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Another night with Remus and Sirius being left alone in their dorm, another night for them to fall asleep slowly and silently and awkwardly with no point to pin for reason. James was off under the excuse of midnight detention from Minnie, but Remus knew he was sneaking into the Slytherin towers again for a romantic escapade just as he had been for the past four days in a row and Peter was busy actually having midnight detention cleaning up the library. That was fine, Remus and Sirius were still friends without the two of them, but lately it had been weird between them. They’ve been weird before, but not quite as it had been recently. 

It was weird when they first met, when James so heartily introduced them in their first year, dragging a tiny and annoyed Sirius into the library and not stopping or loosening the grip he had on the other’s wrist until they both stood in front of a rather shy and cornered of his own desire Remus sitting in the back tables. It was weird the way James already referred to the both of them as his best friends even if he’d only known Sirius for a week and Remus for three days. Sirius had been nervous, it was quite obvious. He shuffled his feet strangely and wouldn’t look Remus in the eye until James elbowed him and the look in his eyes hardened and he snapped into a picture perfect representative of posture and poise– head held high and maintaining eye contact steadily, his hands stopped fiddling with his robes and laid over each other politely in front of him. He had nodded just once in Remus’ direction before extending one hand in faux confidence. 

Remus remembered hesitating to shake his hand, not knowing what possessed him to make him go from a bundle of nerves to proper and secure in seconds and not really caring to find out; he had enough to deal with on his own, he didn’t need another strange kid with more secrets than years to his age to be his friend. But James had been nice to him for those few days and hadn’t shied away from being his friend in any means despite his marred face and unique tendencies. Remus had been sure he would eventually, especially if he ever found out about the lycanthropy (even without that, he would never be a normal kid), but ultimately, he respected the kindness shown to him and the small frown pulling at James’ face made him choose friendliness over caution and he shook Sirius’ hand.

He saw the way the other boy almost pulled his hand back and the way his posture was so stiff it brought tension to his features, looking uncomfortable to keep holding, but he hadn’t mentioned it. James had introduced them by full name and Remus remembers so clearly the visual when he showed no recognition of the Black family and he watched Sirius’ shoulders slumping and back unstraightening and the heavy sigh that left his lips in a somber sound no 11 year old should know. Sirius was strange, but Remus knew he was strange too and something about the way James had become so quickly endeared to the both of them made him think maybe they could be friends too. 

It was weird when Remus first learned why the Black family name mattered so much to Sirius. Second year, Peter had joined their friend group about halfway through their first year and Remus found himself actually thinking that he might be able to keep these friends around. He was strange, but so were they. They were all strange together. During one sweet spring dinner of that year, they were all sitting and eating in the Great Hall together and a first year Slytherin who Remus didn’t recognize walked up to them. He tapped Sirius’ shoulder gently, interrupting a grand overly detailed and dramatized story about something that had happened in Charms class earlier. Remus thinks that as James and Peter were so absorbed in the tale, he was the only one who saw the way Sirius didn’t jump, but startled, and he could’ve sworn that as the Slytherin’s form casted a small shadow over Sirius’ face, he saw his friend flinch towards the table out of instinct before swerving his head back to look at him.

“Mother is sending a letter. Don’t tell her I warned you,” is all he said before walking– almost running, really– back to his own table. The first half of what he said seemed normal, but Remus was stuck thinking of the second half. He knew plenty of unwell parents, just not much of Sirius’.  James and Peter both quickly shrugged and resumed conversation, but Remus had watched Sirius for a moment longer. And when he looked at his friend’s face, he had paled considerably, his eyes were widened as if this wasn’t casual for him, and if Remus had to put a word to it, he would say Sirius looked scared. Not even five minutes later, a dignified black owl flew over most of the table before gracefully drooping lower and flying slower until it was over Sirius and it dropped a black and red envelope gently in front of him before turning and swooping away just as poised as it flew in. 

As insensitive as many 12 year old boys unafraid of punishment could be, Peter and James started pestering Sirius about his mother’s letter and begging him to open it and share. Remus seemed to be the only other one of them who understood what it felt like to be afraid of your parents. He could almost see Sirius’ hands shaking as he gingerly fondled the letter in his hands, the boy hadn’t blinked since it dropped in front of him and he hadn’t looked so small since the first day Remus met him. Remembering exactly what he said was difficult, but Remus knew he had tried to ask them to leave it alone. James and Peter had laughed it off, but Sirius hadn’t even seemed to hear him. There was a faraway look in his eyes, almost glazed over, and at the time Remus hadn’t known the word for it, but he knew dissociation when he saw it. He wore the look often enough himself.

He thinks it was Peter who leaned over the table and grabbed for the letter and only after the silky black paper left his hands did Sirius “snap back” into himself and he tried to grab it back, the fear in his eyes more present than ever as a quick “No, wait!” left him desperately, but Peter ripped the letter open as fast as he could before Sirius could paw it back. For a second, Remus had thought it was going to be okay when the letter fell from its envelope unceremoniously and flitted down onto the table, but when the fear never left Sirius’ eyes and he simply only looked more resigned and almost pained, he knew it wasn’t okay after all.

The letter was a howler. Remus doesn’t recall everything it said but it felt like it droned on for much longer than it should’ve, Walburga Black’s shrilly and agitated voice making the other students around them give a few glaring looks and even a couple who covered their ears from the piercing noise. The specific reason for the letter didn’t matter, but there were quite a few degrading words about Sirius in it, most of it was degrading, really. He remembered hearing something about a Black in Gryffindor being a disgrace, that he had betrayed his family, that their name was too good for him, that he would be no son of hers anymore if he kept disappointing her. While it did give him a sense of understanding, whatever the letter said didn’t matter, Remus only remembers being mesmerized in the worst kind of way by the quiet rage painted under humiliation on Sirius’ face. The way he was trying not to wrinkle his nose or furrow his eyebrows or scowl and would do so just slightly before fixing his face into an attempt at being neutral all as a weak layer of tears pooled in his eyes, never falling. It was in incredible display that left Remus sick to his stomach.

Once it had finished, he remembered Peter and James immediately apologizing and all four of them felt the weight of the Great Hall on them for the rest of dinner, but Sirius’ expression didn’t brighten for the rest of the night. Remus spared a glance at the Slytherin who came to warn Sirius after it ended and they caught each other’s gaze. He thought, in the second they stared at each other before he tore his eyes away, the boy looked regretful. Later that night, back in the Gryffindor tower while Remus was studying in the common room after his friends had gone to rest in their room, he heard some other students whispering about the Black family and how they wished Sirius would go to Slytherin where he “belonged.” It was a couple days after again when Remus mentioned the incident to James and then learned that that boy was Sirius’ younger brother, Regulus, and that his friend was the first of his family to not be sorted into Slytherin. Remus learned a lot of wizard blood and families that year, but he never could understand what about it mattered so much to them.

It was weird in their third year when Remus had walked around the corner of a corridor to see a group of older Slytherins talking to Sirius at the other end and to anyone else, it seemed friendly enough, but Remus was smart and he was observant and Sirius was his friend and he could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest, quick, rapid breaths, the shake of his hands, the fiddling of his robes, the shuffling of his feet, the way his eyes couldn’t land on any specific thing to look at and buzzed all over the room erratically. One of them, a taller girl with wild black curls and even paler skin than Sirius, with an energized look in her eyes that didn’t match her neutral expression, stepped closer, invading in his personal space, putting her face in his and whispering something to him that had his shoulders stiffening and his expression falling into that same paralyzed fear that the letter gave to him last year. Then, she leaned back and laughed– not a mirthful or warm laugh, but a high-pitched and wicked, raucous laugh so harsh it echoed. 

The rest of the Slytherins laughed as well, some threw a few smaller jabs at Sirius, but he only stood there, staring at the floor and burning a hole into it with how heavy and emotional his gaze was. Anger blossomed over the fear and painted his features in a horrible twisted light that Remus hated to see on him. He knew pain and he knew complicated families and he could guess that group was more relatives of his, though Regulus wasn’t among them. For a minute, he watched, afraid a fight would break out (started by who, he wasn’t sure), but nothing happened. They laughed at Sirius, they made jokes and degrading comments, one of them pushed him rather harshly, and another kicked at his feet as if in an attempt to make him stumble. Remus stayed put only out of fear that his presence might be the start of the fight, especially if he came out in a protective light of Sirius. All of the Slytherins seemed a good 2 or 3 years older than them and he and Sirius would be greatly outnumbered. He wouldn’t hesitate to jump in if a fight started, but he’d stay out of it as long as he could. 

After they left, Remus waited another moment to see what Sirius would do, but the only thing he saw when he looked back was his friend’s back profile leaving rapidly as he ran out of the corridor towards where he knew the bathrooms were. Now, he would’ve followed Sirius and made sure he was okay, but back then he was 13 and stupid and he let him run away. Vulnerable, bullied, abused, emotional, and all alone Sirius and Remus let him run away. It was almost ridiculous the way he still thought about it and the guilt that followed him, but Remus was no stranger to feeling remorse over his younger self. He didn’t like to say he looked at Sirius differently, but he did watch the other more carefully and he wouldn’t say it out loud, but he tried to keep them from walking around the halls alone any more than they needed to. That was the year their group started to truly be known for being attached at the hip, for being a package deal, and more than one comment was made of his newfound “clingyness,” but Remus would never admit that that was entirely on purpose and the whole point.

It was weird in their fourth year when they all four worked tirelessly to create the map and after one final late night working on it, Remus was so excited by the pure fact it was working and that he figured it out, that he had woken up the other three in a fervor. He didn’t know what time it was and they had classes in the morning, but the only thing that mattered at that time was letting the others know it worked, they were done finagling it, they had created a masterpiece of magic and mischief and Remus had never felt so proud of himself for accomplishing something before. After getting out their sleepy grumbles and mumbling nonsense to ask what was the reason for them to be woken up, Remus was engulfed in a group hug and had compliments spouted at him from all three and he didn’t think he had ever been so bombarded with positivity in his life.

His friends were grateful and amazed that he stayed up so late and had so much passion for the map to put in all the time he did to make it perfect, but Sirius acted much stranger about it then James and Peter had, he had a wondrous gleam to his eyes that Remus couldn’t place whenever they made eye contact. After their group hug ended, Sirius stood in front of him with James and Peter on both their sides and his hands hovered on each of Remus’ shoulders with a strange weight and he simply stared for a few moments. James was saying something, but Remus’ focus was glued to the way Sirius was looking at him, all bright eyes and a wide look. He looked proud, but it was secondary to some complex thing Remus wasn’t sure about, but it had him quieted in a strange way, stranger than Sirius usually was. 

Then Sirius’ hands tightened just slightly on his shoulders for half a second before he was being pulled into another hug, just him and Remus this time. One of his friend’s arms snaked around his shoulders fully, the other sliding down to round his abdomen, resting comfortably around him as Sirius buried his head between Remus’ neck and other shoulder. It was a lot more intimate when the hug consisted of just the two of them than when it was a group hug and that was the first time the two of them had ever shared that kind of contact alone. He remembered hugging back only slightly hesitant as he heard Sirius whisper, just for him, “You’re a genius, Moony. Bloody brilliant you are, nobody can touch you.”

It was the most genuine compliment Remus had ever been given. But after that, Sirius still continued to look at him differently with that gleam. After seeing it more commonly, Remus could see it was softer, fonder, more expressive and dynamic, a sense of wonder and enigmatic joy within the gray. He wasn’t sure why that night changed something between them, but it had. Bad wasn’t a way he would describe the change, but it was strange. He was glad to have gotten closer to Sirius though, he considers that night to be the night they might’ve truly became best friends in true novelty and fashion more than name and because they had a lack of other friends to compare their relationship to, even though Remus knew very well that nobody could touch the bond between Sirius and James.

It was weird in their fifth year when Remus learned the reason his friends had given their group such strange nicknames the previous year, not just because they were all simply strange teenage boys, but because they had struggled through the process of becoming animagi just to help him through his transformations. He hadn’t even known that they knew. It was the first time anyone had ever tried to help him even when he was a werewolf, most only helped Remus the boy, never Remus the wolf, and all three of them had done it and been proud to do it. Absolutely maddening it was to keep learning more and more exactly how well they all cared for him. Sirius’ animagus was a dog and that was strangely very fitting for him. Many jokes were made since then about them being “two of a kind” and Remus was never really too sure how to take them, but he noticed the way it made Sirius nervous to be a “pair” with him in any way. He noticed the way James would elbow Sirius and whisper something about how he and Remus were a good “couple” of dogs, emphasis included. It was a strange joke that he never fully got.

Joking about his own canid predicament was something Sirius did a lot, enough for it to be noticed by people who didn’t know the truth of it, but he still didn’t care. He was strange, they all were, and this wasn’t news to anyone. If anything, it was a worrying type of strangeness when any of them acted “normal.” But Remus didn’t quite understand why his friend was so comfortable and had so much fun being a dog until it came to being a dog with Remus. His anxious thoughts tended to call it Sirius’ way of being uncomfortable with his lycanthropy, not wanting anything to do with it, but Remus knew that was silly. There were countless other things Sirius did that contradicted that. No way was he nervous or scared of Remus in any form of it, no, not after these years of staring after him like he was some god among men. This ideation of Sirius’ that made him uncomfortable being “dogs” together never fully went away, but it lessened and he did act about it better and eventually, Remus didn’t worry about it anymore.

It was weird in their sixth year early on when Sirius tried pulling a “prank” on Snape, telling him the way into the Whomping Willow, readily placing him in front of Remus on a silver platter like he was a home-cooked meal. None of them knew what he was thinking, what the purpose of doing that was, what outcome he was expecting, but Remus did know that he would never be able to repay James for what he did when he saved Snape, even if that put him in danger of being hurt by Remus too. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he hurt either of them, hate himself further, of course, expelled for sure, imprisoned maybe, euthanized like the beast he was if he didn’t kill himself first, likely. Forgiving Sirius was hard, he still wasn’t sure if it was 100% water under the bridge yet, but they were able to go back to their regular dynamic, Sirius still looked at him as if he hung the stars– just with a new shadow of guilt and sadness behind it– and Remus still loved his friend like he was a dream, never meant to be a part of his sad reality. 

Remus knew he regretted it, he knew Sirius felt bad and he didn’t know the extent of his guilt completely, but he so clearly remembers all the late nights when neither of them could sleep and he would hear Sirius nearly crawl out of his bed, he’d hear the way his friend would kneel at the foot of his own bed, the muffled sounds of what sounded like him praying, begging a higher power to let him repent, to make up for what he’s done, to be a better friend until Remus could forgive him and it was something so tragic to hear from a boy he knew didn’t believe in any god. He never mentioned to Sirius that he knew about those nights, but there was one in particular when Remus heard him getting out of bed and instead of staying quiet, he had decided to call out Sirius’ name softly, a question, a request.

Sirius answered just as gentle, calling back to him the same before his routine changed for the first time, walking over to Remus’ bed. He didn’t know what to expect, but Sirius had nearly collapsed to his knees on the side of the bed, grasping at his hand like a lifeline and holding it so gingerly wrapped up in both of his own hands as if it held all the answers for the two of them, as if it was something precious. His thumb brushed over Remus’ skin and he could’ve sworn the touch lightened when going over a long scar on the back of hand. His head was kept down and he brought their joined hands to his forehead and, so low that he almost hadn’t heard it, started to beg the same forgiveness from Remus that he had from a god. Once more, Remus caught himself questioning just how highly Sirius thought of him. 

He went quiet after a minute or two of it, his whispered prayers didn’t stop exactly, but only slowing and getting lower until it was completely unintelligible and almost silent. Then, without a word of warning, he brought Remus’ hand back to his side and left it there, sliding his hands away so horribly slowly as if losing the contact was painful for him. He stood, leaned forward to brush a few stray hairs off of Remus’ forehead, and then pressed a sweet kiss to his temple as light as a feather and didn’t say anything else. Sirius simply made his way back to his own bed after that. They never talked about it and he never heard Sirius praying at night again, but Remus made sure to stick closer to him for the next few days, made sure to make his voice a little more soft– a little more gentle– when they talked, and he hoped it helped to aid Sirius’ guilt, to breathe his forgiveness into their shared air. 

And now, like clockwork, it was weird between them again in their seventh year. It’s been almost two weeks of weirdness and Remus wasn’t sure of the exact cause or solution this time. In every other year, he could pinpoint, if not the reason, the moment, things were weird between them or when something weird happened, but this time Remus wasn’t sure. There was no turning point, at least not with Sirius, but James and Peter have been out of their dorm most nights lately and that was strange. He knew, through entirely mischievous means, that James was seeing someone in the Slytherin dorms and that’s where he ended up most nights now. It wasn’t just that he was a hormonal teenager, but Remus did talk to him about it once and he was so utterly gone for who he was seeing that he did just simply want to sleepover and spend the night with them. It was sweet, the way he was so desperate to spend time with them that he snuck out more often than he found an excuse. Remus wasn’t told the exact reason they were keeping their relationship– if they were that far– a secret, but he wasn’t ever one to judge on secrets.

Peter was different, Remus wasn’t entirely sure why he disappeared most nights. Some it was midnight detention, some it was declarations of insomnia and a need to go scavenge the kitchens or the library or even just to go on a walk, some it was the same as James, sneaking away into another’s dorm to spend the night. Remus didn’t know which of those were true and which were lies and what else he got up to, but he didn’t care too much to find out, he was mostly worried about the way it seemed that those two were almost being deliberate when they left Remus and Sirius alone. Night was gentle and even through the glare and the threat and the mockery of the moon, Remus found himself liking the sweet course of it. But lately now, Sirius was being weird again and it was turning the only comfort of the night into something stilted and sour.

It wasn’t as if anything particular was happening, but anytime it was just the two of them in the dorm, Sirius would busy himself to the point of being unable to hold a conversation and rush through his nightly routine to get ready before immediately jumping into his bed and avoiding Remus’ pointed gaze following him through the dorm. It wasn’t the first time Sirius had ignored him, he had a recurring problem with avoiding his friends, though normally he broke after a few days at most, generally it was only a few hours. By now, however, this was the 13th day in a row that Sirius flatly refused to interact with Remus when they were alone. With the others during the day, in classes, even in the dorm at night as long as one of the other two was there, he acted as normal. But the second it was just him and Remus, Sirius became a different person. Shy, avoidant, lowered gaze, quiet movements, in these later years it was so rare to see Sirius in a non-confident air. Over the years at Hogwarts, Remus has watched Sirius learn how to carry himself individually, outside of what his family taught him, no longer trying to make himself smaller and invisible; now being able to grow within his own personality and finally having space to learn what he was like as his own person, Sirius has been flourishing these last couple years.

