Chapter 1
The crescent moon hung low over the Forbidden Forest, its silver glow filtering through the arched windows of the Gryffindor common room. Remus Lupin sat curled in his favourite armchair by the fire, the flickering flames casting shadows on the pages of his book. He wasn’t really reading, though. The words blurred into nonsense every time his thoughts drifted back to Sirius Black. Which was far too often these days.
Sirius had always been magnetic, a whirlwind of laughter and rebellion, drawing everyone into his orbit with the ease of a star pulling planets close. But somewhere over the past few months, Remus had stopped admiring Sirius like one admires a brilliant firework and started noticing the quieter things—the way Sirius’s hair curled at the ends when he’d been out in the rain, the soft, thoughtful look that crossed his face when he thought no one was looking. Tonight, Sirius had sprawled out on the rug by the fire, flipping through his sketchbook, biting his bottom lip in concentration. Remus’s heart had stuttered painfully in his chest at the sight, and he’d hastily buried his face in his book. What was wrong with him?
"Moony, you alright?" Sirius’s voice cut through his spiral of thought, warm and rich, and entirely too close. Remus glanced up to find Sirius watching him, his grey eyes full of that peculiar mix of mischief and care that always left Remus scrambling for words
"Yeah," Remus said quickly, though his voice came out strained, more of a croak than anything. He cleared his throat and forced a small smile. "Just tired."
Sirius didn’t seem convinced. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin that made Remus’s stomach twist in ways he didn’t want to think about. Sirius pushed himself up from the rug and sat cross-legged on the floor, resting his chin in his hand as he peered up at Remus.
"You’ve been weird lately, you know that?" Sirius said, his tone light, teasing. "Not your usual Moony brand of weird, either. More like… I don’t know. Extra broody."
Remus closed his book, the thud of it snapping shut louder than he intended. He hoped it masked the sound of his heart hammering against his ribs. "I’m not broody," he muttered, avoiding Sirius’s gaze.
"See? That’s what a broody person would say," Sirius countered with a mock-serious expression, leaning back on his hands. He looked so at ease, so completely unaware of the chaos he was causing in Remus’s chest. It wasn’t fair.
"Maybe I’m just sick of your constant pestering," Remus quipped, trying to sound irritated. He wasn’t sure it worked, though, because Sirius laughed—bright and uninhibited, the kind of laugh that always left Remus breathless.
"Constant pestering is what I do best, Moony. You should know that by now." Sirius shifted closer, his knee brushing against Remus’s. The contact was casual, accidental, probably meaningless, but it sent a jolt through Remus like lightning in his veins.
He wanted to pull away. He wanted to stay exactly where he was. He wanted—oh, Merlin, he didn’t even know what he wanted anymore, other than for Sirius to stop looking at him like that. Like he mattered. Like there was no one else in the world Sirius would rather be talking to.
"You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?" Sirius asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
Remus finally looked up, meeting his gaze. Sirius’s expression wasn’t teasing anymore; it was open, sincere, and it made something in Remus’s chest ache. For a moment, he thought about telling him. About saying everything—how Sirius made him feel, how terrifying and exhilarating it was to be so completely undone by someone without them even realizing it.
But instead, he smiled, small and strained. "Of course, Padfoot," he said. "Always."
It was a lie, and Sirius must have known, because his brow furrowed slightly. But then he smiled back, letting it go, and Remus hated how grateful and disappointed he felt all at once
The silence that followed was heavy, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind it. He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows as he stared at the fire. The golden light danced across his face, and Remus couldn’t help but watch him. Sirius had always been beautiful in a way that was almost unfair, like he’d been crafted to make the rest of the world seem dull. But lately, it wasn’t just his beauty that had Remus’s attention—it was everything. The way Sirius moved, the way he laughed, the way he cared so deeply for the people he let into his heart.
"Do you think McGonagall’s ever been in love?" Sirius asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Remus blinked, startled by the question. "What?"
"You heard me," Sirius said, turning his head to smirk at him. "She’s got that whole 'no-nonsense' thing going on, but maybe deep down, she’s got some tragic love story we don’t know about. Like, maybe she was secretly in love with a dragon tamer or something."
Remus snorted despite himself. "A dragon tamer? That’s oddly specific."
"Just saying," Sirius replied, grinning. "People surprise you sometimes."
Remus hummed, his gaze dropping to his hands. He twisted his fingers together, a nervous habit he’d never quite shaken. "Yeah," he said softly. "They do."
Sirius’s grin faded, replaced by a curious tilt of his head. "You’re doing it again," he said.
"Doing what?"
"Being cryptic and weird," Sirius said, sitting up properly now. "Come on, Moony, spill. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?"
Remus hesitated. The urge to tell him—everything—welled up again, sharp and insistent. He wanted to explain the tightness in his chest, the way his stomach flipped every time Sirius smiled at him, the way his heart felt like it was breaking and mending all at once when Sirius was near. But he couldn’t.
"You really want to know?" he asked instead, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sirius nodded, his expression earnest. "Of course I do."
For a moment, Remus almost let himself believe it could be that simple. That he could just say the words and Sirius would understand, that everything wouldn’t fall apart. But fear held him back, stronger than the longing.
"I’ve just been… thinking a lot," Remus said finally, forcing a faint smile. "About… stuff."
"That’s the worst answer I’ve ever heard," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, but there was a softness in his voice that made Remus’s chest ache.
"Sorry to disappoint," Remus said, trying for a teasing tone. It didn’t quite land.
Sirius didn’t push him further, though. Instead, he shifted closer again, bumping his shoulder lightly against Remus’s. "Well, whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You’re the smartest of us, after all."
Remus wanted to laugh at that. He didn’t feel very smart—not when his thoughts were this tangled, this messy. But he nodded anyway, grateful for the reassurance, even if Sirius didn’t know how much he needed it.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Sirius grinned, bright and easy, as if the heaviness of the moment had already passed. "Anytime, Moony. You’re stuck with me, remember?"
Remus managed a smile, but his chest felt unbearably tight. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up—this dance of almosts and not-quites. But for now, he let Sirius’s laughter fill the space between them, a warmth he couldn’t bring himself to let go of.