daisy
Sirius Black's POV
I’m not going to lie. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought that after this long, Remus would finally notice me. It was all going to fall into place. All I needed was a few well-placed comments, a couple of late-night chats, a moment or two where I could look at him without turning into a sopping, giggling fool.
But instead, I just keep making it worse.
"Remus," I start, trying to sound casual, leaning against the doorframe to the Gryffindor common room. "Did you—"
He looks up from his book, his eyes narrowing. "Sirius, if this is about the map, I told you I didn’t touch it."
The map. Of course, he doesn’t care about the map. I’m trying to have an actual conversation with him, and he’s worried about a bloody piece of parchment.
"No, no," I say quickly. "I was just wondering, you know... if you wanted to—"
He quirks an eyebrow, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Wanted to what, Sirius?"
And this is the part where I crack. Because I was going to ask if he wanted to hang out, maybe go to Hogsmeade together, maybe sit by the lake and talk about life or something, but now I’m hyper-aware of the fact that I’m standing here in front of him, sounding like a bloody idiot.
So I do what any self-respecting person would do: I laugh it off. "Never mind. You wouldn’t want to. You’re too busy being all smart and bookish."
He raises his eyebrows. "That’s what you think of me?"
"Well, yeah," I answer, leaning in a bit too close for comfort. "That and, y'know, the whole ‘soul-crushingly beautiful’ thing."
Remus goes very still, his face flushed with a mix of surprise and something else I can’t quite place. "I—"
"Alright, alright, I’m joking," I quickly add, taking a step back before I can make it even worse. "Don’t need to look at me like I’ve gone mad."
He just shakes his head, a small, awkward smile forming on his lips. "You’re an idiot, you know that?"
I grin, trying to seem nonchalant. "Yeah, but you’re still hanging out with me, so who’s the real idiot here?"
"Touché," he mutters, turning back to his book. But his lips are still twitching, and his eyes still linger on me for a fraction longer than they should.
And in that moment, something deep inside me twists painfully, because I’m never going to say the words. Not when it’s this complicated. Not when I’m not sure if he even wants to hear them.
I can’t even tell if he’d laugh it off or run in the other direction. So I’ll just keep pretending like this is fine, even when it’s not.
And Remus will never know how badly I’m bleeding inside, trying to be his friend when every part of me just wants to be something more.
---
Remus Lupin's POV
know Sirius is up to something. I can see it in the way he acts, in the way his words dance around things. I mean, it’s Sirius—charming, reckless, the one who always has a joke ready and a smile that makes the room feel warmer. But today, it feels a little more intense. His usual swagger is still there, but there’s something off about the way he’s looking at me.
It’s like he’s waiting for something from me, and it makes my stomach twist. I don’t know if it’s the tiredness from staying up too late last night or the way his eyes seem to be drawing me in more than usual, but I feel this strange pressure to say something, to give him the right answer.
The door creaks as Sirius leans in, a bit too close, and I feel my heart race just slightly. He’s smirking like he always does, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. What is it? Is he trying to flirt? I’m not sure, but it’s making my skin tingle.
I try to brush it off, like I always do. I raise an eyebrow, just enough to let him know I’m not fooled. "Wanted to what, Sirius?"
He starts to say something, then stops. I can tell he’s hesitating. I don’t know why, but I hate the way it makes me feel like I’ve missed something—like there’s something just out of my reach, and I’m too slow to grab it.
And then he backs off, brushing it off with a laugh that rings hollow. "Never mind. You wouldn’t want to. You’re too busy being all smart and bookish."
It stings more than it should. The way he says it so lightly, like he’s dismissing me. Maybe it’s the weight of his words, or maybe it’s just that old feeling of being... ignored. He says it like it’s a joke, but I know how much of that is just a defense mechanism. He’s deflecting.
"That’s what you think of me?" I ask before I can stop myself, and then he says something that I’m not sure how to handle.
He looks at me with that damn grin, and for a split second, it almost feels like there’s something real there, something more than just the constant teasing, the friendly banter. "Well, yeah," he says, moving closer again. "That and, y'know, the whole ‘soul-crushingly beautiful’ thing."
My breath catches.
I can’t breathe for a moment. His words hang in the air, pulling at something deep inside me that I thought I’d buried. His tone is light, playful even, but I can hear the underlying truth in it. He’s looking at me, and for a second, I wonder if he knows what he’s doing to me. If he knows what he’s saying.
But I can’t just admit it. I can’t let him see how badly I’ve wanted to hear him say something like that. How much I’ve longed for him to notice me, to really see me.
So I laugh it off, because that’s what I do best. I make a joke of it. "I—" I hesitate. I feel stupid. "I don’t know about that, Sirius."
And just like that, the moment is gone. I can’t even hold on to it for longer than a heartbeat. He’s grinning again, so wide it almost hurts to look at, and I can’t tell if it’s a grin for me, or just the grin he gives everyone.
But it’s enough to make me want to scream, to throw something at the wall, to punch the bloody doorframe and shout that I am so tired of pretending.
Sirius Black is impossible. He’ll never look at me the way I want him to. I’ve known that for years. But somehow, despite all of that, I still find myself hoping, praying that one day, he will.
But I can’t say anything. Not when I don’t even know if I can handle what it would do to me.
I watch him turn away with a half-smile, and I feel that familiar ache twist in my chest again. "You’re an idiot, you know that?" I mutter, trying to sound like I’m teasing, but the words feel more like a confession than a joke.
"Yeah, but you’re still hanging out with me, so who’s the real idiot here?" he shoots back without missing a beat, and my heart skips, despite myself.
I wish I could be like him. So carefree, so easy. But I’m not. I can’t be. Not with him. Not when he’ll never see me the way I need him to.
"Touché," I mutter, trying to focus on the book in my lap, but all I can think about is the warmth of his voice, and how it lingers long after he’s walked away.