Remus swears he had been getting happier and gaining a brighter glow each day that passes and it was that observation of Sirius that had him loosening his grip on their friendship a few weeks ago, trying to allow Sirius to find himself outside of their friend group too, the four of them have been considered inseparable and “attached at the hip” for going on seven years now, after all. It wasn’t a dramatic growth apart, but just small things that Remus was sure would go unnoticed. He’d walk a little slower behind Sirius in the halls, whisper to him a little less in class, be a little less into the conversations when they ate in the Great Hall, cut the hangouts a little shorter and head to bed on his own before the others were ready. 

Though, even in his subtlety, Sirius still noticed. Curious eyes followed Remus more often than usual, and whenever they met, he noticed a veil of sadness covering them, an unspoken question urging Remus to explain why, why he was taking distance and holding space between them. He spent a few nights trying to think of the answer Sirius wanted, but none felt comfortable and correct enough to be explained out loud. So, Remus stopped distancing himself, thinking maybe he had been misguided, that being close to him and their friends was actually helping Sirius find himself better, but the sadness in his friend’s eyes when he looked at him didn’t go away and since had started the 13 days of weirdness. For all he was praised on his smarts, sometimes Remus felt like the stupidest man alive trying to figure out the enigma that was Sirius Black. 

He tried to talk to Sirius a week ago, in the library, hushed tone, over a few open books the group had been using to pretend to be studying, after James and Peter left to collect more snacks. Sirius had been in the midst of some rant over James’ secret lover and about seven guesses deep (none were correct or even close, he had yet to guess a Slytherin and Remus had a small inkling about why James always hid the map from Sirius when he snuck out) when the other two left, but he got quiet quick when he realized it was just him and Remus alone at the table; something about the lack of subtlety and clear refusal to act normal around Remus after practically begging him to maintain their closeness through eye contact alone made him reach the end of his near bottomless patience for once. 

“Out with it, your issue. I’m not waiting anymore.” For the first time in years maybe, Remus sees Sirius startle and look at him with wide, unsure eyes. It was weird. Sirius wasn’t supposed to be unsure and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be surprised by Remus wanting to talk. That face of Sirius’ hadn’t stared back at him since their second year, at least. He kept eye contact with Sirius almost impatiently, the quiet of the library making it seem like even his breathing echoed and he wouldn’t be able to handle much more of it. 

Quickly, Sirius swiveled his head back down to the table, eyes pointedly avoiding Remus’ on the way, “No issues, Moony, not for me.”

Remus scoffed and turned his head away, but he wished he saw fully how Sirius’ head snapped back up at him in surprise. Of course he would still not get answers. For how smart Sirius was, he had a bad knack for being unaware of when he was acting weird and entirely even more unaware that unlike him, his best friends will always know when he’s being weird. Decidedly not replying, Remus grabbed his scattered things on the table quickly and began making his way to the exit. He heard Sirius yell out after him and the resounding “Shh!” that followed, but he still walked out of the library alone. Even if their yearly weird patch was something Remus long expected by now, that didn’t make it easier to deal with.

He was 17 now and not nearly as stupid about his friends’ woes as when he was 13, but he was as tired as if he was already 50. Lycanthropy aged him, especially with how young he was bitten, Remus had already grieved the potential of life he had lost long ago. Dying young was an idea he was familiar with. It creeped into his dreams in the form of Fenrir, the moon, and the blood of his friends, forced itself upon him in the way every other new person he met told him he was mature and carried himself so well before being surprised he was still just a teenager, the gaunt and aged eyes looking back at him in the mirror, the spare gray hairs he swears sprout new every week. For years now, Remus has been almost alright knowing he’d be gone before 40, maybe even 30 with his luck. He didn’t have the time to waste figuring out things unsaid in forlorn attempts of conversations. 

Towing the line between pretending he was just like any other teenager and accepting the fact that he never really would be was a skill Remus prided himself over. Being one of the Marauders made him feel young, their jokes, their pranks, the sneaking out, the study groups, the late night whispers and giggles, the silly teenage drama, getting in trouble with professors. It was all overwhelming in a way, as if he was speeding through the events of youth that he wouldn’t have ever experienced if not for one James Potter and his crooked glasses befriending the weird kid for no reason other than he wanted to. Remus was young, though. Forgetting that was easy sometimes, but he tried to make himself remember. Untimely death wouldn’t steal his youth, not yet, he still had time to be a boy, it would be as a man that his time will get cut short. 

As much as he loved his friends, this was one thing they’d never understand about him. He had been running out of time since he was four years old, crying from a pain he didn’t even have the knowledge to understand yet. They tried to understand, they helped all they could, and that was enough for Remus, he didn’t begrudge them for not struggling of the same, that would be ridiculous. It created the slightest of rifts between him and the other three, but more than upset about that he was glad. He would go through 1,000 full moons alone before wishing his friends to do the same.

But that didn’t mean they were exempt from running his patience thinner than the pages of the books they were pretending to read and it certainly didn’t mean that he never got stiff with them. Pointedly, he made sure to not look back at Sirius. For all the irony it was worth, his “puppy dog eyes” were a menace– almost on par with Marlene’s– and Remus loved his friends just a bit too much to stay mad at them, even when they deserved it. Admittedly, his patience was a bit shorter with Sirius lately. Too many things he so clearly wanted to say, but never brought to his mouth. It was getting on his nerves. 

Luckily for him, he made it back to his dorm without any other annoyances and was able to sit in his bed and read for a good hour or two before anyone else returned. James was the first one back and, to Remus’ mild surprise, he was alone. Walking up to Remus’ bed, James whistled a slow song he didn’t know the name of, if there was one. He swayed his legs a bit extra with each step until he stood at the edge of Remus’ bed, staring down at him for a few seconds before quieting his whistles.

“Remus.”

“James,” he replied casually. James would come talk to him alone like this for many reasons, they were best friends independently of the group as well, of course. They were alone when James first confessed to seeing someone he didn’t think they would approve of, saying he trusted Remus to be able to keep it between them and have a sane reaction unlike their other, more gossip-hungry and dramatic, friends. They were alone when Remus first broke about his lycanthropy, tired of hiding and tired of excuses, trusting his “secret” the same to his best friend, the only one he thought might not treat him differently for it, the only person he’d seen so wholly accept anyone and everyone as his friend, no matter how dark of a place they came from or how many shadows followed them in the halls. Together, they’ve held a lot of secrets. 

“He’s scared,” James said, tone as easy and gentle as it always was, as he reached out and slowly pushed down the book Remus was hiding behind, giving him a very pointed and strangely friendly glare whenever he tried to lift it back up. He sat up with a sigh.

“Of me? Hm… and here I thought I’d found the only three people in the world who weren’t, what a shame.” James didn’t laugh, but there was a small twitch of the left side of his mouth making him almost smirk and Remus considered that a win, if nothing else.

“What you’ll think of him, he’s worried about it.”

“After 7 years? Bit late for that darling, my opinion’s long settled.”

James mirrored his sigh from moments ago, turning around and settling on the floor, back pressed to the side of Remus’ bed as he leaned his head back to lay it on the mattress. He closed his eyes as his head leaned back and Remus brought one hand over to rest in his hair, gently massaging James’ scalp as he began running his fingers through it. 

“He thinks you’re mad at him.”

“Only a little p–”

“Peeved? Yeah I figured,” James laughs, “you two are so… cyclical, you know that?”

Remus hummed, “I’ve noticed.”

They sit there for a few more minutes without saying anything else, Remus’ fingers only get tangled in James’ hair a couple times to no complaints. James opens his eyes and peers out at Remus, sticking his head back a bit further and stretching to do so. It’s a funny picture, the way his eyes bulge slightly and the mess his hair is when being played with, and Remus finds himself snickering a little. James relaxes his head and joins him in laughing for a moment before they quiet and he thinks some more on what words to say.

“He wants to be with you Moony, real and truly does.” Despite the comment James just made about him and Sirius, that’s exactly what Remus expected him to say because they’ve had this conversation before too, a handful of times over the years. James will say something about Sirius liking him, however subtle or otherwise he feels like being that day, and Remus always replies flippantly, avoiding acknowledging the truth that both of them know as clear as day. Part of Remus always felt like he was playing with Sirius’ feelings just by being his friend, but James has always assured him it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t share them or if Sirius got hurt from their proximity. Sometimes he believed that, sometimes he didn’t, it depended on the day and the closeness of the moon, among other things out of his control that Remus liked to blame his feelings on.

Remus isn’t sure what James’ goal is when he mentions it. They’re both well aware of Sirius’ feelings for him, have been for years, but James also knows very well that Remus– however close the two were– hadn’t shared those feelings. He’d tried pushing the two together before, they’ve been locked in a closet a total of 6 times– which he was keeping count of– forced to be alone in Hogsmeade, shoved under mistletoe the winter season of fifth year. That one was particularly rough and was the catalyst to the first and only genuine fight Remus and James have had, the confidence he had to keep pushing them together after that was unfathomable to Remus.

It was late on the last day before they were splitting up for Christmas break, a whole swarm of students flooding the Gryffindor common rooms (as well as the other three, the days before breaks were always spent with the students in groups, getting out the last of their social batteries and exclusive time in a magic castle with their friends). The students congregated in clusters of chaos all around and, in interest of the heart of the season, most of the professors simply turned a blind eye to it. They were loud, a few of the older students were drinking, it was almost a party. Remus hated it. All his friends could tell, it was obvious since he wasn’t trying to hide it. A scowl graced his face almost the entire hour and 14 minutes he was down in the common room and aside from the full moon being a week and a half away, he was already plenty stressed about going home for the holidays.

He didn’t make a grand exit, but his friends noticed his departure quickly. Sirius was the first to run after him, catching up to him quick and throwing an arm around his shoulder, asking where his holiday spirit has gone, if he’s gloomy because he’ll miss them. He grumbled some reply he didn’t remember that left Sirius frowning and shortly, James and Peter came running up to them whooping in good nature at Remus in an attempt to lift his mood, but all it did was make him roll his eyes, brush Sirius’ arm off of his shoulder, and walk up towards the stairs faster. Nothing mattered much to him that night other than just trying to sleep as much as he could before the full moon and going home. But his friends had different ideas, as they usually did. James reached out, grabbing his wrist and catching him in a half hug after he stumbled back down from the first two steps of the stairs before twirling him around and pushing him into the nearest doorway. 

“Gotta turn that frown around, Moody Moony,” James sang, his breath smelling just vaguely of the smuggled alcohol as Remus leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and watched him prance into the common room for all of five seconds before he came back, one hand fisted over something Remus couldn’t see. Then, James took an unexpecting Sirius by the arm and almost flung him into Remus, who reached out to stabilize him with a hand on each arm. Before he could even think about why Sirius was thrown into him, James had reached up on his tiptoes and attached a small mistletoe plant to the doorframe above their heads as Peter snickered behind him, yelling out to the common room that the two were caught. Remus heard resounding cheers come from the larger room as a few people even pushed their heads into the smaller side corridor to see. 

He tried to give James his nastiest glare, but his friend only laughed. Movement from Sirius caught his eye, he shifted his weight and leaned a little further away from Remus in a way just barely somewhere between being an accident and on purpose. That pissed him off more than anything, but he couldn’t ever fully explain why. Remus wouldn’t usually go as far as to call James a spoiled brat, but sometimes, like that night, that was the right descriptor. He cheered them on, shouting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” that a good amount of other students around started echoing and an ugly feeling swirled in Remus’ stomach, anchoring to his heart and dragging it down. 

Anger and shame filled him until he glanced down to look at Sirius and saw his friend looking at James in an almost devastated way. Betrayed was a good word for the look on his face, eyes widened and frown sorrowful, pupils small and allowing the blue of his eyes to shine brighter, chest moving up and down faster than it should be as his breathing heightened. He hadn’t even been looking at Remus, his eyes were only for James in a way they hadn’t ever been before. Usually, when Sirius was upset it was because of his own actions, not his friends’ and certainly never James’. Something about the sight of how much this little ploy had hurt Sirius made Remus’ anger melted away just enough for him to feel worse about Sirius than about himself and he did something rash, as he always did when he stopped being selfish.

Reaching one hand out slowly to cradle Sirius’ jaw and turn his head, Remus brought their gazes together and watched in what felt like slow motion as Sirius’ pupils dilated the first few seconds of looking at him. A dusty pink brushed over his high cheekbones in a way Remus hadn’t been face-to-face with before, he saw the softening of Sirius’ face as his attention was dragged from James and the mockery of them to just Remus in front of him. It made him feel a different sort of way, almost like he could have pretended these last years that Sirius didn’t have a crush on him, that they were friends and nothing more, and they would stay that way as long as Remus didn’t inhibit his feelings, but now it was right in front of his face and real. He didn’t want to play with Sirius’ feelings, but he wanted this night to end, he didn’t want his friend to have a fight with James, that was Remus’ to have. 

So, he put his other hand on Sirius’ waist and gently pulled them closer together, leaning down slowly so either of them could back out if they wanted to. But Sirius’ gaze never left his and Remus knew he was leaning up too, a small voice in the back of his mind told him he needed to pull away, to stop it from happening, but he knew the fake-out would be crueler than anything so after watching the flutter Sirius’ eyes closed with, he followed suit. Their lips met sweetly, just a tender touch for a moment and that’s all Remus was going to make it. Their friends’ resounding shouts and cheers surrounded them, solidifying the feeling that he’d done something wrong. Remus dropped the hand on Sirius’ jaw, sliding it off and bringing it down to the other side of his waist as he pulled away from the kiss. He saw the way Sirius leaned to chase after him, but ignored it in favor of drowning in the ugly feelings slowly swallowing him. Repent was for the lonesome of his bed, no visitors to be welcomed, only Remus and the hand of guilt around his throat would take residence.

He had expected the dazed look on Sirius’s face, the increased flush over his cheeks from pink to red, the slightest shine on one corner of his still-open lips, dark pupils blown wide– the thin ring of blue around them brighter than ever. It was the picture of what one would expect to look like after kissing the person they liked for the first time. What he hadn’t expected was Sirius bringing his hands up to Remus’ collar, gripping the fabric and bunching it in his fists, dragging him back down for another kiss. The yelling around them grew louder, but all Remus could hear was the pounding of his guilty and grotesque heart. 

Muscle memory worked faster than his brain back then, he had kissed back and that was a bigger mistake than kissing Sirius in the first place. It was a real and proper kiss, not a simple peck, more than just a touch, more than Remus should’ve given, but he did. Sirius kissed him like he’d been waiting for years to do so, because he had. It wasn’t rough, but the energy– the passion– behind it was strong, Sirius pressed up into Remus and took his hands from his collar, settling one around the back of his neck instead, pushing them impossibly further together and tilting his head for a better angle. Remus could pinpoint James’ whoop of victory out of the background cacophony of yelling easily, it was the loudest, the closest, the most clear, and it made him want to throw up. 

In all technicalities, the kiss wasn’t bad and if it had been with anyone else Remus might’ve been able to let himself enjoy it, but it was Sirius and he could feel every inch of care being poured into it and bitterly, he thought he might’ve stolen Sirius’ first kiss. A few times, Remus almost pushed him away, but the thought of being impossibly more cruel stopped him again. Maybe, if it was just  them in their dorm away from prying eyes and in their own corner of the world, he could’ve. He would have. But the watching and cheerful eyes of their friends and housemates stopped him. He still kissed back and now, looking back at that day, that might’ve been the crueler choice to make the entire time. It was nothing heavy, nothing hot, just a gentle push and pull of their lips and Remus thanked any god that existed that Sirius didn’t try to make it anything more than that. Luckily, it was only 10 or so seconds before Sirius himself pulled away, heaving a couple heavy breaths as if his breath was held the entire time and that only solidified Remus’ fear of taking his first kiss.

He almost couldn’t bear looking at Sirius again, but their proximity forced him too and something in his heart broke at the sight. Remus knew Sirius had had a crush on him for a long time now. He knew that and it was okay, a crush was something Remus could deal with. But that night, for the first time, looking at his friend after sharing a kiss, he had the idea that Sirius might be a little closer to being in love with him than previously thought. The softness in his eyes was unmatched then, a sweet and gentle smile gracing his face still painted in a deep red blush, and Remus had never felt more like the worst person to be called a friend.

He didn’t remember much else of that night, the kiss haunted him, the stress of the full moon and of his father allowed him to not think of much else. He didn’t remember exactly how, but he ended up escaping back to the dorm and getting to sleep without being caught alone with Sirius (not without effort to avoid him) and the next day, he busied himself with leaving and avoided it again. Sirius had sent him a couple letters over the break, but they were both well aware of Lyall Lupin’s thoughts on the Black family and his disapproval of their friendship. He never got to read those letters and by the time they returned to Hogwarts after the break, Sirius didn’t try to bring it up again. Remus didn’t know what he said in those letters or why he never brought it up, despite both being able-minded and they shouldn’t have forgotten, but he saw the guilty looks James would send both of them, the discomfort of Peter when they all hung out together and for once, Remus had felt left out of their friendship, as if the three of them had talked about it and came to a conclusion without letting him know.

James had sent him a few letters over the break too, each one apologetic and even a couple with money and sweets enclosed that Remus sent back in secret before his father caught sight of them, he also sent back a few actual replies that part of him would consider deserved and the other would think rude of. They talked about it a few days after the break ended, James making sure the dorm was empty other than the two of them and seeming genuinely regretful. Remus forgave him, of course he did, and they moved on. Even Sirius had seemed to move on from the debacle, but the fond rose-colored glasses over his eyes never left. He still blushed when they got too close and watched him so openly when he thought Remus couldn’t see it, still doodled the moon and the stars in the margins of his notes in class thinking it was subtle. Remus was brought back from reminiscing by James lifting his head stoutly, knocking Remus’ hand out of his hair and turning to face him, a solemn look over his face.

“Do you um–” James cleared his throat before continuing, “Do you remember when Sirius told us he has trouble remembering?”

Of course he did. It was the first of a few confessions Sirius would say, always in the same way. Late at night, after they all part ways to go to bed– but before any of them fall asleep– and he starts small, just a whisper out into their dorm that he has something he wants to tell them. Then, a few moments pass as he gathers the courage needed to speak it out loud as the three of them try to still even their breathing to give Sirius all the space they can. Finally, he speaks out his confession to the stilted air and breathes out the deepest sigh he can manage and they don’t talk about it, not at that moment at least. If they do want to talk to Sirius about it, or vice versa, they do it at a later day. For that time, the only thing that matters is Sirius airing out what he needs to. 

They’ve all confessed like this before and it’s a sacred tradition, no matter what gets said, nobody gets to reply until at least the sun rises on the next day. It’s how Remus told Peter and Sirius about his lycanthropy, still unaware they already knew, it’s how James told them he doesn’t like Lily anymore and he thinks he might like guys, it’s how Peter told them he felt like he was falling behind in school, not smart enough to keep up with the rest of them. For as close as any other friends got to them, that tradition was for the four of them, the legendary Marauders, and them alone, untouched by anyone else.

