes it leaves marks.

Remus looks down to where they’re connected, mouth open and eyes wide as if he can’t believe it. 

“Remus, baby, please,” Sirius begs. “Please, please, please .”

Remus, who has oozed quiet confidence since Sirius pushed him up against the door, blushes at the word ‘baby.’ And then he’s pushing into Sirius with renewed vigour, mouthing at Sirius’s neck, as Sirius clings to Remus, fingernails scratching down his back.

Sirius comes first with head thrown back, back arched, and Remus fucks him through it. Sirius’s vision almost whites out, but through it all, Sirius gazes up at Remus’s face as he watches Sirius come apart beneath him. 

And then Remus’s hips are stuttering as Sirius pants into his ear. Remus buries his face into the crook of Sirius’s neck, gasping, as Sirius kisses the side of his head.

“Yes, yes, baby,” Sirius whispers. “Remus. Come for me.”

Afterwards, Remus carries a sleepy, boneless Sirius to the bed. Under the covers, Sirius wraps himself around Remus like an octopus, with his leg draped over Remus and his head on Remus’s chest, ear to heart. It’s a reversal of the way they’d woken up that morning, and this time it’s Remus’s hands in Sirius’s hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. Sirius hums contentedly.

“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve fantasised about eating creme pat off of your body,” he says a little later, his mouth pressed to Remus’s scarred skin.

He feels the rumble of Remus’s laugh against his lips. “What?” 

Sirius lifts his head up and leans his chin on Remus’s chest so that he can look him in the eye. He smirks. “During the finale, I couldn’t stop imagining you bending me over your bench and fingering me.”

Remus drops his head back against the pillow and groans. “Sirius, fuck. What is it with you and my hands?”

“They’re sexy .” Sirius grins and traces the scar along Remus’s collarbone with his finger. “Y’know, one time I saw cardamom buns and I got so hard I had to wank in a public toilet.”

Remus laughs. “Ah yes, the famous public toilet incident.” And then: “why cardamom buns?”

“Spice week.”

Remus looks confused.

“Kneading,” Sirius clarifies.

“What—”

“That’s when I knew,” Sirius confesses. “When I saw you kneading your dough in spice week. I got hard so quickly I thought I was going to pass out.”

“Oh,” Remus says. He looks thoughtful. And then he laughs. “That makes sense. So the time you walked into a fridge…?”

“Bread week,” Sirius says. “I almost died .”

Remus laughs again. “I feel powerful. I had no idea my hands had such an effect on you.”

Sirius leans forward and nuzzles Remus’s neck, biting the skin there softly, then licking over it with his tongue. “You have no idea.” And then Sirius pulls back. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any surprise boners? Have I ever made you hard at an inopportune moment?”

Remus looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. Then blushes. Oh , Sirius thinks. This will be good . 

“I’ve had… erm, dreams about you,” Remus says, his voice slightly strained.

“Why I’ve had dreams about you too, Moony.”

“Not regular dreams… um. You know…”

Sirius laughs, even though he feels a familiar heat furling through his belly. “Little old for that, aren’t you?” He teases.

“I was a teenager.”

“Oh,” Sirius says. He blinks. And then: “Oh. Tell me more. Remus, please?”

Remus’s cheeks are bright red as he talks. “It was just when you’d started growing your hair long, there was this one picture of you with your shirt was open and... your tattoos… I would—I’d dream about them. How they might taste.”

Sirius inhales sharply, but Remus isn’t done.

“I’d dream about tracing them with my tongue, and the kind of noises you’d make as I… erm.” Remus swallows. “Sorry... I sound like a creep, I know you must hate hearing this from fans.”

“No,” Sirius rasps, reaching forward to cradle Remus’s cheek with his palm. “I mean… I do. Usually. But not from you. It’s different with you.”

“Oh.” Remus looks away, embarrassed.

“I’m not joking, Remus. It is different. If our situations had been reversed, I’d have been doing the exact same thing.”

Remus laughs as if he thinks it’s a joke, and he’s still not looking at Sirius.

So, Sirius continues. “Even if I wasn’t presenting Bake Off, I’d still be watching at home, getting all hot and bothered over clips of you kneading dough. So,” Sirius smiles, “We’re even.”

Remus bites his lip. He’s looking at the ceiling.

Sirius leans forward to kiss Remus’s chin. “First, I’d notice your eyes, your accent, and your smile . And I’d think, oh . He’s cute.”

Sirius bites at Remus’s jaw gently, and then pulls back. “Then, I’d see how you get when you’re concentrated, when you’re biting your lip and your eyes turn amber. And I’d think, oh . He’s sexy .”

Remus’s eyes flick to him finally. His amber eyes are swirling with emotion. “Yeah?”

Sirius sits up so that he’s sitting on Remus’s chest, knees either side of him. “ Then I’d be sitting at home, on my couch, watching you knead dough, wishing I could touch you. Thinking about what you’d do to me. How you’d touch me.”

Remus runs his hands—his hands !—up Sirius’s thighs and rests them on his hips. Sirius feels arousal furling inside, which is completely ridiculous, and should be impossible, seeing as they’ve literally just been at it.

“And I’d listen to you talk. To what you say. How you talk to other people in the tent. And I’d think fuck; I want to meet him. I want him. I want him to be mine .”

Remus gasps as his hands clench Sirius’s hips. “I am. I’m yours.”

“Good,” Sirius whispers. “Because I’m yours too.” And then he leans forward to kiss Remus. 

Then he pulls back, moving down Remus’s body, trailing his lips down Remus’s chest as he goes. 

Sure enough, Sirius isn’t the only one who’s affected. He licks his lips and takes Remus into his mouth.

Sirius wakes to Remus kissing along his jaw, nuzzling Sirius’s throat, humming. Sirius moans, reaching behind him to weave his fingers through Remus’s hair. 

He feels Remus smile against his skin.

Remus takes him apart again , but this time he’s needier. He keeps whispering in Sirius’s ear all the things he wants to do to him, how good he looks, how well he’s taking him.

As the first rays of morning sun shine through the curtains, Sirius grinds down onto Remus, his hands propped on his chest for balance. Remus’s hands are on Sirius’s hips as he moves, and he gazes up at Sirius. Remus’s hair is a mess from Sirius’s fingers, his neck a mottled canvas of red splotches, courtesy of Sirius’s lips, and his cheeks are flushed, his golden skin dewy from Sirius’s ministrations. 

Sirius has no idea how much time has passed like this, with Sirius slowly moving his hips above Remus. It could be minutes, it could be hours. He suspects it's the latter, as the sky was definitely dark when Remus woke him up.

He knows he looks like a mess, that his hair’s matted from the friction of his head against the mattress during their previous round, but when Remus gazes up at him like this, he feels like the most beautiful person in the universe.

At that thought, he clenches around Remus, who lets out a gentle, “ah!” and bucks up into Sirius as if he can’t help it. Sirius smirks and grinds down harder, and something flashes in Remus’s eyes. 

He flips them over, and Sirius doesn’t have many coherent thoughts after that.

“Wow,” Sirius gasps, afterwards. “I fucking love pre-coffee Remus.”

Remus, whose head is resting on Sirius’s chest stills for a second. He looks up, expression sleepy and hazy from his orgasm. Still, there’s a clearness in his gaze.

“Pre-coffee Remus loves you too,” he says softly.

Sirius bites his lip. “Yeah?”

Remus smiles slowly, shyly. “All Remus’s love you.” 

Then, he yawns, his eyebrows raised as if he’s surprised by it and Sirius’s heart burns with affection. He’s ridiculous. He’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

“That’s a relief,” Sirius says, his hands on Remus’s chest, his right hand over his heart, his fingers curling in slightly. “Because I’m so, stupidly in love with you.”

“Yeah?” Remus echoes, moving his hand from Sirius’s hip to holding Sirius’s hand over his heart.

“Yeah,” Sirius breathes.

Later, when Remus is in the bathroom, Sirius checks his phone. He blinks. He’s been bombarded with texts from James.

——

Prongs: Jesus christ Pads!!!!!!!

Fml

Im going to murder you

I hate u so much right now

Padfoot: ????

Prongs: Im in a hotel room w lils (v exciting, will tell you more later)

Had a wonderful night ;))))

Aside from the fact that I also had the pleasure of listening to u moaning all night !!!!!!!!!!

Like did u 2 even sleep

We r just wondering

Out of care and concern

And awe

Good god

Padfoot: HAHA

um

i don’t really know what to say

Prongs: Sorry is a good start!!!!!!

Padfoot: lol

to be fair, i specifically booked this room bc all the surrounding rooms were empty

so

not my fault!

Prongs: Hey same ;)))

Great minds think alike

Which Im usually grateful for

But not this time!!!!

It was extremely hard 2 concentrate on my own tender lovemaking when all I could hear was u moaning Remus's name

Tell Remus Im impressed by his stamina

But disappointed in him for enabling ur sinning

Padfoot: i’m not telling him anything

he’d probably get embarrassed and refuse to fuck me again :-(

Prongs: ……..

Oh

Actually……

>:)

——

Remus’s phone buzzes.

Sirius clambers across the bed to check it. Sure enough, it’s James. 

——

James: That was an impressive performance last night, young man

From what I heard thru the wall at least

Only mildly traumatising!!! :)))

Remus: Nice try dickhead

He’s in the bathroom

James: Goddammit Pads :\\\

Whats a man gotta do to get some rest around here

Remus: And as soon as he’s back we’ll be going for round 2 xxx

You have been warned

Get those earbuds in, old chap

James: Um not round 2

Round 50

How tf do you have more in u

Im impressed n terrified

Remus: When you’re a big boy you’ll understand x

Tell Lilypad I say hello

And am sorry about the racket x

——

Sirius gasps as warm shower water cascades over him. Hands firmly planted on the tiles, he twists around to look at Remus. He’s between Sirius’s cheeks, holding them open, as he works Sirius open with his tongue. His eyes are closed, his cheekbones dusted pink, and water drips down his face and hair. His eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Sirius, pulling back and licking his lips. He looks at home down there.