“What about it?” Remus asked gently, staring back into James’ eyes and feeling like he was about to bear witness to bad news at the way his friend’s expression fell.

“Fifth year, th– the party,” James stuttered through, not even trying to hide how nervous he was, “he doesn’t remember that you two…” As his words trailed off, Remus understood. Sirius didn’t remember their kiss. Now, his “ignoring” of it made a lot more sense. The idea had crossed Remus’ mind before but Sirius’ memory was never usually so bad to forget something like that. He forgot dates and times, when homework was due, what color something was, the executive plan for a prank, how long ago a conversation was, details. Details were what he forgot, not whole experiences and things as important as a kiss with the person he liked, with his best friend. 

“Moony, did you ever ask him why he forgets things?” 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Remus replied. Admittedly, he never did think about why Sirius would have memory issues, he thought it could be genetic, could be a response to his childhood (Remus himself barely remembered anything from before he came to Hogwarts), or it could’ve simply just been how his brain was wired, to not need certain information, some brand of neurodivergency maybe. James brought one of his hands up from the floor and placed it gently over Remus’ that still sat just next to his head, his expression got even lower somehow. 

“You know his family is bad. We all know that, that’s why he lives with me now, but whenever he would go home… His moth– Walburga is a vicious woman and Sirius is– he was her least favorite son.” It was all things Remus had heard before, but there was a heavy weight to James’ retelling that told him he was missing some very specific context.

“She heard a rumor about it, your kiss, not even a for sure thing, just some gossip hog,” James’ voice became the slightest bit choked up, taking a second to let out a small sniffle, but he wasn’t crying, just simply emotional as he continued– his voice lowering into a whisper, “And Obliviate is a spell too kind for her she– Sirius was… Crucio’d until he had forgotten. He doesn’t know I’m telling you, he doesn’t even know I know.” A gasp left Remus unintentionally. He’d heard in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that powerful spells like the Cruciatus Curse had the ability to hurt a person more than just physically, he knew Sirius’ family was unkind and abusive, but he hadn’t thought that they would ever go that far against their own son. 

James looked away from him, putting his face down into the bedsheets and mumbling out something more that Remus had to focus to hear in a way he barely could, “Regulus told me a week or so after we got back, he watched it happen. Got threatened about it too that if she even heard a whisper that he liked a boy, he'd get the same.” A horribly scared feeling came to Remus and he knew it showed quite clearly on his face because James very quickly continued, lifting his head and almost rushing out, “He warned me plenty Moony, don’t worry. He’ll be moving in with us too soon, my parents are thrilled. You could stil–”

“He needs me, James, I’m not leaving him yet. He’s not that rough.”

James nodded solemnly, he had been trying to get the Marauders and any other friend he deemed unloved enough to move in with him and his parents, to all be collected under one safe and loving roof. It was sweet. Delusional and all too altruistic and a plan full of optimism, but sweet nonetheless and Remus appreciated it every time he declined the offer. James turned back around and laid his head backwards again on the mattress, letting his hand slowly fall back down to the floor. Maybe it was the lingering awkwardness of thinking and talking over Sirius’ feelings for him, maybe it was the recent lack of sleep, maybe Remus was just a smidge more tired than usual, maybe he only wanted to change the subject, but he asked James a question that had been following them and their friendship for years.

“Do you think I like Sirius? That I’ve been lying this entire time?” It rings out in the empty dorm room like a gunshot, an idea they’ve both thought of plenty of times before, but never spoke out loud, almost like a secret they made together but kept to themselves as if it was theirs alone. James doesn’t move from where he sits, but Remus can see how he stills and swears he can feel the weight of his friend’s gaze shift down to the floor and he feels the pull as if being dragged down with it. Remus can tell the question threw James off by the stagnant silence in the time it’s taking him to reply and bitterly, he thinks it’s funny that addressing his pushiness of him and Sirius is what makes him clam up while ignoring it fuels his attempts. 

Gingerly, Remus lifted himself slightly from where he rested on the bed and slid forward, carefully swinging his legs off the side to not hit James, and slumping down until he reached the floor and sat next to his friend. In Remus’ peripheral vision he sees James drag his eyes from the floor to his face, a small tilt of his head giving an unfair doe-eyed look that almost made Remus feel bad for bringing up their unspoken secret. Their feet knocked together just barely, a miniscule touch that sent a small vibration throughout their legs. James leans over to lay his head on Remus’ shoulder and in turn, Remus laid his own head on top of his friends’ gently. James was touchy, everyone knew that; it was how he showed his love. Remus might not be the touchiest person around, but he’d be damned if he didn’t love his friends in the language they knew best. 

“I think you could like him, if you tried,” James speaks quietly, as if the meekness of his reply would make it easier to say. Remus doesn’t know how to reply to that for a few moments, but he settles on a simple, “Why?” to try and understand James’ view of them better.

“You’re the only other person I’ve ever seen Sirius truly comfortable around. Completely relaxed, not a care in the world for how you see him as long as you keep watching. He doesn’t like attention even if he pretends to, but he loves it from you, you keep him real and I think he does the same to you. The two of you…” James breaks off for a moment and Remus can almost hear the gears in his head turning as he thinks of different ways to explain and phrase his thoughts. Words weren’t James’ strong suit, but it was one of his most admirable characteristics that he tried so hard to figure them out anyways. 

“You’re my best friend, Remus,” he continues, abandoning the previous thought, “and you know I’d never push you towards something I didn’t think was right for you.”

Remus hummed lightly, approving the message, but not wanting to move from their position just yet– even as the crick in his neck started to flare up at the awkward angle of it. James needed to know that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t angry, that he was just trying to understand, and that was more important than any soreness he might leave with. Still, there was something that James’ answer hadn’t satisfied for him.

“What about me?” It’s vague, Remus had always had a bad habit of not wording his questions clearly enough, but James was the most understanding man to ever grace Remus’ life and maybe the Earth as a whole, he always knew what was meant. It was a gift, maybe even a sixth-sense of sorts, he was fluent in every language they spoke, no matter how niche or difficult to translate. Throughout all of their years knowing each other, the way James always carried himself never waivered, the gentleness of a “miracle baby” born to older parents who cared for him above everything else, no estranged siblings or family burdens, all unconditional love, open arms, bandaged scrapes, punishment free but full of life lessons and teachings. He was his parents’ child through and through and Euphemia and Fleamont Potter above all raised a good man. 

Love poured out of James Potter and bled into all the damaged friends he’s made in his life. Maybe there was something in the light of him that attracted all the dark and broken things inside of them as if they were all but tiny moths dancing in the warmth of his fire getting healed by the safe surety of his friendship. Now they were all branded and stained with the inky signature of James Potter, taking his influence and carrying it with them for the rest of their lives because he was the kind of person you only meet once in a lifetime. He’s loud, vivacious, and nearly always the smartest in the room with a nasty talent of being simultaneously the most endearing and annoying person. Unbounded optimism breathed out of him and infected the air. James was the poster boy of a best friend, the boy next door, and that kind and gentle type of person who saves you without even trying, the stranger you still think about five years after you had a talk with them.

Remus long thought James was just a spoiled only child of rich parents. He had an air of “I can do whatever I want and get no repercussions” that screamed out in the way he held his head lofty and high like he sat on a pillar built of confidence and self-esteem, an addictive personality that no bully or pessimistic downer could ever get him off of. Remus thought he was naive, rude, and had no concept of “real problems.” Some of that might’ve been true at the time they had met, but over the years he had learned a different view of James. He was “spoiled” because his parents loved him and he was used to getting good things, to being cared for rather than taking care of others so he had high standards for what he wanted. He didn’t consider consequences a threat because his life had been full of lessons and learning and furthering his morals rather than being punished, to fail or to make a mistake had been to gain the opportunity to learn why he had been wrong, why something hadn’t worked, why he shouldn’t do that, mistakes were normal. He was “naive” because for his entire life, James was solely surrounded by kind and generous people, because he never had any reason to doubt the safety of his home or its other inhabitants, he had been raised to believe in the good of people. 

There were many times and many reasons that Remus had to reevaluate his thoughts on James. He had met Euphemia and Fleamont, for one. The first time Remus had visited the Potter household he was scared. It was the summer before their fifth year and he was the last of their friends to visit (even Dorcas and Marlene had been before him), it would be the first time he would be away from his father for more than a few days outside of school. Their house, more of a manor really, was impressive and it might’ve been the largest house Remus had ever seen. There was a friendly growth of vines over the ornate black wrought iron fences and a variety of hanging plants decorating the warm stone exterior. The lights were all a bright and welcoming yellowish orange, a few lanterns lighting up the path to the large wooden and arched double doors. Distantly, he could see a lush garden and a distinct cobblestone path leading to a gazebo and outdoor kitchen area that might’ve been the size of Remus’ entire house. He couldn’t tell how many floors the actual manor held; it might've been four or five, but it hurt to crane his neck trying to see when he was standing at the door. 

It was raining when he arrived, a couple weeks into the summer and it was only a light sprinkling, but Remus clearly remembering being scared that his first introduction to James’ parents would be ruined by his damp clothes and weird half-wet hair that flopped strangely over his forehead from the weight of the water. He already felt like he didn’t belong just based on the scope and size of their house and the way every visual of it screamed of old money, family names, and generations upon generations of magic and history built into the very foundation of the building. But the door opened in front of him to reveal two tall figures, both smiling at him and not hesitating the slightest to usher him inside to get warm and dry. Euphemia called him “darling” and Fleamont called him “son” and the hearth in the massive living room was already lit and on fire (he remembered being excited in a way that it was even a real fireplace rather than a simulated one). 

The ceilings felt as tall as some of Hogwarts’ own– directly displacing the multi-floored look from the outside, but Remus couldn’t tell if it was simply misleading or a magically-tuned space– and there was a geometrically patterned texture carved into them as if the ceilings themselves were part of the decor. The entire room was homely, all neutral browns and earthy greens with houseplants hanging from the alcoves along the walls and multiple thick knit and wool blankets tossed over the back of a sophisticated, but soft couch that could probably fit 12 or more people on it comfortably, and candles illuminating the space in a safe and gentle way. 

There were bookshelves built into a few of the walls and lining the fireplace, another arched doorway leading to the kitchen where Remus could see the most beautiful light polished wooden countertops and all the shiniest and fanciest looking black metal appliances he’d ever seen with a large farm sink below a window that looked out into more gardens. A small sunflower magnet was stuck to the fridge holding up a drawing of the house that looked to be made by a child, all squiggly and crooked lines and scribbled coloring. Another magnet shaped like a pink petal-y flower that Remus didn’t recognize held up, presumably, James’ Hogwarts admissions letter.

Not a single shelf in that section of the house was left empty, all were filled to the brim with books and knick-knacks and novelty decor and more books. Remus recognized a lot of their spines from the same copies he’d seen in the Hogwarts library– there was a good amount of classics and informational non-fiction lining the shelves, but the ones that really caught his eye were the stacks of muggle fiction literature taking up almost an entire two dozen shelves on their own. He noticed some decorative shelves filled with magical relics and antique looking figures, there was a scattered amount of gems and crystals across the room too, a few towers used as bookends, some larger raw specimens in clear displays cases around the room, a large mossy agate skull on top of the fireplace, a rose quartz heart on an end table at one side of the couch.

Euphemia wore her hair up as she fretted over how long Remus had stayed out in the cold rain waiting for them, telling him that their door was always open and meaning it literally. Her complexion was fair and so was her hair in the messy braid laying over her shoulder, a few strands loosely and asymmetrically framing her face in an almost platinum blonde color. Reading glasses were perched on the tip of her nose as if they had slid off a bit in the commotion of pulling him into their house. Her eyes were green and bright and stuck out among the rest of her features, a small taking of wrinkles shadowing her eyes and tugging at the corners of her mouth gave her face more depth. 

Remus thought she was pretty and looked kind, but he also noted that James didn’t take after her much. They had matching beauty marks underneath their right eye and maybe the shape of their nose was almost the same, but he looked closer at Fleamont and it all made sense. James and his father shared the same hair, all dark curls loose and unkempt, the wide-eyed and inquisitive eyes, their darker, tanned skin, the freckles over the bridge of their noses, they even shared the same frame of glasses. Fleamont’s hair was a little more gray and eyes a bit more weary and his clothes somehow more wrinkled, but Remus thought he had quite a good idea of what James would look like when he’s older now. 

Remus had been afraid back then that they would start asking him questions, about his own family, about his scars, about the clear terror and anxiety wrecking his body just from standing in their home, but none came. They already knew his name, James had told them. He had also told them about his love of literature and chocolate, the material his favorite sweaters were made of, the silly non-life threatening fears he had, and his favorite classes to study. 

It was only a few minutes before James’ footsteps pounded down the opulent spiral staircase between the kitchen and living room and he came to pull Remus away, laughing excitedly about how he finally came and about all the fun things they were going to do and every quirk of his house he had to show off; it hit Remus then, as he looked back at James’ parents to apologize for the rude taking away of him, when they only waved the two boys off and wished them to be safe and have fun, looking at him like he was another son of theirs even though they had only met him for a few minutes, that he realized how truly wrong his early ideas about James were. 

His visits to the Potter household weren’t too frequent, he still felt out of place among their grand and wealthy home no matter how comfortable and safe and welcoming they made it, and he had to take care of his father after all. But Euphemia and Fleamont Potter never failed to make him feel as though he did live there, that he was just as much their son as if he had been born there, that they loved him like they loved James and he knew he wasn’t special, he knew they treated Sirius and Peter and Regulus and Marlene and every other estranged and lonely kid James drags home the same. He’d even heard from James that Regulus had brought Barty and Evan over once and that he had never seen the two more polite and well behaved than when sitting at the kitchen island, talking with Euphemia. 

(And later, because of how preposterous and unsound the story seemed, he asked Regulus himself if they were really that well behaved and found that they had broken one flower vase, a crystal tower, and knocked down at least 3 shelves of books as well as spilled the tea made for them twice, but that the Potters took it in stride and Euphemia made them white chocolate and raspberry cookies and that the two were gone from there, sitting and talking to the older woman for over 3 hours and with surprisingly only one scandalous joke from Barty asking if she needed a second husband– which she did not, of course, but laughed with the boy about it all the same, claiming his flattery wouldn’t win him more cookies)

That made it better though, it truly showed how deep their kindness and love was and it painted an even clearer reflection on James and how he shared their same ideals. He made friends with the weird kids because he didn’t see anything wrong with being different, and that made him just as weird. He never judged his friends for their issues, family related or otherwise, because he knew how to be kind and open-hearted. He tried to get any one not loved enough in their home to come and live with him and share his parents because he knew with his entire heart that his home was safe before it was anything else. If Remus were more true to his feelings or if he had a weaker conscience or if he was just a bit more selfish, he would’ve moved in with James and his parents that first summer he met them, maybe even earlier. He considered himself many things, but selfish was one descriptor he wouldn’t allow himself to take.

James stirred beneath him so Remus lifted his head and watched as his friend squirmed away from him and scooted backwards across the floor until they both sat face to face instead of side by side. They shared eye contact for a minute until James sighed, looked down towards the floor, and reached his hand out to hover over Remus’ that sat on his thigh as if asking permission to hold it. It was a silly thing he did, asking permission for things he’s long since been granted, but if he didn’t do that, he wouldn’t be James. So Remus lifts his hand just enough to touch James’ as a silent ‘yes’ to an already silent question and pretends he doesn’t see the lopsided smile unconsciously spreading over James’ face as he leans forward just slightly enough to grab at his wrist and pull his hand forward before turning it gently to hold it just right, like it was something precious and intact, not broken. 

“You laugh more when Sirius is around. First time I heard you laugh was because of him actually, he made some dumb comment on Snivellus and you thought it was clever,” James’ eyes didn’t leave the floor, but his thumb began drawing lazy circles over the space between Remus’ forefinger and thumb on the back of his hand, “I know you say we’re all your best friends, but if one of us had to be it, it would be him. Pads brings out a side of you I don’t think anyone else can. You’re less tense, you smile more. Wicked too, the both of you, he makes you more creative and you make him smarter, I swear.” That gets Remus to laugh a little. Just a small huff bordering a well-meaning scoff, but it gets James to laugh too, something almost able to be considered a giggle like he was proud of himself. 

“Why have we never talked about this?” Remus asks, genuinely not knowing the answer. He was scared he might’ve invited an awkward or tense atmosphere into their friendship delving into the whys of James Potter and his meddling, but it was only a gentle, somewhat funny, conversation just like all the same ones they’ve had before. Nothing felt wrong or like he was overstepping or offensive. No need to be defensive or claim harder that he doesn’t like Sirius that way because James wasn’t trying to twist his words to make it sound like he did. He just genuinely thought they’d be a good couple. 

That makes Remus laugh a little harder. James looked startled for a second before joining in, he had always said that out of the four of them, Remus’ laugh was the most contagious. Peter’s was a close second solely because he had a tendency to snort mid-laugh. Sirius and James laughed almost as much as they spoke so it was a lot more normal to hear it from them, but the three all unanimously agreed that their Moony has a secret and special laugh, one that just begs to be acquainted with. It’s little and airy, but his whole chest heaves into it and when he really gets into it, his laugh can echo but the pitch stays low enough for it to be considered soft. Sirius has described it as “heavenly and the song of angels,” just as James has said it’s “unique and sounds like a bass, really shining when other ‘instruments’ join in,” and Peter has, once, said it was sometimes creepy at night– but he laughs when he’s nervous so it works out either way.

“He came up with our animagi plan, Sirius did,” James says, slowly still coming down from the laughter as he reignites their eye contact.

“I thought you were supposed to be the one with the dumb ideas?”

James gawks at him for a few seconds, trying to blubber a reply to fight for his dignity, but Remus only laughs again and says gently, “Sirius is supposed to have the flashy ones, Peter’s are sneaky, mine are smart, and yours are all dumb with a dash of luck, remember?”

He was referencing the speech James had given the three of them in their dorm room after begging Dumbledore and McGonagall for a roommate switch for almost 3 weeks (and begging his parents the same to donate a large sum towards Hogwarts as a bribe). He had dragged them all into their new shared room after dinner as McGonagall helped the rest of their house figure out the switch, he had Sirius gripped by the wrist in one hand and Peter by the forearm in the other as Remus followed behind them, but he still whipped his head back to make sure he was still there at least 10 times along the way. 

Once they got there, all the boys’ things were already moved and James used their luggage to create a makeshift stage, climbing over it and standing tall above them, giving them a speech about how they’d be the greatest friends to ever grace the castle’s halls and how the legendary Marauders will live forever in the Hogwarts history books. He made grand claims of fame and fortune and love and dropped a few ideas of how they’d do it and even back then, James was a great observer and he saw the way all three showed at least a bit of attention when he mentioned pranks as a way to gain infamy and he explained thoroughly the process they’d follow and how each of them would provide for their “dream team.” It was the day Remus decided maybe these friends really were just as strange as he was and that maybe he wasn’t alone in not being like other kids.

“Might be how it usually goes, but Siri was real broken up about not being able to help, stayed up all night in the library tryin’ to find a way,” James replied, serious enough that Remus knew it was the truth, but with his same gentle and slightly-sarcastic tone that said it wasn’t a secret or big reveal. But either way, it was something new to consider. Remus hadn’t actually thought much on how his friends came up with the brilliant(ly stupid) idea to become animagi, he had just figured it was a group effort or dare gone wrong that actually ended up useful. 

James kept rubbing circles into Remus’ hand and they fell into silence for a few minutes before they both looked towards the door as heavy footsteps from outside approached it. Gently setting Remus’ hand back down on his thigh, James helped himself up and once he was standing, looked back down at Remus for a half-second, sniffled once, nodded, and said, “He’s beating himself up about liking you lately,” the footsteps reached the door and it opened to Sirius and Peter running in with their arms full of snacks, a muffled shout from the common room telling the other two that they most likely stole them, “You should talk to him.”

James left his side then to group off with Peter, sorting through everything he brought in, as Sirius made his way over to Remus’ bed, shooting him a questioning glance as he waltzed over as if he was asking permission, or maybe just because Remus was still sitting on the floor. Just in case, Remus nodded and stood, patting the end of the bed with one hand and adjusting his pillows to make room before sitting back down on it and waiting the last few seconds for Sirius to reach him. With a sigh that weirdly seemed a bit relieved, he sat down and onloaded his bunch of snacks in between them. Remus thought for a second it seemed like he was trying to make it a wall to separate them but that would be ridiculous. 

Staring at his friend’s face, Remus felt stuck thinking about all he and James had talked about, but mostly the abuse that caused his memory problems. The thought of something so horrible happening to someone who tried so hard to be his authentic and loving self, who had to take years to learn how to live without fear, made him feel sick. Sirius was beautiful, he could admit that freely. Soft features over smooth skin caged by his well-cared for hair that grew longer every year, giving him an androgynistic glow, a long and elegant nose underneath a piercing gray gaze lightly outlined in blue, his heavy individualistic ways and stubborn, yet calculating, nature that all added to his charismatic allure. He couldn’t imagine someone that beautiful being in that much pain. Remus knew very well how attractive Sirius was, especially now in their seventh year, growing out of his chubbing youthful features and into the refined and strong picture of an adult. It almost hurt to think about how little, serious or casual, relationships he had been in, both of his own refusal and of their legacy in school, but all the same Remus knew he was at fault for it in some part.

Softly, Sirius spoke first, “Who did you need to talk to?” He lazily opens up a chocolate frog as he asks, the crinkle of the wrapper being a nice background noise for Remus to focus on instead of figuring out a reply. The Dumbledore collectable card stared at him, in the few seconds before it was tossed to the side, in a way that felt too judgemental for the most common pull. He hears a couple hushed whispers from James and Peter as they both slink over to the door behind Sirius’ back and a sigh leaves him as he realizes they’re being left alone again. James sends him a big exaggerated wink and a thumbs-up as Peter waves on their way out. The click of the door echoed through their dorm and Sirius’ head swiveled around harshly to see. He kept there, looking back at the door, for a few moments before turning back towards Remus with his head down. Sirius sighed before clearing his throat and taking a hard swallow, focusing back on the candy wrapper in his hands and acting as if he hadn’t just started a conversation. Irritation crawled back into the pit of Remus’ stomach, but for the sake of James and his insistence that they should talk, he ignored it in the stead of continuing on as if Sirius wasn't being weird.

“You, actually.”

“Ah… is that so?” Sirius replies stiff and unsteady, his hand dropping back into the candy pile between them in a picture of nerves. Gingerly, he pulled out another chocolate frog and held it out to Remus as if it was an olive branch. He took it, the stomach ache later would be more than worth the rich and velvety flavor of the sweet to get him through the rest of this awkward conversation. After tearing it open carefully as he always did, an amused Bathilda Bagshot stares out at him from the laminate for a second or two before she also gets tossed to the side with the other card. 

“I don’t want it to get any more weird between us,” Remus says as confidently as he can manage, trying to feign that he has all the poise and surety of someone who isn’t about to potentially have the most awkward conversation of his life with his best friend. Sirius impossibly stills more, so much that he could almost be a statue. Remus isn’t even sure he breathes for the next few seconds. 

Then, stiltedly and stammering and eyes fixated on the bedsheets like they were made of pure gold, Sirius replies, “It’s not that weird, is it? You know then? Figured you would soon enough, never was good at hiding it.” 

Now Remus gets it, Sirius thought he had only recently found out about his feelings. What a horrible conversation this would be. His friend’s eyes were wide, almost scared, and that only catered to growing the weight pulling down Remus’ heart into his stomach and pumping it full of guilt and apprehension. He didn’t want to break Sirius’ heart or let these feelings come between them, never had, but whether he wanted them to or not, clearly there was something about it still bothering and disrupting their friendship from Sirius’ end anyways. The space Remus tried to give him was probably what was needed, but his attachment to their friendship made him pull Remus back and now his feelings had grown into something unable to be confined and they both felt it. 

Before they could get anywhere, Remus knew he’d have to come clean and expose his years of willingness to ignore and deceive Sirius by pretending he didn’t know. He’d have to admit to his abuse of their friendship, the torture he was putting Sirius through, all the clear signs he pretended to be blind to just to keep himself out of an awkward conversation. The strain of all of his foolish choices must’ve been heavy on Sirius’ shoulders. Remus had been selfish to pretend their friendship was never affected by his feelings. 

“I’ve known for years,” he says it quickly, blindingly, as if the faster the putrid words of acid left his tongue, the faster the burn of them would heal. He watches though, in almost slow motion, the way Sirius’ head whips up to look at him and the wide-eyed face of fear morphing into a deeper, more tragic, heartbreak. A betrayal, that’s what Remus did, and he sees it spelled out for him as bright and shining as the morning sun in how, for the first time in years, he looks into Sirius’ eyes and witnesses the pupils constrict and show off more gray than black and in the way the moon has come out and shines through their window making them a horribly beautiful and glowing silver. If he couldn’t hear it, he sees the way Sirius’ chest begins moving more rapidly as he breathes faster and he notices– how terrible of him to do so– the way his hands move together and Sirius begins picking at the skin around his black-lacquered nails seemingly subconsciously. 

Aggressively, Sirius picks and grabs and rips any bit of skin he can pinch between his fingers with short nails as whichever fingers with longer nails stab and scratch and drag over the delicate surface. His fingers move fast, blindly, and Sirius keeps that speed as one hand moves up towards the opposite wrist and he starts scratching up and down and up and down with an animalistic quality and a harshness that felt unplaced in the most gentle hands Remus has ever known. He can see the layers of Sirius’ skin slowly disappear underneath his fingernails as tiny red bubbles slowly cover the same area and the speed he’s destroying his skin at births a gross and bitter feeling that makes its home in Remus’ gut. 

It takes Remus a few guilty moments to fully grasp what Sirius is doing and a few more hard rocks of grief putting down anchors in his stomach before he reaches out and takes Sirius’ hands in his own, trying to stop the rapid movement. One of his pinkies catches on a ring of Sirius’– silver in color and shaped like barbed wire– in his haste and it leaves a small scratch. It hurts, in a small and specialized burning kind of way, but Remus has more important things to worry about. The moment their hands touch, Sirius’ gaze leaves Remus’ face and sticks to their contact, and somehow Remus swears he can feel the weight of it pushing down on them. He notices the slightest dilation of Sirius’ pupils as he looks at their hands together and Remus has never hated his observational abilities more as he curses the attention he’s spared to Sirius’ eyes over the years. It seems something close to second nature now to check for all the smallest signs that he still likes Remus, a sick reminder that someone cares with twisted and selfish means. What a bad person he is.

Now that Remus is touching Sirius’ hands, he can feel the way they’re shaking and his heart breaks a little further as Sirius’ fingers flex and twitch and stretch as if they’re still trying to reach forward and scratch at the nearby skin. Without breaking his hold on Sirius’ hands, Remus stands and maneuvers himself to be in front of his friend and kneels down until his knees touch the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he finds himself whispering, the words falling out of his mouth like a plea but he’s not sure what exactly it’s for, “breathe love, I’m not mad at you.” Sirius manages to lift his head just the slightest to tear his gaze away from their hands and look Remus in the eye, a glistening sheen to them that made his heart wrench.  

Like a man praying to a god, Remus rested his head against their joined hands and maybe in a way, he was asking for forgiveness; mirroring the same desperate stance that Sirius had last year at the edge of the same bed, asking for an apology all the same for a betrayal that was done to their friendship. They were cyclical in more ways than ones it seemed.

“Do you–?” Sirius pleaded as if the words were being ripped straight from his heart and out his throat, as if it physically pained him to ask, “Am I your love?” The budded rose of feelings he had been carrying for all their years together bloomed, but instead of blossoming between them in a bountiful garden fertilized and cared for on both ends, it grew trapped in the lungs he couldn’t breathe through, its thorns pricking his insides every time the flower yearned to feel the sunlight that they were convinced came from Remus. Sirius was choking on his feelings, unable to sever them at the roots, they’ve grown far too big, the original seed may as well be buried within the walls of his heart itself and it is all Remus’ horrible, monstrous, fault. Turned inside out and shown proof he was ugly in all regards, there is no one to blame but the boy too covered in scars to be loved in front of a mirror. 

No, Remus should answer, but he doesn’t. The single syllable faults on the very back of his tongue and lodges in his throat. It’s hideous, just like him, but he can’t seem to spit it out even though the look in Sirius’ eyes practically begs him too. If he was smart enough all these years to know Sirius’ feelings of him, Remus doesn’t doubt that his friend is smart enough to be assured of his too and, if anything, his lack of a confession only proves it. As the first tear falls from stormy gray eyes, Remus turns away, foregoing the thought to lie, he selfishly indulges himself in the act of looking the other direction; as if not watching the tear trace its way down Sirius’ face meant it wasn’t there at all. Hurting Sirius was never something Remus could take pride in, the acknowledgement might be too much on its own. Cowardice was not a trait Remus liked to brand himself with, but it was one he carried nonetheless. He was a coward and there might just be nothing to save him from it after Sirius disconnects from him.

But if he would be known for anything other than his looks or his friends, Remus would be known for his lies, he thinks. He lies to himself every day he breathes, to his friends, to professors, to the whispers in the halls, to the mirror, to the moon. Each breath taken from him is some foul untruth that he barely tries to keep hidden. Remus has been caught in a lie more often than he’s been praised for being honest and as much as he may regret it, this conversation would join the latter, but he was never quite known for his impulse control either and the words seem to leave him without giving the chance to thought, “James thinks you could be.” 

Sirius sits up straighter and a sour bitterness follows in his gaze as he pries his hands out of Remus’ with a hard and sheltered face coming over his features that looks terribly out of place. Roughly, he paws at the sleeve of his sweater and uses it to wipe at his eyes.

“Well, if James thinks so then all is well, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean it li–” Remus tries to argue as he shuffles up to his feet. 

“You never mean what you say!” Sirius cuts him off, a lazy, puffy eyed glare following his every move making the space between them seem endless. His arms fling up just the slightest and Remus almost wishes they could just fight physically.

“That’s not–” But for all Remus wanted to argue, Sirius was right. He was a liar and a coward and he knew it would cost him his friends eventually. Looking down at his friend, Remus almost let himself believe that he stomped out any feelings Sirius held. As if his words were an ignited lighter being tossed over to Sirius for him to catch and the flame caught the flowers sitting in his chest, turning them all shrivelled and burned. But the seed would always survive, wouldn’t it?

“I care about you, Sirius,” he continued. Sirius scoffed, but it only sounded sad. As much as he liked to play the nonchalant “I don’t care what you think” type, Remus knew his friend placed a lot of value on others’ opinions, especially his other Marauders and even more so on Remus himself.

“Not the way I care about you.”

Remus tried again to close the gap presented between them and reached out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder, hoping it could be grounding, placating, loving in some form of the word, but all it does is agitate Sirius more.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed in a near whisper, swiping Remus’ hand off of him and standing up, backing away until he was on the other half of the room. Sirius glowered at him, his eye contact burning in a silent refusal to let Remus look away from him again, “You’ve known for years? How lovely for you to just be aware and not have to actually deal with it!” 

Sirius began pacing around the room, back and forth and back and forth like the pendulum of a clock ticking away to make sure Remus was aware of each passing second that he stayed silent,  “What’s the point? Was it fun? Watching me flounder about and sputter over you? Does it make you feel good about yourself, a little confidence booster? Or are you just too fucking uncomfortable now, can’t keep pretending so you make it my fault?” Sirius paused his pacing and instead took a few steps back towards the wall until he bumped into it. For a second it looked like he had flung his head a bit harder into the wall as his body bounced off of it in a normal cadence like it was second nature, but that would’ve been ridiculous; Remus would’ve noticed if he did that in any sort of common capacity. He probably imagined it, or it was an accident.

Anger faded quickly from Sirius’ face, draining out of him as he sagged against the wall and slid down it until he hovered above the floor, throwing his arms around his knees and cradling himself as he dropped the last bit to the floor. His head was left lying back into the wall for a few moments, eyes closed as a deep breath rattled through him heavy enough that Remus could see even from across the room how his shoulders shook with it. A hollow laugh came from Sirius as he opened his eyes and he leaned forward, one of his legs lowering to lie flat on the ground and the arm that was around it going to the floor beside him, to steady. After a few moments pass, his laugh echoing through the room like a haunting melody, he lifts his gaze and as if it was only natural, finds Remus’ eyes, the soft brown irises already latched onto him from across the room. 

“Forgive me, Moony,” he starts, sugary tone like something light and sweet and fake hiding between bitter and sincere, “for whatever you need to, please forgive me.”

Remus takes a step forward and he considers it a victory how Sirius doesn’t move despite the limited space he would have to do so, “You’ve done me no wrong.” 

Sirius laughed again, as if forcing it out of himself, and Remus never thought he’d be unwelcomed to the sound, “Don’t make me admit it… you couldn’t have waited til we graduate?”

“You don’t ha–”

“I love you, Remus, I won’t lie.”

Sirius sighed and the rest of Remus’ sentence fell, dragged out of him by the blunt truth sitting in front of him. He never thought he’d see anything uglier than his own reflection in the mirror, but now it was being shoved in his face, the picture of him pulling Sirius’ heart out of his chest– not ripping, no, it’s been far too slow a process for that– and tossing it onto the floor between them like it was the star of their own personal bedroom theater show. Remus cursed himself for his clumsy delivery and he thinks he has never hated theatrics more.

“What’s changed?” Sirius asks, still never breaking their eye contact. Remus takes another step forward. Sirius doesn’t move.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true.”

“Why does something need to change?” This time, he takes two steps forward. Sirius doesn’t move.

“It already has,” Sirius sighs again, looking away from Remus and he’s torn between thinking finally and please, look at me again, “We’ve ignored it this long, why have you said something now?”

Remus doesn’t have an answer for that. There was no real reason for him to bring it up, sure, James thought they’d be good together and these feelings may have been stewing around them for years, but why did he say something? Was he tired of pretending? Sirius’ feelings had never made him feel uncomfortable, that he knew. If anything, given how highly he thought of Sirius, he could take it as a compliment to be the receiver of his affections for so long, so steadily.

Remus started speaking quietly, trying to taste each individual word before they left his mouth, “I feel… ugly about it all.” Not nearly a good enough explanation, but there was only so much he understood of his own feelings at all, much less that he knew well enough to talk about.

“Right, like you could be ugly in any way,” Sirius says almost like a joke, but Remus can see him picking up his heart and offering it on a platter honeyed and ready for him to take. It’s not a second chance, it’s not a plea for his feelings to be returned, but it’s something softer and more intimate; Sirius isn’t pretending anymore and if there’s one thing he’s supposed to be good at, it’s honesty. His eyes are honest, that’s why Remus likes them so much. Widening, shuddering, shining, crying, all the minute pupillary movement he’s bore witness to over the years. Sirius’ eyes had never lied about how he was feeling, even though the rest of his body, and his silver tongue, would try to convince otherwise.

Remus takes another couple steps forward and Sirius doesn’t move, even as his neck cranes up to an awkward angle to keep staring, eyes screaming adoration as if he wasn’t just yelling at Remus five minutes ago, but he doesn’t really mind that. Love has always looked good on Sirius Black, even without a reflection. One more step forward and Remus reaches the wall, turning and sliding down it until they’re sitting next to each other and he doesn’t know whether to feel warmed or chilled by the way Sirius’ gaze stays fixed on him the entire time. The courage to meet his friend’s eyes leaves Remus rapidly and instead, he simply hangs his head and bores holes into his hands sitting neatly in his lap, the fingers tangled over each other as gnarly as the scars trailing across them.

“I’m sorry,” the words leave Remus like an accident, spilling out of his mouth as if the only thing he was made to do was bare his soul to his friends, “I don’t deserve to have your heart. Why do you still give it to me?”

“That’s not up to me, Moony.”

“Sirius, you deserve to be loved back,” Remus urged and, in a burst of confidence only gained because he was privy to Sirius’ unbounding vulnerability, he turned and looked over at his friend. His next breath choked him a little, getting stuck in his throat at the unguarded gaze of Sirius boring into him. His gray eyes were stormy, but still soft, like a summer’s rain after a thunderstorm with the faint sun peeking out from behind the slate clouds and illuminating them, it was warm and comforting– something familiar. A slight shine covered them as if Sirius was next to crying, but his face was as content and calm as the eye. Remus never thought of gray as a complex color, but here it was in front of him in a thousand different tones and shades, all speaking to him another fragment of Sirius’ heart. 

Remus’s gaze travelled from Sirius’ eyes down the slope of his nose and over the bridge of his cheekbones, onto the swirl of his ear– only getting caught for a second on the silver celestial earring dangling from it– and the wisps of his hair, and down the line of his neck until it was swallowed by the shadows of the loose sweater covering his friend. He had looked at Sirius before plenty, but never close enough to mean anything and surely never without having to peer over the walls of his heart (whether they were made of glass or otherwise). Sirius liked to be perceived in any way as long as it wasn’t his organic self; he puts up fronts and does a million performances a day, but he never lies, he simply chooses which fragments of himself to show and which to hide, which to enunciate and which to mumble through. Yet here he was, in front of Remus, sitting on the floor of their dorm room that they had all to themselves and leaving himself bare, not a wall in sight.

He snapped his eyes back up to Sirius’ face as quickly as they fell, trying to ignore the pull to watch the way his lips pulled into a frown, slightly parted as he began to speak, “Every time I think I’ve been embarrassed enough, you push me a little further, Moons.”

“I’m sorry,” it was the only thing he could say.