“I could do this all day,” Remus says, stroking Sirius’s arse cheeks, and leaning in to kiss him again, his tongue flicking out.

Sirius whimpers. 

Afterwards, Remus gently lathers up Sirius’s hair with shampoo, then conditioner, as he gently works out the knots.

“What happened, Pads? It’s a proper nest back here,” Remus says, laughing.

“You,” Sirius says simply.

Remus’s eyes flash and suddenly Sirius feels himself being flipped around and pressed into the tiles.

Sirius grins. And then leans in to kiss Remus.

****

Later, after they’ve showered and gotten (somewhat) dressed, Sirius attempts to prepare them coffee with the kettle and the shitty hotel coffee sachets. He takes a sip and grimaces, and thinks briefly about pouring them down the sink. He thinks better of it, though; disgusting or not, they definitely need the energy.

Coffees in tow, Sirius walks over to Remus, who’s seated in one of the armchairs by the window, overlooking the lake and mountains. He gently places the coffees on the little table. The noise startles Remus, who looks up at him, his brown eyes wide and unfocused. He looks sleepy, much as he had in Sirius’s kitchen, his hair a messy halo of curls. But there’s a satiated smile and flush on his face, and Sirius glows at the thought that he put it there.

Sirius tries to sit down in the other armchair, but winces as his tender arse makes contact with the hard cushion. 

Seeing his discomfort, Remus reaches forward and pulls Sirius into his lap. Sirius adjusts himself so that he’s straddling Remus, with his weight dispersed on his thighs.

He wraps his arms around Remus’s neck. “Thank you, Moony. My hero,” he says, fake swooning.

“No problem, Pads,” Remus says, smiling. “I may have gotten a little carried away...” He blushes.

“Mm. And I loved every second of it.” Sirius nuzzles Remus’s hand as he reaches up to brush Sirius’s hair behind his ear.

“Me too,” Remus says, still flushed, tracing Sirius’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I guess you’ll just have to fuck me today instead, hmm?”

Sirius’s brain short circuits at the thought of Remus writhing beneath him. He has to take a steadying breath.

“I look forward to it,” he breathes.

Remus ducks his head, and then looks up again, his chocolate eyes warm and tender. Sirius can see the love in them and it makes him breathless. He can’t believe that this is his life right now; that he’s here in this room with Remus after the night that they’ve had. 

Sirius buries his face in the crook of Remus’s neck. “Mmm.”

Remus hums. 

“Three more days of this,” Sirius smiles into Remus’s skin. “Three more days before we have to leave.”

Remus rests his chin on Sirius’s head, and Sirius leans forward to kiss Remus’s fluttering pulse. “What are you going to do after?” he asks gently. They haven’t broached this topic yet. In fact, they haven’t talked very much at all since falling into bed the night before.

Remus hums again and Sirius closes his eyes, the sound gentle and calming. “I honestly don’t know,” Remus says. “I’m leaving the cottage, but, otherwise…”

“Come stay with me,” Sirius says. “In London.”

“I. Really?”

Sirius pulls back to look at Remus. 

“Yeah,” Sirius smiles.

“Are you sure?” Remus asks, but there’s already a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” Sirius says.

And it’s true.

***

21/04/23

Review: Sirius Black - Moonlight

This week in music, we have a new release from England’s Sirius Black. Where Black’s first solo record was a lament on grief and loss, Moonlight is undeniably Sirius Black in love; and it suits him. Ever the controversial figure, this release has been shrouded in speculation and fan theories—most of which link Black to Remus Lupin, former contestant on the Great British Bake Off. 

Album highlights are Wisteria, Silver Spun, and the titular track, Moonlight. On Wisteria, Black wistfully describes his urge to escape the shallowness of modern life and fame with his lover. Silver Spun, on the other hand, is possibly the sexiest Black has ever gotten on a track before. The song is an ode to body worship, as Black intimately describes tasting every inch of his lover’s body with his tongue. His husky voice and the thrumming percussion merge to create a heady and passionate sound. The titular track, Moonlight, merges both the sweet yearning and the heady seduction of the above tracks. It’s an ode to love in its entirety. Here, Black apologises for overreacting, dreams of a future together, and croons about doing the dishes in the arms of his lover. 

The result is a mature and sensual record that never once divulges into the saccharine sound one might expect from a former boy band member singing about love. Whoever, or whatever, this album is really about, one thing is for certain: Sirius Black is unstoppable when he puts his mind to something.