Sirius barked out a laugh, a real one this time, and said, “Don’t be, I like it.” Something deep in Remus’ stomach flipped. Maybe things weren’t as ruined as he thought they were. 

“You’re the only one I want to be loved by,” Sirius continued, “that’s not changing anytime soon,” tilting his head like a dog, he continued staring straight into Remus’ eyes as if their gray and his brown were like the opposing ends of a magnet, “you know that, right?” He did know that. It was equally comforting and terrifying to think about. He will be loved for a long time, but what of Sirius?

In lieu of replying, Remus remembered back to his conversation with James and thought maybe Sirius could benefit from a different show of love the same and he looked forward, trying his best to ignore the burn of Sirius’ gaze as he gingerly lowered his head onto his friend’s shoulder. The other tensed underneath his touch, rigid as a statue, until Remus lifted one of his hands and brought it over to Sirius’ lap instead to cover his, a gentle affirmation. The tension left him quickly, slipping out in a long and shaky sigh and Remus knew he was nervous. A little voice whispered in the back of his mind that it was kind of cute, after all these years of being close friends how Sirius still got nervous when he touched him. A sharp inhale from Sirius drew his attention, almost a hitch of his breath, and then Remus realized he had been unconsciously rubbing circles into the back of one of Sirius’ hands and one circle had dipped too low and grazed over the raw skin left from his scratching before.

“I’m sor–” Remus rushed to say, sitting up harshly, but Sirius beat him to it with a quick “No issue,” half-mumbled and enunciation butchered as he shuffled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, but Remus understood him, he always did. Sirius’ eyes weren’t watching him anymore and he could almost feel the chill left without them. They sat well and behaved in his lap over his sweater-covered hands as if he did something wrong, as if he was ashamed and though Remus didn’t think he had any reason to be, he understood. If there is anything Remus Lupin can do, it is understand Sirius Black.

“It won’t scar,” Remus finds himself speaking, unsure exactly why he does, unsure of what kind of comfort he was attempting to provide, unsure of anything.

“I know,” Sirius responds with a heavy tone, something dragging down the edge of his words as if he’s telling Remus a secret, but he can’t spell it out. He says it like he wants Remus to figure it out, as if the darkest gutters of his mind are a puzzle. 

Silence stretches between them easily this time, as they both gaze out over their shared bedroom. James and Peter should be back soon, Remus thinks as he sees the moon creeping behind their window, but he can’t be sure they both won’t be staying out for the rest of the night again. There’s still heaps of snacks and candy piled on his and James’ beds, despite the two both taking an armful out with them. Peter’s bed is fit for a rat’s nest, his blankets all tangled together and in a mound, pillows on each end, one corner of the sheets in undone. Sirius’ is neater than most people would expect it to be, his sheets freshly cleaned the other night and his blanket folded and sat nicely on the bottom edge, waiting for him to unfurl it. He fluffs his pillows regularly, Remus has watched him do it maybe even thousands of times. A perfume bottle sits on his nightstand, shaped like a snake– something he got from Evan Rosier last Christmas during their gift exchange (he claimed to have mistaken him for Regulus, but it was all a friendly joke and the scent just happened to be Sirius’ favorite, which was his excuse for keeping it– he didn’t need to know that Evan had asked Remus two weeks before if he knew what Sirius’ favorite was, which he did, of course).

Another sigh comes from Sirius and Remus makes the mistake of looking at him again. His gaze is caught somewhere between Remus’ bed and the window and there’s a couple of wet tracks down his face that weren’t there the last time Remus looked. He knows Sirius can feel that he’s watching him again, and Remus can really tell that he feels it in the way his eyes flutter half-shut to drop another tear, his breath shaky and timid in the way it only is when you can’t postpone crying anymore, no matter who is watching. Sirius is tired, Remus is too, but there’s a different kind of tiredness to his friend. While Remus is tired, it’s lack of sleep, worry, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing presumptuously against his normal degree of sorrows. Sirius is tired in ways Remus can’t fully understand, but he knows either way, he’s tired of waiting, of wanting, of hiding what shouldn’t be hidden and Remus knows and it’s his fault, no matter what James says.

Standing up, perhaps a little too harshly if the way Sirius’ eyes screw shut and he turns his head away just slightly are anything to go by, Remus turns and stands in front of his friend, stretches out his hand, and he waits. It takes a few seconds for Sirius to look at him, but the unspoken question is loud as he warily eyes Remus’ hand. Remus nods and Sirius gingerly lifts one of his sweater-hands to meet him in the middle. The ease with which Remus lifts Sirius to his feet surprises both of them enough that they stumble a little and Sirius has to catch himself with a hand on each of Remus’ shoulders. Their eyes meet for a fleeting second and Sirius’ pale face is tinted a sweet pink. Remus thinks the color looks beautiful next to his eyes, all dilated and dark. Sirius’ hands leave his shoulders as quick as his eyes leave too and he mumbles a thanks, brushing down his clothes as if swiping away dirt or dust and pointedly watches the floor. 

The lights in the room dim, signaling that the time for curfew has hit, bathing the room in a sweet darkness. Moonlight filters through the window and gives a gentle luminescence to their surroundings. Sirius’ eyes pick up off of the floor to observe the change and Remus catches his gaze at the split second the moonlight does too, making his eyes glow in a way that Remus didn’t know the color gray could. But he doesn’t get to marvel at the sight any longer than a beat before Sirius is looking away from him again and towards his bed, shuffling his feet as he inches his way towards it. As he inches away from Remus.

“G’night.”

“Sleep well, Pads,” Remus responds gently with a smile, leading himself off to his bed, taking the forgotten treats and piling them onto his nightstand instead. Shuffling into the sheets and underneath his hefty knit blanket, Remus breathes in the warmth, steady and comforting, before turning away from the window. The moon would not taunt him tonight. Across the room, he hears Sirius get into his bed the same and pretends he doesn’t hear the sniffling that follows. James and Peter don’t come back until the early morning, after Sirius had woken up, but before Remus did. He needs to remember to thank them for the opportunity.

Chapter Text

Regulus Black has spent years carefully cultivating a casual yet unapproachable reputation at Hogwarts, he wasn’t aggressive, but he wasn’t exactly friendly, someone who is to be left alone but if truly needed he was a perfect partner of conversation or schoolwork and he is tired of James Potter’s entire ridiculous circus troupe of friends destroying that image within weeks. Despite James being at his core a man made of messy and beautifully tousled hair, unbounding determination, and– of the most importance– love, his friends were all rude and exhausting and every second Regulus was forced to interact with them was detrimental to his health. They weren’t really that bad, but his patience was waning quickly enough from all their little tests to warrant a little bit of bristliness. He didn’t know what had gotten spilled into the water of his upperclassmen to make them believe that Regulus held all necessary wisdom of the world to cure their aches and woes, especially of the romantic kind, but something had happened.

Rightfully, he could blame James and their growing bond that brought attention from all of his friends, but Regulus also knew that James was keeping their relationship private for the time and hadn’t been singing too much praise and prose of him, so really who could know. He and Remus were already on the verge of a friendship through their occasional study sessions together when either actually wished to be productive despite the love of the friends they usually “studied” with (a practice that recently extended to include Lily and Pandora as well), but they didn’t talk. That was the entire point of studying together, they weren’t great friends and they didn’t talk, but if Remus tried talking to him it wouldn’t be the strangest thing. Same with Sirius, he was Regulus’ older brother after all, it wouldn’t be weird if he wanted to talk.

However, it was very weird when Peter Pettigrew of all people seeked him out one strange evening in the library, complaining of some Hufflepuff girl giving him mixed signals. For a good five minutes, Regulus had no idea Peter was even talking to him; he had approached the table Regulus’ was reading at rapidly, wringing his hands together and clearly having ran to the library from somewhere else in the castle, but his eyes darted all over the room and he never addressed Regulus, rather immediately diving into a lengthy dramatic recap of the “situationship” he found himself in instead. By the third high-pitched paraphrased rendition of whatever she had said, Regulus figured out that Peter was talking to him (at him, really) and instead of paying attention to what was being said, he had gotten stuck on trying to figure out just why he was the one Peter had chosen to go to for advice. He still didn’t know the answer.

Eventually, Peter had stopped pacing and finished his recap and looked at Regulus for the first time since he came up to the table, a clear question in his eyes asking “What do I do?” And now Regulus was caught red handed, he hadn’t been listening at all and couldn’t even recall what the poor girl’s name was let alone what terrible miscommunication seemed to plague them, but he gave some general advice off the top of his head that he thought was sound and simple, tested and tried by a million romance novels. Peter appreciated it at least, he lit up and grinned, said, “You’re so right, Reg!” and dashed out of the library like his life depended on it– not even looking back when Regulus corrected him on his name. Then he was left there, at his lone library table, book lying down, open-faced, pages kissing the wood in an utterly defeated fashion, wondering what exactly had just occurred; Regulus almost believed his mind concocted the whole arrangement in some sleep-adled state.

Either way, he figured that would be the end of it, that Peter was simply desperate for an uninvolved, but familiar, third party and Regulus was the first person around who he vaguely knew in some form and that was good because he hated giving advice and almost couldn’t bear the thought of needing to scrape something together again. But Peter had come back a week later, waiting to ambush him outside of the Great Hall before dinner, to thank him profusely and shake his hand hard enough to make him feel like a ragdoll and after that, Regulus was forced to understand that he hadn’t hallucinated the first instance, but he at least could take a deep breath and know it wouldn’t happen again.

Except it did, only a meager three days later to be exact, and he had been chased down in the hall between classes by Frank Longbottom. He didn’t even know that Frank knew his name before he was yelling it down the corridor for dozens of students to hear until Regulus turned around and waited for the older boy to catch up to his position, waiting so patiently to discover what he could possibly need. Regulus first thought maybe it would be related to schoolwork– he was in many advanced classes after all and shared them with a good number of older students– or that maybe this was a strange sort of telephone from James (it wouldn’t be the first time he used his friends to send a “secret” message), but he was utterly wrong. Frank had uttered some question under his breath clearly so embarrassed to be asking it that he couldn’t even enunciate it properly and Regulus had to ask him to speak up and watch it a miraculously short period of time how red blossomed over the other’s face before he let out a much clearer, but still quiet, “I’ll meet Alice’s parents soon, how do I impress them?”

If incredulous looks could kill, Regulus is sure that Frank would have stopped breathing right in that corridor, but the boy didn’t flinch or cower away and that, if nothing else, did get him a small, miniscule point of respect for a good five seconds. But for the pure audacity he had to seek out Regulus for dating advice of all things, despite the two not sharing a single conversation before that, was enough to plummet any and all respect held for him. Luckily for Frank, Regulus did know something of impressing adults and authority figures and he was trying to make nice with James’ friends, so he did give out some generic advice that he deemed fit for the situation. Frank sighed big and deep and grinned at him much like Peter had a week and three days before, gave him a hearty clap to the shoulder, praised his “gift,” sung a gracious thanks, and made on his merry way as if that was a normal interaction.

And the advice seeking of his upperclassmen hadn’t ceased since. Regulus helped Dorcas in Potions and Marlene in Astrology (and vice versa), he showed Peter all the shortcuts in and around the kitchens and the Black Lake (and had to quell more Hufflepuff girl drama), he helped Mary find the best secluded yet ambient corner of the Hogwarts grounds to ask out Lily– as well as he helped Lily get better acquainted with the idea of liking women– and due to his “weird sense of romance expertise” (not his words) he knew all too much of Frank and Alice’s relationship and what her parents thought of him because of course Frank had come back to give him an update, even Alice herself visited him to run by gift ideas for his birthday (why would he know?). The list is unfortunately endless. Really, Regulus doesn’t know how he ended up here. Of course, he was used to giving advice to his real friends who he actually knew and who, despite his lack of personal experience, trusted that he was well-read and mature enough to offer a modicum of good advice, which he was.

Evan and Barty were really the only people that generally asked for advice, usually coming to him for some strange form of couple’s therapy about how Evan needs to keep track of his toads better so they stay out of the bed or how Barty’s tongue piercing was “too cold to work with” when they were down in the dungeons or to ask for his opinion on their potential thirds (and occasionally to ask him). Regulus was much too aware of the innerworkings of their relationship, but he figured he signed up for that one himself when he decided to keep being friends with them so it really wasn’t an issue. However he had never so pompously assumed he was good at advice for the general public, much less of the average romantic kind, but somehow he had acquired that reputation while his previous one tanked and burned to the ground at his feet in a putrid pile of ashes. Pandora was no help, despite being Regulus’ go-to for advice and heralding all his complaints over it, she actually sent more people to him rather than guide them elsewhere. She was a traitor and he hated her. 

Now, Regulus wouldn’t lie and say some of the drama he was pulled into wasn’t entertaining, but it was also exhausting to keep up with and no matter how much he was trying to make nice with James’ friends, he was growing tired of it. So, when Sirius barged into his dorm with a slam of the door and made Pandora jump and mess up Barty’s nails that she was currently painting an “even darker” shade of black than they were before, he was glad to see someone come to him who he didn’t have to be nice to. The older Black stood at their door for exactly 18 seconds, in which he and Evan, from the bed beside Regulus, leaning on Barty’s shoulder, began to have their standard “staring contest of dominance” before Barty flipped Sirius off with his dried hand and pulled Evan into a sloppy and all too slobbery kiss, forcing him to look away. For the next few moments after that, Sirius fake gagged and condemned his “false win,” saying it didn’t count and that he’d need a rematch before he left.

Sirius then sauntered through the room and made his way to Regulus’ bed where he flopped face-down next to his brother and sighed with all the theatrics of an entire Cirque du Soleil show. None of them spoke first, all of their eyes busy watching Sirius, unmoving and unrelenting in his attempt to meld with Regulus’ comforter until Pandora, after a very long extended period of time (about a minute and a half), paused her artistry and tilted her head to speak the words they were all wondering.

“Did he die?”

Regulus shrugged and, purely to test Pandora’s innocent theory, poked into the space between Sirius’ ribs on his side perhaps a bit too harshly. Sirius yelped and rolled onto his side to sit up and glare at his brother, hair frumping over his eyes messily and a pouty frown pulling at his face, making it all the less threatening. Barty and Evan laughed mockingly together in tune, strangely harmonic, as Pandora resumed her work, whispering a small, “guess not,” as she gently dipped the brush into the bottle of polish Evan was holding for her again.

“I need advice, Reggie,” Sirius groaned as he repositioned himself quite ferociously to lay down perpendicular to his original position, dropping his head in Regulus’ lap unceremoniously and crossing his legs, lacing his fingers together and holding his hands promptly over his stomach as if mimicking the picture of the main character in a sitcom visiting a therapist and making a home of their couch. 

“I need advice, Reggie,” Evan parroted in a high-pitched and prissy tone he meant to mimic Sirius, pushing himself further into Barty and laying his head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Barty snuggled his head onto Evan’s, putting on his own horrid Sirius impression as he shrilled, “Oh Reggie, the smarter and better and hotter Black brother, I need your advice!”

“I did not say that! Assholes!” Sirius hissed, pointing a glaring finger at the other bed, sitting up just enough to look at them for a second before plopping his head back down, as the two laughed at his expense again until Pandora shushed them. Sirius pouted as Regulus pet through his hair like he was a dog, looking down at him without an ounce of pity, with a gaze that spoke very clearly: he will not be the first one to talk. 

Impossibly, another sigh slipped out of Sirius and rang throughout the room before he finally caved and spilled, “I really want to kiss Remus.” A simultaneous groan sounded throughout the room from the Slytherin boys, complemented by a sweet and lilting hum from Pandora

“It’s different now!” Sirius pleaded. The room quiets down as he goes on a bit of a rant, talking animatedly, both in voice and with his hands, about a few different scenarios between him and Remus recently that have him troubled. Even Barty and Evan are listening along quietly and heartily as Sirius recounts the way Remus will meet his longing gazes now rather than ignore them, but he still never asks Sirius to stop looking, instead offering a small smile as if giving him permission to continue. As well as he explains just how “dastardly and criminal” it is that Remus supposedly doesn’t want him to hide his feelings, but doesn’t return them either. Regulus thinks it’s all a bit silly either way, James never gave him such mixed signals or trouble and they weren’t nearly as close as Sirius and Remus were before getting together. What was the point of loving someone genuinely if it was made into a game?

“Since we talked, he’s been acting all lovely, lets me flirt and say whatever as if it’s normal,” Sirius finishes with a hefty sigh tied onto his words, the weight of them almost tactile as vulnerability snuck into his tone like it hadn’t before, “it’s getting harder to remember that he doesn’t feel the same, that I’m not actually allowed to do anything about the way I feel.”

Pandora is the first to speak up. Soft and gentle as most things she does, she gingerly sets Barty’s hand down and gives Evan the nail polish brush so he can put it back in the bottle before saying, “It is quite normal. Love lives all around us, but rarely so blatant. I’m sure Remus enjoys feeling loved by you.” Sirius sits up slowly, mouth slightly agape, and looks over at her as she smiles sweetly. Then he shoots up and dashes the few feet over to the other bed to place a hand on each of Pandora’s shoulders as nicely as he could in his rush (she gets a little shaken by the force, but she’s used to Barty and Evan’s rough housing enough to not be bothered by it).

“Ah Miss Rosier, not only lovely, but a genius too! These losers don’t deserve you!” Sirius exclaims, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to each of Pandora’s cheeks as she laughed. Then, Sirius dashed back to the door, muttering to himself something that none of them heard while Pandora waved him off. Regulus shared a curious glance with Barty and Evan, but the two only shrugged, they didn’t really get the significance of what she said either, but Sirius had and that was all that mattered, he assumed. 

“Why does he like her so much better than us?” Barty asked to the room, gesturing flippantly towards Pandora with the hand not wrapped around his boyfriend’s shoulder as if it truly was a mystery to him. Evan hummed some sound that Regulus thought was supposed to mean “I don’t know” as Pandora tutted, lilting and lovely as any siren’s tale, but with all the good nature of a mother correcting her children.

She looked over at Regulus as if he asked and said, “Siri likes to say I have the soul of a lion trapped in a raven’s mind, like Reggie’s stuck in the body of a snake.”

“Well what does he say about us?”

“He says you two are very lucky Reggie likes you.”

And in a single second, the room erupted in noise, from Evan laughing in a loud and cackling way, Barty yelping about the “implications,” Regulus interjecting to share his doubt on how much he does actually like them, and Pandora speaking up to give a humming agreement that they are quite lucky to be his friends– which then dissolved the conversation towards who of them is the greatest friend and which three of them should be considered lucky (and to Barty’s immense dismay and disappointment, Regulus still won all the mini competitions they held: the vote, the pros-and-cons list, and the timed “how long will Barty’s cat sit in their lap before leaving,” the last of which he actually beat the outstanding record for by over 6 minutes for a new grand total record of 37 minutes and 42 seconds). 

Regulus’ night did not get much quieter though because despite Evan and Barty going down to the common room to play some form of cards and gamble with candy and Pandora retreating back to the Ravenclaw dorms for curfew, he was still being sought out. He couldn’t be too upset at the intrusion though, because he did agree to date James and did in fact sign up for it. The Marauders Map was a tricky and nearly creepy thing, but even Regulus could say it was one of the more impressive pieces of magic he’d seen. James showed it to him a few months ago, before they got together, after Regulus was a bit worried he was being stalked with how easily James “happened upon him” day after day, especially at night. But after he learned about the map, it made much more sense and he felt a lot more comfortable in allowing James to be his friend. Sometimes it scared Regulus, all the creative and downright genius things that those four could do and make if they put effort towards it, but he knew they would all do something great with themselves. He was lucky to know any of them. However, he does still pick favorites and no matter how many years he’s been traipsing behind Sirius, James is quickly taking up that top spot.

Three weeks ago, Regulus would’ve rightfully been a bit frightened by his dorm room door opening on its own, but by now, he was more afraid if it doesn’t happen. Adhering to their normal bit like it was a religion, Regulus didn’t look at the door, didn’t change his behavior at all, acting as if it hadn’t opened. And he waits, listening patiently to the soft footsteps and the one creak in the floor that he knows James steps on on purpose by now, he waits until the invisibility cloak is tossed onto Barty’s bed next to his and James jumps out of it, whispering some singsong version of “surprise,” keeping his voice nice and mellow and low just like he knows Regulus likes it before tossing himself onto the bed. Regulus bounces a bit from the impact as James curls and cuddles around, twisting himself each and every way imaginable, until he’s firmly tucked into Regulus’ side underneath his arm like a loving leech, hugging his midsection. James stays there eerily still for a few seconds before tossing his leg over Regulus’ lap in a way that looked horribly uncomfortable for anyone with less flexibility and sighed in relief.

“My bed could never compare,” James mumbles into Regulus’ shirt all while Regulus simply picks up the book he had set on his nightstand earlier that day and didn’t grace him with the attention just yet. They sat in silence for a few minutes, only perturbed by the rustle of Regulus turning the page and James’ deep steadying breaths.

“Sleeping already?” Regulus found himself asking, a teasing lilt to his tone that grew to a small laugh at James’ offended grumbles he got in return.

“You’re comfy.”

“Jamie it’s not even curfew yet.”

A sigh comes from his side as James leans into him impossibly more, giving a bothered whine when Regulus pulls away in the other direction. He sets the book back down on his nightstand, he wasn’t in a rush to finish it anyways. Their hands find each other and Regulus almost feels bad about the pout on James’ face as he peels the other off of him, forcing him to sit up and readjust his position until they were sitting across from each other. Just to keep his boyfriend happy, Regulus stays holding their hands together and even rubs a few circles into the back of James’ hand with his thumb and he’s very glad to not miss the way it makes the older boy smile in that sweet upside-down way he does sometimes. But then James is sighing again, exaggerated and all too telling that he wants to be asked about it, and his gaze strays downwards all sad and puppy-like, as if he did something “bad” and doesn’t want to get scolded.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asks, taking the bait.

“It’s Moony and Pads again.” Now it was Regulus’ turn to sigh. It was the second time today he was going to deal with this problem, he felt entitled. So, Regulus sat there again, being the confidant of an older Gryffindor and listening to the love (or not-love, he was kind of confused at this point) troubles of one Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. 

James talked for a while, until he was yawning mid-word and his body slumped back to laying down, head dropping into Regulus’ lap as he rubbed circles into James’ back, and his rants turned to mumbles and whispers in the dark of the room. Regulus never responded more than a simple hum, but he didn’t need to. Eventually, James’ words drifted into nothing but deep soothing breaths into Regulus’ stomach as Evan and Barty returned to the dorm, they all said their hushed greetings, and Regulus was finally allowed a quiet night. 

— —

If there was one person in the entirety of the world who Regulus never thought would piss him off to no end (besides Pandora of course, no one in their right mind could be mad at her) it would have been Remus Lupin. Despite his close company and his own devilish prankster mind, Remus was respectful, well-mannered, kept to himself. He was a perfect candidate to be Regulus’ friend and normally, he liked Remus. Today, he did not like Remus. If he had needed advice with a genuine problem such as classwork or a family issue, Regulus would’ve been glad to help. However, he is not glad to “help” with anything more to do with Sirius. 

Currently, Regulus was cornered in the library, tragically forced to put his book down once again as Remus paced around his table in circles, the rhythmic drag of his feet grating and terrible on his ears. Remus was midway through some rendition of how Sirius is so blatant with his feelings now and how confused it's making him feel, despite saying only three minutes prior how he was actively encouraging Sirius to be open and honest rather than hide. At this point, Regulus wasn’t even listening anymore, he stopped paying attention the second his brother’s name slipped out of Remus’ mouth. It hadn’t seemed to matter. Remus had approached him for advice, but hadn’t stopped once to take a breath between his ranting, hadn’t glanced at Regulus once as if he expected a reply. 

“And isn’t that ridiculous! Me, insecure about… about love of all things!” Regulus caught the tailwind of Remus’ rant before his voice drifted off, huffing out a scoff. 

“That’s what James said, hm?” Regulus said, not even needing to hear the rest to know that it was him.

“Yes! Can you believe that? Just because he gets his dick wet on the regular now, no offense,”

“None taken.”

“He thinks he knows everything!”

“Maybe you should take his advice,” Regulus started, choosing to ignore Remus’ quick “Don’t–” and continue speaking as if he had never been interrupted, “considering James is in a functioning relationship?”

Remus stopped pacing. He stared at the floor determinedly before pulling out a chair quick and harsh and sat in it even angrier, bringing his eyes to Regulus and dead-staring at him as if he was somehow to blame for this mess. Regulus stared back, daring him to even try and put the blame anywhere other than his own shoulders. They sat there for a few minutes in an opposing silence, neither willing to be the first one to break even though they both knew Regulus was right. 

Just as a yawn teased the back of Regulus’ throat, Remus sighed and looked away, whispering in a way that sounded all too mournful for a seventeen year old, “We’re functioning. We have to be I– I can’t make… I don’t like what you’re implying, Regulus.” For all he speaks in natural confidence, Regulus wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposedly “implying,” was this relationship advice or not? Frankly, he didn’t deserve this. He was tired and Regulus was not going to spend another night listening to the woes of his brother and co.

“Do you love him or not, Remus?”

He didn’t get an answer. At least not verbally, but Remus did scoff at him and glare, all furrowed brows and wrinkled nose in an expression that Regulus had never seen on him. Regulus had seen him sad and mischievous and calm and concentrated and tired, but he had never seen Remus angry. Part of Regulus expected to be yelled at, another thought maybe the boy would even be mad enough to punch him if the tremble of his fisted hands or the near snarl of his lips were anything to go by. But neither of those happened, Remus only glowered at him for a moment before pushing himself to stand and stalking out of the library. That was the wrong question to ask, Regulus supposed.

Chapter Text

Wishing for Sirius Black to go back to being meek and shy was not something Remus ever thought he would do, but life did have a way of surprising him like this. It wasn’t that he preferred Sirius to be insecure and unsure and unwilling to speak his feelings, but mercy must be held for Remus too eventually and this new behavior was not something he was equipped to handle more than a few instances of. It was bizarre, how quickly Sirius went from curling in on himself simply on the idea of them being alone together, to so brazenly wearing his feelings like a crown and flirting with Remus as if he was trying to win him over. He wasn’t though; Remus had asked a few hours after Sirius wolf-whistled when he got changed for the second time and all he got in response was a cool and casual, “Love me or not, I don’t want to hide it anymore.” Remus could understand that. His experience thus far had been different in many ways, but he was also tired of the pretending and avoiding. Remus had even assured Sirius then that hiding wasn’t necessary anymore, urged him not to despite the true decision not resting in his hands, despite the pit of unease in stomach.

Duality was a strange corner of the human spirit. Of course, Sirius loved to wear his heart on his sleeve– whether on purpose or otherwise– and it was no rare occurrence for him to burst out laughing in dead silence or to be brutally honest with his opinion, he wasn’t afraid to speak out and loud about whatever he believed in or cared about. But there was one thing he never talked about out nearly as loud and that was all matters of the heart. Maybe he confided in others, definitely James, maybe Peter or Marlene, but one thing he did not do was shout out to the stands from the quidditch field how it was so hard to focus on the game when Remus was watching at him with his “beautifully distracting” eyes. He did not make sure to pile Remus’ plate with food at every opportunity before so much as glancing at his own, he did not tell Remus a new addition of “you look good today” every morning despite him wearing the same uniform as all the other days, and under no circumstances did Sirius Black ever refer to Remus as a pretty boy. 

And yet that’s exactly what had happened just a meager three hours ago in the library after Remus left dinner early to catch up on some reading for their Astronomy class before bed. Sirius had followed him a few minutes after, but in his rush he hadn’t known until the squealing scrape of the chair being pulled out for Sirius to sit in brought his attention out of the pages in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” he had asked, not rudely, but of genuine curiosity. There wasn’t any viable reason for Sirius to be there, not for company since he was busy studying, and, understandably so, Remus was still in the mindset of feeling ignored by him. So for Sirius to seek him out intentionally when it was just the two of them alone in the big dark corner of the library, he naturally felt a little put off by it after dealing with the complete opposite for weeks before. Sirius wasn’t perturbed by his brash question, simply laughed a little in that way Remus knew he did when he was nervous but trying to convince everyone in the room and himself that he wasn’t, light and airy and just a little fake, short enough to not stretch on, but solid enough to sound legitimate.

“Just wanted to see you after you ran off, is that bad?”

“No, not bad,” Remus finds himself reassuring Sirius as the other settles into the table, leaning forward with both elbows on the wood and interlocking his fingers together to make a rest for his head, a small tilt to it making him look dog-ish and a bit cute with the fluff of his hair looking furry enough for the part. Neither of them say anything else. The book sits open faced on the table in front of him but he finds it hard to concentrate on the words now, they all blur together and whatever he does read isn’t getting remembered tomorrow, he can tell. Sirius’ gaze is a heavy thing and after all these years, Remus still isn’t sure he’s strong enough to hold it. It makes him nervous a bit, to be watched so openly by someone he admires and despite his effort, resuming his studying as if he was alone seemed to no longer be an option. Remus had one hand steadied underneath the hard cover to close it and was about to say they should head back to the dorm, his mouth open just enough for his teeth to poke out.

But Sirius beat him to breaking the silence, saying softly, “I like watching pretty boys study, that’s why I came.”

Remus doesn’t even register his hand is moving until the crack of the book cover slamming down (and the subsequent shushing echoing around them) makes him remember they’re in the library and that they were leaving. He tries to say that again, gapes his mouth open like a fish and all, but no words come out. Sirius is still staring at him and he looks fond with a tilted smile pulling at his lips so gently it almost makes Remus want to throw up from the churning in his stomach. His ears and cheeks start to feel hot. Standing a bit too harshly and wincing at the sound the chair made (and the second, more aggressive, shush), he reshelves the book quickly and makes some vague hand gesture to try and tell Sirius that he was leaving. Sirius understands it and stands much more gently than Remus did, still staring at his back as they make their way out of the library. He didn’t look away until they reached the dorm and went to bed.

The next morning wasn’t better. Sirius complimented before they left for their first classes, calling him a “handsome wolf,” with a sly, but sleepy, grin tugging at his mouth. He hadn’t even brushed through or styled his hair yet, as if telling Remus he was handsome was somehow more important than his appearance now and he hoped, perhaps too sincerely, that that wasn’t true in spite of the small bloom of warmth the thought provided that he could be that important to anyone period. Remus didn’t think he was ugly exactly, he simply believed it was easier to love his face in the dark and there was a good number of people who happened to agree with him. People he’s shared closets and corners and beds with who don’t give him a second glance anywhere else. 

The Ravenclaw girl who he tutored for a few weeks, who pulled him underneath the quidditch stands and immediately got her hands on him, who whispered how his scars made him look sexy and mysterious, who pretended not to know him the very next day. The Gryffindor boy the year above them who graduated last year, who traced his scars for hours when Remus spent the night, who said they couldn’t date because his parents wouldn’t approve, but who promised he’d write after leaving, that he wanted to keep seeing him, who Remus hasn’t heard from in a year, but heard news of his blooming new relationship with a man, tall and brunet with skin smoother than Remus’ will ever be again. As much as he hated to admit it, the only people he believed could be into his scars in the daylight as much as in private were Regulus’ freak friends Barty and Evan, as they’d said as much directly to his face before– as crude and blunt as ever. But they liked anything that moved, in Regulus’ own words.

Time and time again, Remus was brutally reminded of this. Off the top of his head, he could think of at least 8 different occasions that fit. Sirius said he loved Remus’ scars, that they made him unique and showed how strong and beautiful he was. Remus thinks he’s blind with long-lived love and overexposure. Scars didn’t change and his were more than deep enough to stay with him for the rest of his life and probably longer. Remus had long since accepted them as his image and as long as he doesn’t think about the impact on his love life, he can almost say he’s okay with them. But sometimes, when the night was long and the thoughts were loud and he had spent the entire day before watching all of his beautiful, clear-skinned and unmarred and whole friends, he was jealous of what they had because he had had it once too. He just wasn’t able to reach it before it was taken from him. While grief was the love of his life, it would need to rest until the situation with Sirius died down and Remus could give it the time it demands of him again. 

For days as Sirius continued blatantly showing off his affections, Remus was in a strange state of mind. It was flattering, as it is when any person gives a compliment, but there’s a bitter feeling that comes with it and hides as if coated in sugar. Sweet on his tongue when Sirius says those things until it melts away to force Remus to taste the depths of the crater between their hearts. A little aftertaste follows like a soothing note of lavender, somewhere between sweet and savory and all too impending to unravel. The warmth in his face when Sirius calls him pet names, the apprehension when he wakes up and the first thing on his mind is wondering what kind of compliment he’ll get today. Idly, he’ll wonder how flustered Sirius would get if he reciprocated the flirting before he remembers that it isn’t a joke still, that that’s something cruel and then he curses the idea as if it was impeding on his mental and not a want, not something enticing. Though, loath it as he did, Remus was enticed by the idea of flirting back sometimes. Comments and chides and observations about Sirius floated about his head all day; it was harder to get his mind off of Sirius than it was to not think all together. It felt nice to be wanted.

The hardest thing about all of this was really that there was no one Remus could talk to about it other than James and, as much as he knows that his best friend loves him, he would always be partial to the idea of them getting together. Biases are not what Remus needs right now, he needs someone unattached who couldn’t care less about his relationship status, but who also knew him and Sirius well enough to offer advice. And of course who better to fit that than Regulus? They weren’t friends, but they weren’t not friends either. He and the younger Black had an ambivalent and symbiotic relationship the past few years they’ve known each other, studying together because their routines and energies matched, recommending each other books, helping with each other’s classwork and dutifully double checking it, and at one point Regulus had even come to him for advice with James because he thought Remus was a safe option. It was only fair to consider Regulus safe too. 

He took one deep breath as if psyching himself up and waltzed over to where James lay draped over the couch in the common room, upside down with his legs off the back and his head leaning over Peter’s shoulder from where he sat on the floor in front of the couch. They weren’t talking, but James was idly watching Peter as he sketched in a journal, the scratch of the pencil a nice filler sound echoing around the otherwise empty common room. Neither looked up at him as he approached and stood there for a few moments still deciding how to word what he needed to ask.

Eventually, he decided on a nice and simple, “Where is he?” causing both of his friends to look up at him in confusion, the soothing scritches of Peter’s drawing dissipating as his hand stopped moving and in the same moment silence fell over them, Remus felt his heart climb up into his throat. It felt like time had stopped. He had spent years being passive and idle about Sirius’ feelings and now he was making a move about it, involving other people, making it more real than it’s ever been besides seeing Sirius break down about it that night. Peter lost interest quickly when he realized Remus was only looking at James and that the question wasn’t meant for him, returning to drawing as if he hadn’t stopped. The white noise of it made time start again for Remus and he shook his head slightly as if that would actually do anything to clear it.

“Your boyfriend, James, where is he?” Remus clarified. 

James’ eyes widened and Peter’s head whipped back up in surprise. They all knew James was seeing someone, but Remus was the only one who knew who it was (despite James’ fierce attempts at keeping it from him). Normally, none of them brought up James’ Secret Lover under strict Marauder’s oath that what one of them wants to stay hidden, stays hidden. But that’s what helped James realize how serious Remus was and he clumsily rolled off of the couch, narrowly avoiding stabbing himself on Peter’s upturned pencil (but not caring much to avoid Peter himself), and hopped up beside Remus before gripping his arm and dragging him off the other side of the room. Peter cried out after them something like “Why does he get to know!” but neither of them answered him and he only sighed, staring disappointedly down at his drawing now and closing his journal as if all his creative left him with James’ close company.

“Why are you asking?” James whispered to Remus once they were clear on the other side of the room, sides pressed against the wall and huddled together close enough that their foreheads were almost touching.

“I need his advice.”

“About? Why can’t you ask us?”

Remus sighed, long and dreary and all too tired but it captured how he felt well. He should’ve figured James would be nosy, Remus isn’t one to seek out people in general so looking for Regulus particularly was strange on his part. Maybe he was just hopeful that James would be too excited to talk about Regulus to worry about it. Life would be so much easier if the map wasn’t in Sirius’ hands, but he was impossibly more nosy than James.

“I just want to ask him something.”

James narrowed his eyes at Remus, hand tightening slightly over his bicep, tilted his head, and stared in a way that he was sure was supposed to be intense and intimidating, but only felt silly coming from his best friend of 7 years. He looked as if he was trying to read Remus’ mind and it wasn’t working out well for him if the way his brows furrowed and his bottom lip jutted out just slightly.

“James, ple–”

“Is this about Sirius?”

Maybe the mind-reading was working after all. “No,” formed on Remus’ tongue quickly, just a little bitter lie to keep James off of his back for a while, but his throat was dry and it died somewhere behind his teeth. His silence was answer enough apparently, because James’ hand finally dropped from his arm and instead of a pout, he was grinning. All pearly whites and pink gums and the dimple on his right cheek. Remus sighed again for nothing other than despair. On the other hand, James looked as if he had won the lottery, even bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child.

“He’ll be in the library right now, at least for another hour an–” James cuts himself off, his smile falling back into a confused and almost sad frown before he resumes, “what can you ask him that you can’t ask me?”

As usual, one of Remus’ greatest faults lay in how quick he took to answer without thinking about how he phrased it first, unable to hide his sharp tongue whether he tried to or not, “You’re too much of a hopeless romantic trying to put us together, I need someone to give me actual advice.” After it left his mouth, Remus thought it might have sounded a little blunt, bordering rude, but it was the truth. He thought James would appreciate that, but his frown deepened, something hurt and wet coming up behind his eyes.

“Don’t call it hopeless just because you’re insecure about love, Moons.”

With that, Remus scoffed, a bubble of offense climbing up his throat and popping in his mouth, spilling over his tongue and out his lips leaving it all too warm as if it was something spicy. He and James didn’t fight, besides the dubbed Mistletoe Incident, Remus couldn’t even count the amount of times they’ve fought on one hand because it was zero. There was nothing to count. They don’t fight, but Remus scoffs and sighs and rolls his eyes and James mutters under his breath and glares and cries in an angry way. Remus makes his comments to himself and James makes his to the floor, but they never say it to each other.

So he doesn’t know why he says it now, what’s different, but it leaves his lips bold and bitter with intent, “Me? Insecure abo– you can’t even admit you have a boyfriend!” James’s hand pushes off his arm as if he was burned, his eyes scanning Remus’ face as if he didn’t recognize him.

“You know why we can’t be open about it,” James starts, watery and wobbly. Remus tries to butt in, but James continues, “Remus.” Said like a warning and he’s thankful for that because it makes him shut his mouth and he didn’t know what would’ve left next. 

“You know why. Just… go, he should still be in the library, okay?” A stilted nod, shoulder brush, and a lot of avoided eye contact with both James and Peter later, Remus makes his way to the library.

It’s not helpful the way he wanted it to be. He might’ve still been mad at James and he knows he shouldn’t talk bad about him to Regulus of all people (he’s already making plans to apologize to him on a later day), but this entire situation was just so frustrating. Everyone and their mother seemed to believe that Remus liked or, god forbid, loved Sirius back as if all the years he’s spent juggling this have been for nothing. Regulus’ question stays floating in his mind no matter how fast he speedwalks out of the library or how long he keeps walking for. Do you love him or not? Of course Remus loved Sirius. As a friend, a best friend, as a person, as a partner in crime. He loved Sirius but he wasn’t in love. If everyone seemed to share this idea, did Sirius think so too?

Remus wasn’t planning on it, but his feet lead him to the courtyard, where he knew Sirius was out with Marlene at, where he pointedly avoided on his way to the library because Sirius was the last person he wanted to see right now. But his life is cursed evidently and it takes about three seconds of him hovering off to the side before Marlene is waving at him and Sirius turns around, flashing a beaming smile with his perfect teeth and beckoning Remus closer. An ugly, writhing, thing is born in the pit of his stomach and Remus feels like it's using him akin to a hamster on its wheel by the way he’s pulled towards Sirius and finds himself crossing the courtyard quickly.

Something on his face– likely all of it– must have betrayed how he was feeling because Marlene makes a quick exit, claiming a girl’s study group she forgot about and leaving a quick kiss to the top of Sirius’ head like a mother before rushing away. Remus wishes he didn’t hear her whispering a “good luck,” to Sirius first. There was nothing to need luck for, nothing was going to happen between them. Each step Remus took closer, Sirius’ smile fell and he started to look more scared like Remus was mad at him for some inconceivable reason. Sirius doesn’t turn back around to how he was originally sitting, just stopping and watching and waiting until Remus is right in front of him to try and give him another smile. This time, it’s smaller and more wobbly as if he’s trying to apologize with it for something he doesn’t have the understanding to articulate into words. Part of Remus wants to hesitate to ask, draw it out, or completely scrap the idea. The other part really wants to know what Sirius thinks of him and it wins the back and forth in his mind easily.

“Do I love you?” So, it doesn’t come out exactly how he meant to say it. The meaning is lost, Remus thinks, in the way Sirius’ face burns after the question hangs between them for a moment, his eyes big and round and they remind Remus of the moon, something sacred that he just can’t seem to escape no matter how hard he tries. Idly, he kind of hates the way Sirius looks at him because if he didn’t hate it, he’d like it too much. Being wanted was a drug Remus refused to get addicted to. Rose-tinted glasses were dangerous, but Sirius would take them off eventually, he’ll take them off and see Remus as he really was and there’d be no more twisting in his gut every time Sirius looked at him like he curated the night sky by hand. They could go back to being normal, if they ever were.

“I uh don’t– I’m not–” Sirius stutters before clearing his throat and continuing with a resigned sigh, gaze glued somewhere between Remus’ shoulder and the rest of the courtyard behind him, “No, Remus, you don’t.” He says it gently, as if still afraid Remus is mad at him and waiting for a reason to act on it, his words round and soft, but clearly believed. The bubble around them grows tense, both of their words, question and answer, float about in the space between them like a taunt. Remus doesn’t know why he’s not satisfied with Sirius’ answer.

Sirius wasn’t satisfied with his question either though, it seemed, as he jerked his head up to look Remus in the eye, a frown weighing his lips down pitifully. In a thought he won’t give grace to, Remus thinks he hates the sight of Sirius pouting enough that in another version of their lives, he’d confess to loving Sirius then and there just to turn it around and see him smile. But this isn’t that version of them and Remus would be lying if he said something like that. He’s already lied too much.

“Why?” Sirius asks pointedly and Remus knows what he means, of course he does.

“James thinks I do,” he says. Sirius’ mouth twists closer to a scowl and he’s about to bite back, Remus can see it all over his face because they’ve talked about this before; he keeps talking before Sirius’ mouth even opens, “Regulus does too.” Sirius’ face falls flat, almost unreadable, but Remus knows him and he can see the tiny twitch of his eyebrows, the slightest squint of his eyes, and he knows Sirius is trying to think about what this means, why Remus is telling him. Turning Remus’ words around in his head like he would a puzzle in his hands, hoping the light would catch it just right at another angle to reveal where he’s supposed to push, which pieces he needs to move, to solve it.

“I’m sure Peter thinks so,” Remus isn’t sure why he’s still talking, “Marlene probably too and if she does, all the girls must.”

“Why are you…” Sirius tried again, but his words trailed off and Remus could only watch as the tips of his ears became more and more red with each passing second he kept talking.

“Lily jokes that you’re wrapped around my finger and Barty called you my dog once,” the second it leaves his mouth, Remus feels his own face get hot at the memory and he feels his heart jump at the way Sirius’ eyes widen almost comically.

“Evan says we’re too attached to not have kissed at least once, but w–” Remus has to physically bite his tongue to keep the next words from leaving his mouth. He doesn’t remember, Remus scolds himself, but not without noticing the glimmer of curiosity shine underneath the wide starry night that’s Sirius’ eyes and feeling the urge to hit himself if it can get the memory out of his mind. Praying that Sirius doesn’t ask, but he won’t give him the chance anyways.

“Wha–”

“I don’t love you,” Remus rushes out to interrupt him, and almost cringes at himself for it, feels the way his eyebrows scrunch and his eyes almost shut. He knows it’s harsh, he doesn’t know why he keeps repeating it like it's a prayer. A wish, maybe. The repetition doesn’t make him believe it more even though he knows it’s true. Sirius doesn’t finish talking, snapping his mouth shut, pulling his eyes to the floor and swallowing thickly and Remus can’t stand the way he feels drawn to watch the bob of his adam’s apple.

“How can you?” Sirius doesn’t move and Remus isn’t even entirely sure what he’s trying to ask with it, but he hopes Sirius knows. Sirius is supposed to know him better than anyone.

“What, love you?” Sirius says, to the floor still rather than to Remus. His heart twists again uncomfortably, as if Sirius had pushed a metaphysical hand through his chest, wrapped his long bony fingers around Remus’ heart, and squeezed just to make him feel something there. Remus hums a confirmative– he doesn’t trust his words anymore– just to see what Sirius says.

Remus tries to brace himself for whatever Sirius is going to say, he knows there’s a million different ways to answer that question, he’s heard hundreds of praises fall from the other’s lips and two times as many intrinsic and creatively inclined complaints and insults that border on poetry. He knows Sirius can wax for hours over the flavor of his favorite foods and the different types of trees in an arboretum, the complete discography of at least 15 different musical artists, and what kind of flower he thinks all of their friends are. Sirius is made out of a tremblingly delicate tower of love and observation and he’s not afraid to show it.

“Don’t ask me that,” is what he eventually says and Remus almost stumbles over the air from the surprise of it. 

“What?” It slips out like an accident, but Remus means it more than he’s meant anything else he’s said in the past few minutes, maybe even in the past few days or weeks, maybe in his entire life.

“My feelings will not be used to flame your ego.”

Remus gets it now, their roles have switched. Sirius is the angry one now, the one backed into corner after corner, forced to confront things he doesn’t want to under a friend’s cruel hand. So he inhales something slow and meaningful, holds his breath for a handful of seconds, and exhales with the purpose of self-regulation because this back and forth of theirs is not nearly as fun as a cat-and-mouse should be. Remus isn’t even sure if he’s the cat or the mouse in that scenario. Still, he spends the next moments trying to think of what to say all while Sirius’ stare burns the space between Remus’ eyes.

“We wouldn’t work,” is what comes out of Remus’ mouth first, sticky and viscous and unyielding as if the words came in a glop of syrup that he was trying to spit out, “whether I– we just wouldn’t.”

Something snaps in Sirius’ expression, as if he was trying to hold back his animated feelings for their whole conversation, but only dropped the mask now. His eyebrow lifts in disbelief, mouth ajar and twisted between a grimace and a pout, and his nose wrinkles in a way that lifts his lips, a way that should be unattractive but Remus thinks is akin to a dog snarling around a toy– totally ineffective and kind of cute. His animagus did always make the most sense out of the three, Remus thought.

A chilled breeze makes Sirius shiver despite the sweater he’s wearing and Remus watches the way it rolls through his body, wondering if it settles as a line of goosebumps down his arms. Distantly, he entertains the idea of rolling up Sirius’ sleeves to check, but that would be ridiculous. There’s a group of Hufflepuff students across the courtyard and Remus can see the way they keep glancing over at them. One of the girls giggles into her hand and tries to point discreetly and maybe it was, but everything about Sirius lately has been making him hyperobservant of their surroundings.

He talks again before he could think better of it, like he was attempting to clarify, “You don’t want me.”

Still, Sirius looks confused and bordering on hurt, as if he was offended by reading into it, but didn’t know exactly what Remus was trying to say. His mouth opened languidly as his eyes searched Remus’ face for answers to questions he hadn’t voiced, but Remus couldn’t let him say anything. He didn’t know why, but a need burned through him, a need to speak words he hadn’t thought of yet, to bear the secrets of his heart so hidden that Remus didn’t know them either. 

Something in the way the sun reflects in Sirius’ eyes and makes them glow has Remus stumbling over the next words, a mess of soft consonants and hanging vowels that puzzle together into nonsense and he watches horrifically aware of how Sirius is looking at him like he’s insane and the Hufflepuff girl’s laugh is closer to a cackle than a giggle now, joined by her friends’ slightly more polite laughter as they watch him fumble through it. He doesn’t get a single real word out before Sirius is glaring at the other students around the courtyard sharp enough for them to quiet mid-laugh and his hand finds its way around Remus’ wrist, pulling him away and back towards the castle as if he was a ragdoll. Remus lets it happen, tripping over his feet once, but not falling. The touch feels like a bracelet of fire clasped over Remus’ wrist.

Sirius doesn’t stop manhandling him when they get to the main corridors. If anything, he does it harder, refusing to break his hold as they dip and dive through the crowd of students. After a minute or two of dodging bodies, Sirius pushes him into one of the older, unused classrooms at the end of a hall. It was one they used frequently, Remus could recognize it in his sleep from how many nights they’ve spent in there helping James perfect forbidden potions or tinkering with objects they needed for pranks. Taking a deep breath feels like a reprieve despite the dust-coated room, as if Remus hadn’t breathed the entire time in the courtyard. What a waste of the fresh air, he could’ve used that.

The door clicks shut behind them easily, but Remus still flinches as the noise echoes in the room from the force Sirius shuts the door with and he’s not sure why. Finally, Sirius’ hand leaves his wrist, but instead pushes at his chest until Remus stumbles backwards into the old teacher’s desk near the front of the room. His hands fly behind him to steady himself and Remus thinks he should feel upset by the push, maybe hurt by the way the edge of the desk digs into his back, but he can’t find the space of mind to think or care when Sirius is looking at him like that. Sirius is breathing heavy and it makes Remus think maybe they were actually running through the halls. He’s levelling Remus with a hard glare that looks angry, but the edge of his lips quirks up as if he likes the adrenaline of it. Remus knows he does, that’s one of the ways they work together: Remus likes the culmination of effort, Sirius likes the adrenaline of the chase, they both love feeling victorious.

Silence is heavy between them and the room for a long few moments until Sirius crosses his arms, huffs, and starts tapping his foot impatiently like he’s waiting for Remus to speak first. He tries, really he does. Gaping his mouth open like a fish, then closing it because now he doesn’t have anything to say. Thinking on it doesn’t help, the lapse in his attempts making Sirius scoff and roll his eyes as if it was something unbelievable for him to not speak. But his eyes are still big and wide and heavy and dark and for some reason, as Sirius pins them on him like his stare is a death sentence, Remus feels a rock lodging itself in his throat, too big to be swallowed down. It takes exactly 3 minutes and 47 seconds of this for Sirius to step forward and say something instead, not that Remus was counting.

“Do you not believe me now?”

Remus didn’t have anything to say to that. Sirius closed his eyes and took a long inhale, as if trying to calm himself before he kept talking.

“Why,” he starts, pointedly staring into Remus’ eyes like he’ll find the answers there if not in his voice, “do you,” he uncrosses his arms and pokes a finger into Remus’ chest, “think I don’t want you?”

Truthfully, Remus hadn’t been thinking when he said it. He wanted to believe that Sirius loved all of him, but to be wanted with a body like his was a mere fantasy and nothing more. An impossible chance of events that Remus knows won’t happen. There was issue with his personality– a few sharp edges, a stunted emotional range, he was stubborn to hell and back, devious in his love for quiet mischief, too ambitious for the lack of time allowed to his life– but Remus knew he wasn’t entirely unlikeable. He was smart, clever enough to be funny too. Strangers generally thought he was scary and unapproachable, but he makes an effort to be kind and offer help when he can. Decisive, intuitive, mature, gentle, attentive, diligent, efficient, well-mannered. All words that have been used to describe him before, some by Sirius himself. But Sirius usually makes his compliments sound more… grand despite their simple meanings, they were special. Things other people never called him. To Sirius, Remus was never just smart, he was brilliant, a genius. He wasn’t only well-groomed or clean or mysterious, he was beautiful, he was pretty.

Over the years, underneath it all, Remus has seen the way Sirius looks at him. Admiration was clear, love less so, but he saw it anyway. He saw when Sirius looked at him with wide, shining eyes that held an entire night’s sky, as if he was something untouchable and otherworldly, a holy sight not meant for the common eye. He saw when Sirius looked at him with soft smiles and a gentle ease of domesticity, the future hidden in a small and pulsating dot of light reflected in his eyes. He saw when Sirius looked at him energized and overflowing with passion, for his reaction to a bold play in quidditch, for a good grade in a hard class, to share in adrenaline roused friendship. One thing he never saw when Sirius looked at him was want. The kind of want that most relationships rely on being compatible with to thrive, the kind of want that Remus needs, the kind that burns until nothing is left besides the vulnerability of being entirely unraveled. 

“You love me,” is what leaves Remus’ tongue first.

“I do,” Sirius says back with a firm nod and not an ounce of hesitation. Remus’ heart twists like the punchline of an awful joke..

“That’s not the same.”

Sirius’ face shifts through a variety of emotions slowly. Clear confusion, gentle thoughtfulness, careful consideration, a spark of imaginative sympathy. There’s a static energy to the room, building up with each second that passes before Sirius responds. It’s stuffy, heavy on his shoulders, and Remus bitterly thinks how friends were supposed to be easier than relationships. They weren’t meant to overlap, not for Remus. For James and Regulus, for Barty and Evan, sure. Friendship was a catalyst for higher love to them, but Remus knew fate held his heart in a different grip. Tighter. Stricter. He wasn’t meant to be loved like that.

“What’s different?” 

“There are more attractive people for you to want,” Remus sighs, resigning himself to a night of truths and awkward admissions that just the thought of already felt like pulling teeth out. Sirius didn’t seem content to leave it alone though and regrettably, Remus could understand why. Both of them were tired of towing the line between what they said and what they meant like they were a pair of circus performers unable to fall out of balance if they tried, even if their personal version of balance was cruel and teasing and unfair, it was theirs.

“Right, says the most attractive man I know.” It’s almost laughable how it’s exactly what Remus thought Sirius would say. But Remus was not one to be convinced easily and he was not so naive as to believe love alone could make Sirius consider him the most attractive. A hyperbolic compliment meant to boost his ego and nothing more. What a pity Sirius felt the need to throw it to him like a bone to a dog. What an irony.

“Don—”

“Are you dim, Remus?” Sirius cuts him off sharply and Remus’ jaw has never snapped shut faster, “I have spent years wanting you!”

“But not li–”

“Yes, like that!” Remus is beginning to see a pattern in this conversation and despite not being able to get much of a word in, he likes it. He wants Sirius to explode and unload onto him as if nothing else matters except sharing every bit of thought that crosses his mind, he doesn’t want Sirius to stop talking until he can understand everything in his heart. 

“God, the things I’ve thought of doing to you would have a fist in my face surely,” Sirius finishes. It feels like a punch to the gut almost, how far Sirius is willing to throw himself out there like a piece of meat all to fill Remus’ hunger for affection. He knows what it’s like to be a warm body, to fill a space of lust, to chase relief and release, to be a fantasy, and to be someone’s object of love for the night. Remus knows a lot of things, but he doesn’t know what it feels like to be wanted and the way Sirius starts looking him up and down has him questioning if he’s been reading everything wrong.

“What… things?” The question leaves Remus’ lips before he can think better of it, before he can comprehend exactly what he’s asking of his friend. In the pit of his stomach and corner of his mind, he hopes Sirius answers anyway.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. Tell me how you want me.”

There’s a stretch of silence that has Remus wanting to take it back, pick up the pieces of his words that shattered over the floor and shove them back in his mouth, ignoring the cuts they would leave and the blood that would follow. But his body won’t move from where it rests against the desk. Sirius doesn’t move from where he stands only a foot or two in front of him either. Neither of them move, but Remus doesn’t miss the way Sirius swallows thickly and the way his gaze drops minutely down Remus’ face before flicking back up to his eyes. Then it drops again. Then jumps back up, as if his eyes are part of a game of pong and Remus’ own eyes and lips were the paddles. With an accidentally practiced ease, Remus focuses in on the dilation of Sirius’ pupils. For reasons he’s not entirely sure of, he finds himself feeling satisfied and warm as a thought crosses his mind that Sirius looks like he wants to kiss him.

“Please,” he begs, surprising both Sirius and himself at how it comes out almost as a whine. Remus’ eyes stick to the bobbing of Sirius’ adam’s apple as he nearly gulps again like there was something hypnotic in its movement. Red tints the tops of Sirius’ ears and the corner of his lips pulls up in a way that looks subconscious and part of Remus knows why, he heard the way he sounded too while they’re alone, tucked away in their own corner of the world, and he should feel embarrassed, but that’s always been difficult for him when Sirius was involved.

“You drive me crazy, Moony, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

In a way, he was right. Technically, Remus was well aware of what he was asking, but it was true he didn’t know the extent of how Sirius felt about him. He thought he did and while he wasn’t quite known for being wrong, it wasn’t out of the question. And with Sirius involved? A curveball could come at any moment. Maybe this was one too, Remus thought. Sirius didn’t want for him to think it through more though, the words spilling out of him like some otherworldly force was dragging them out against his will, like all his feelings were carbonated and Remus has been shaking the bottle since the moment he walked into the courtyard and he just loosened the cap.

“I’ve been dreaming about you since fifth year. Imagined… pulling your jumpers off myself rather than watch you do it while getting changed. That you were being undressed for a… different rea– for me. I’ve probably thought about touching you more than I’ve thought of my studies these last two years.”

There was a blush rapidly growing over Remus’ face more and more after each word left Sirius’ mouth but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when Sirius ran a hand over his face as if he couldn’t bear to look at Remus, but spread his fingers to peek through them; the heat in his gaze almost had Remus choking on air. That was a look he had never seen on his best friend’s face, one he never thought he would because it should’ve been reserved for whatever body lay with him in bed.

Sirius seemed unaffected by the heat as he continued, taking a step forward as if he was magnetically drawn to Remus’ side, “So many nights I’ve been restless, imagining what you would sound like if I…” he trailed off, but Remus could never miss the way his tongue poked out to rest on his bottom lip just for a moment before his teeth replaced its hold and Sirius held the pose as his eyes dropped to look Remus up and down. A shiver ran down his spine, but Remus has never felt more warm in his entire life, he thinks. Sirius takes another step forward, bold and confident, but there’s a hesitancy Remus thinks he can see in his eyes, behind the heat, behind the bubbling of his emotions spilling over. Something only he’d be able to notice, he thinks with an unnatural pride about it. Remus doesn’t move. Sirius keeps talking.

“Never have I been more attracted to anyone than I’m attracted to you, Remus, I can’t believe you haven’t noticed. Do you remember the night after we won that game against Ravenclaw last year? The one that lasted twice as long as it should’ve, snitch be damned?” Remus nodded. It was a tough game that had Sirius and James drenched in sweat by the end, but beaming and piling together with their whole team in a big group hug after, before they all made their way to the showers to prepare for the victory party that would be thrown later that night despite their exhaustion.

“You wore my spare jersey during the afterparty,” Sirius takes a second to pause and swallow again. His eyes don’t leave Remus’ lips for the next few moments and a dry laugh stumbles out of him, “Oh, Moons, you’ve never looked better, I think. James had to personally hold me back from taking you to the near corner and risking it all.” Remus remembered that party vaguely. He doesn’t remember wearing Sirius’ jersey, but he feels his face get noticeably hotter at the implication it must’ve given to everyone else who attended the party. Maybe it wasn’t the wildest of assumptions to assume they could’ve had something romantic. Maybe Remus was the strange one for not seeing it before.

Something cold enters Sirius’ gaze and dims the heat that had been growing as he continues, “Good thing he did though, huh? Would’ve been weird to make a move on you when you don’t feel the same.” Viscerally, Remus is reminded of the Christmas party like a punch to the gut. Their first kiss. Sirius doesn’t know. The pit of guilt in Remus’ stomach he’d been having a better time ignoring grows deeper at the thought, brought back into focus with full force. Would’ve been weird to make a move when you don’t feel the same. That applied to Remus too, didn’t it? What a horrible imitation of a person he was. He didn’t deserve Sirius. Sirius didn’t deserve to not remember. Something else is being said about how he looks when he’s serious and studying but Remus can only think of how disgusting he is for not telling Sirius what he should’ve already known.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words feel blocked in his throat. Sirius is being so sweet, spilling his heart out for Remus’ benefit, bearing his soul and most vulnerable thoughts to a monster undeserving. Remus is a regretful being for many reasons that stretch back even further than the parents he was unwillingly birthed to. Regret is his most beloved friend, always with him, even in the brightness that was Sirius’ presence, there were enough shadows for it to lurk until the perfect moment to strike like a cobra and bring him down. Remus might grow to regret this conversation as a whole, but he knows for sure he’ll regret immediately the way his body starts to move when he realizes his words aren’t working. 

He’ll regret the way he pushes himself up from the desk with so much force that he almost stumbles into Sirius who, despite the clear surprise at the physical interruption, catches him with a hand on each side of his waist purely out of instinct, as he chooses to believe it. Remus’ own hands land on Sirius’ biceps until he finds his footing. Sirius isn’t talking anymore, but Remus can almost feel the pressure of the question he’s about to ask and he loathes the way Sirius’ hands fly off of him as if Remus was something immoral for him to touch. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything though, because before Remus can think and regret it only in the form of an idea, he’s moving his hands to cradle Sirius’ jaw and pulling their faces together in a gentle kiss. 

It’s clear the way Sirius freezes, his own lips unmoving and hands hovering still as if he’s not allowed to reach for Remus anymore which is just ridiculous, he thinks. But Remus pushes through anyways, moving his lips against Sirius’ the only way he knows how: languid and pressurized just enough, not demanding for more, but asking. Gentle enough to be kind and opening, hard enough to be taken seriously and to spark a reaction. It takes a few moments, but after one of Remus’ thumbs brushes over Sirius’ cheek and his other hand slides to the back of Sirius’ head– threading his fingers through the thick hair as easy as if it muscle memory, like he’s been doing this for all the past lives his soul has accumulated in its time– Sirius pushes back, leaning into the kiss like a starved animal. 

Eventually, Sirius puts his hands back on Remus’ waist tentative and slow as if he was afraid the touch would break Remus out of some sort of spell he was under. But it doesn’t, and Remus keeps kissing him like he was made for it, like Sirius was the only thing that mattered then. They stay like that for more than a few moments before Remus is pulling away. He doesn’t go far though, keeping a hand on the back of Sirius’ neck and repositioning to lean their foreheads together. For another minute, neither move. Only breathing into each other’s space and it’s awfully intimate, almost enough to make Remus’ stomach turn inside out and he almost sick, as if the butterflies he was supposed to feel were trying to break through and fly out of him like a chestburster xenomorph. Considering they don’t though, the kiss was positive. Good, even. It felt natural, not boundary-breaking or faked for their friends. For at least a moment, Remus had wanted to kiss Sirius. He enjoyed it.

“What was that for?” Sirius whispers with the stars in his eyes and cherry-colored cheeks.

“You deserve a kiss you’ll remember,” Remus says without thinking too much on it, hating the way his face slips into a grimace. Distantly, he can feel the regret creeping up on him, the guilt, the knowledge that he once again teased Sirius into a romance with no ending. What a cruel monster he was.

“... What?” The confusion is evident in his tone and Remus wishes so much that this would be easier, but he knows it won’t. He lets his hands drop from their hold on Sirius and almost throws up from the way Sirius keeps his tucked nicely over Remus’ waist, polite and gentlemanly as he always is. The way Sirius is looking at him, like he’s the most wondrous thing to be found on the entire planet, like he hung the stars that still shine in Sirius’ own eyes, like he was something so special and beautiful and not a monster of creation. Remus was his own Dr. Frankenstein and Sirius was romanticizing the stitches of his limbs that barely held him together.

“Fifth year, the Christmas party, do you remember?”

“Not much…” Sirius trails off, genuinely attempting to recall it on the spot and Remus hates how endearing it is, “Why?”

“James got drunk,” Remus starts.

“Not surprising.”

“James got drunk,” he repeats with more emphasis, trying to give Sirius a look that says, "Please, let me get through this.” He hates the way Sirius’ eyebrows raise and his eyes widen and he gives a small nod, always knowing exactly what Remus wants from him. How perfect of a boyfriend he’d be for a better person, Remus thinks bitterly before continuing, “he found some mistletoe and… put us under it.” Something akin to anger seems to flash across Sirius’ face and Remus feels like he’s back at that party, watching the betrayal Sirius felt paint his face in its wretched way, the reason he made that mistake in the first place. Sirius still looks confused and Remus has never hated knowing something more. Part of him, in spite of the irrationality, thinks he would’ve preferred it Crucio’d out of him too, if only to save both him and Sirius from the burden of the truth. 

“Sirius, you don’t remember, but we k–”

“No,” Sirius interrupts, sharp and enunciated like his life depending on not letting Remus say it out loud. The furrow in his brows is deep and unsettling, there’s a darkness to his eyes that Remus recognizes, he’s filtering through every memory in his mind trying to find any glimpse that could prove Remus wrong, to fill the gap and make it all make sense.

Remus tries to finish, but Sirius doesn’t let him, “That’s not possible. You wouldn– James he– Why do I not r–” the rest of his words get swallowed in a gasp, the struggle of trying to articulate while trying to remember like trying to breathe while drowning.

“Sirius…” Remus whispers as gently as he can manage, tempted to bring a hand to massage up and down Sirius’ bicep soothing and comforting, but something about the tortured look on his friend’s face makes his second guess the action.

“Why don’t I remember?” He finally spits out, all in one gulping breath like he couldn’t spare any air for it, but it needed to get out, “If we k–” Remuse can physically see him choke on the word, “ I would rem–”

“It’s not your fault.”

Sirius startles, shoulders tensing and big eyes locking onto Remus’ like he held all the answers and he hated how, just for this moment, that was right. Gingerly, he tries his best to explain what happened, tiptoeing around the fact that the only reason he knew was because of James, who only knew because of Regulus, who was forced to watch. Luckily, Sirius doesn’t seem too concerned about how Remus knows this, instead, he believes every word the second it leaves his tongue as if he trusted Remus to always tell him the truth. Remus, the liar and the cryptic, trusted to be honest. What a laughable fact. But Remus was glad for it anyway, Sirius didn’t need the added stress. 

It takes more than a few moments and a handful of clarifying questions, but eventually Sirius understands what happened between them and why he didn’t remember. There’s a new shine to his eyes with unshed tears and idly, Remus’ hands cradle his face and he uses his thumbs to wipe them away. Sirius leans into his touch in a way that truly reminds Remus of a dog. Briefly, he wonders what Sirius would do if he reached up and scratched behind his ears to really sell the image. He doesn’t get to live out that scenario though, because soon Sirius is rushing forward to wrap his arms around Remus’ midsection and hug him like it would be the last time he was able to, nuzzling his head into Remus’ neck. The tickle of Sirius’ nose pressing into his carotid pulse point and the hot fan of breath from his shaky exhales had Remus shivering again which was strange, because he still felt warm.

His hands moved around Sirius’ shoulders like it was second nature, because it was. They’ve hugged more times than Remus can count, but it’s usually on a much more casual level: an arm slung over his shoulder while talking, a side-hug for a test well done, a quick but energetic and spinning victory hug after a game, a group hug between them and their friends. It’s not often Sirius seeks him out for an emotional hug. It’s even rarer that Remus is grateful that he does. He’s never been good at comforting others, even his best friends and they all know this. That’s what James does best, he’s the real heart of their group. Sirius is always good for bouncing feelings off of and he’s a great listener when it’s important. Peter is as empathetic as they come, always willing to lend an ear or a hand. Remus didn’t give advice, he wasn’t a good hugger, and he never knew what to say and when he tried, it was usually wrong. Sirius never cared about words too much anyways, he reasons.

“I’m sorry…” Sirius mumbles into his neck, not bothering to pull away in the slightest to say it clearer, knowing Remus would hear him either way. If anything, Remus thinks he feels him lean in impossibly more.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Love,” the pet name slips out on its own, without Remus intending it to, and there’s another twist to his heart when he can feel the way Sirius’ face heats up in the crook of his neck, the touch burning. 

“You didn’t have to do that for me. Either of them.”

“I know,” Remus urges, taking a deep breath before pushing the full truth through his clenched teeth like it would bite on the way out, “I wanted to.” The words burn when they leave his tongue and it’s almost like a vision of the Hellfire in Remus’ future for all he’s done wrong in such a short life. Sirius is silent for a few minutes, his hands curl into the fabric of Remus’ sweater like he’s clinging for his life and Remus knows he’s sitting on something he wants to say but doesn’t have the confidence yet. 

So they sit like that, and Remus doesn’t move or make a sound, until Sirius speaks up, far too timid and shaky for Remus’ liking, “Can you do it again?”

Some jumbled mess of almost-words dribbles out of Remus’ mouth nonsensically as he sputters. Out of the many options he went through during the wait, that wasn’t one of what he thought Sirius might say. He can feel the heat rise to his cheeks and hopes to every deity out there that Sirius keeps his head down and doesn’t see, but the gods have never favored Remus and that is instead the first thing Sirius does; he pushes himself off of Remus and stares into his eyes like it's a plea for his life and not a kiss, “Please, Remus.”

“Just one more time,” Sirius continues, laying both his hands flat over Remus’ chest, his eyes wide and watery, but a small flame of the heat from before returned and Remus could see how badly Sirius wanted it– wanted him– now that he was no longer hiding it, “Punish me however you want after, curse me, scream at me, push me away, make me feel like the worst person alive for asking, I don’t care how you want to handle it, but I’d do– I’ll give anything for you to kiss me again.”

“I won’t.”

“I swear I’ll never ask again, but I’m beg–”

“I won’t push you away again, we’re past that,” Remus clarified with a hard swallow, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted by the whine in Sirius’ voice, by the clear want decorating his voice like it was only second nature for him to beg, like he was lost if he wasn’t following Remus. Blindness was a cruel disease and Remus has never worn glasses a day in his life, but he thinks maybe he’s needed them the entire time. Sirius’ face has never looked so in focus, sharp and angular and precise like a scene plucked straight from the complicated, stormy dramas that Sirius loves to hate. His features could’ve been carved from marble, years dedicated to the craft to ensure he looked as lovely as possible, even angry, even in tears, even begging for a love he found desolate. He shook and he cried, all wet and ugly, he sniffled with an open smile and Remus never thought Sirius looked more beautiful.

Kissing Sirius again was easier than Remus thought it would be. His hands find steady solace in the curve of Sirius’ neck and the only thing that feels wrong about the motion of them together is the salt left on Remus’ tongue– licked off his lips, captured from Sirius’– when they part. Shaky hands find their way off of Remus’ waist and only with they leave does he realize they were there in the first place. He finds he misses it, just a little bit. Those same shaky hands come up to grab at Remus’ own and pull them off, like Sirius is trying to run away, like he thinks it’s all over– that they’re over– and maybe it should be. Maybe they should be done, kissing him any more would be cruel. But to his own surprise, Remus thinks he really, really, likes kissing Sirius. He kind of wants to do it again. Sirius would like that, wouldn’t he? And what kind of friend would Remus be if he didn’t want Sirius to be happy?

The chilled air hitting his fingertips– no longer connected to Sirius’ skin– makes Remus jump into an action he doesn’t think he’ll regret later. Dodging his hands out of Sirius’ weak grip is easy, bringing them back to handle the back of Sirius’ head like he’s something precious is easier, he is precious. Pushing them back together is the easiest, Remus thinks. There must be a past life of theirs where they’ve crossed this line before, it’s the only reason Remus can comprehend for why it feels so simple to tangle his hands in Sirius’ hair, to push against his lips and pull back and push again in a rhythm Sirius matches like he already knows it– like they both do. The surprise lingers, Remus can tell he’s apprehensive, but they move together anyways. They keep kissing anyways. Muscle memory needs to be trained and Remus knows more than he knows how to clear the daze in his head that they haven’t kissed nearly enough for that, but it feels like they have. Like they were made for this.

Remus has kissed plenty of people, girls and boys and in-between alike, but none of them have matched the way he moves better than Sirius does with no knowledge of how Remus likes it, no practice. The only thing he has that the others never did is a true desire, Remus supposes, a real love to back the want, feelings that were never too important before. Maybe Remus had been deluded to believe that kissing couldn’t be so different with or without feelings, that the physicality of it was all there was, but Sirius kissed him back with a fire that reached throughout Remus’ nervous system from the tips of the hairs on the top of his head to the soles of his feet and surely deeper, into the floor beneath them, thrumming with an energy he hadn’t known was kept contained for years. Sirius kisses like he means it, because he does. He kisses like it’s the last time he’ll get a taste, but the longer they stay connected, the more Remus’ resolve wavers.

It has to be Remus’ choice to pull back, he knows Sirius won’t cut it off, but there’s too many words bubbling up his throat like he’s a shaken bottle of champagne ready to burst and he needs Sirius to know there’s a chance he’ll get to be happy again. He needs Sirius to know that Remus likes this too, despite the difference in feelings. It might be the hardest thing he’ll have to do, but Remus might even have to admit that James could be right.

“Siri…” Remus sighs into the tiniest gap between them, feeling rather than seeing the shiver that goes through Sirius and the hitch of his breath fanning over his face, “I want to keep doing this.” Sirius’ hands fidget around, grabbing at Remus’ clothes, his arm, his waist, his own fingers, he’s nervous and it’s as clear as day. Remus lets him touch and wander all he wants while he continues whispering through what he needs to say.

“I like this. I think I– I want to kiss you more if you’ll let me. I want to try and love you like you deserve to be loved, if you’ll have me, if I’m not too late.”

Sirius laughs. Breathy, a little dazed, beautifully. He doesn’t pull away from the hold Remus has on him still, but his hands steady fisted in the fabric around Remus’ midsection like the nerves have poured out of him and he feels just at home in the aftermath of a kiss as Remus does. 

“I was ready to wait forever Moons, I don’t think you get it.”

“You should explain it to me then,” he says, hoping Sirius gets what he really means to say.

“Can I?”

He nods, the smile of being understood blooming over his lips taken by Sirius’– eager and quick and not wasting a second– as he rushed forward to kiss Remus, his excitement over initiating almost had Remus laughing and unable to kiss back, but his focus dwindled impossibly so when Sirius boldly pulled Remus’ bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it out and then diving back in to press a few baby-soft teasing kisses to the corner of his mouth. He moved confidently, but when he retracted to speak again, Sirius’ voice shook enough to spell out all the nerves he was vibrating with.

“How about… you agree to let me kiss you again after a lovely walk through the castle tonight and– and let me call it a date and in return I– I will tell James and Peter so you don’t have to… Deal?”

“Deal,” Remus laughs out against Sirius lips like it’s the obvious answer before kissing him again just because he can, the guilt bound and shelved away, replaced by a sleeve of warm knowledge that Sirius is willing to let him learn and work it out, that he’s not done with Remus yet, that he believes in the possibility that he could be loved all the same as the others. Their opinions never did quite matter as much, but if Sirius believes, then so will Remus.