Orbiting

Monday

Sirius strolled into the classroom with the confidence that only he could pull off. His usual charm was in full force as he surveyed the room—filled with unfamiliar faces. Remus was sitting in the front right next to Lily. Sirius had to fight the urge to smirk when he saw him—he just looked so studious. And while Sirius was here for a bit of the education McGonagall was offering, he was mostly here for the company.

He walked to the front of the class before dropping into the seat next to Remus with the greeting, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

Remus didn’t even look at him, though the faint exhale of frustration was enough for Sirius to know he’d managed to elicit some kind of reaction. He could practically feel Remus cursing his presence.

Lily muttered under her breath. “Yes, it is quite fancy seeing you here being that you don’t even take this class.”

“Well, you just made it sound so interesting at the pub, thought I’d check it out for myself.”

Before he could receive any sarcastic retort, Professor McGonagall walked in, a vision of authority in her sharp black suit. Sirius immediately straightened, taking on his best ‘I’m totally here to study’ expression.

She wasted no time. Her eyes scanned the class, and it only took a second before they landed on him.

"Excuse me," she said, a slight edge of confusion in her voice as she looked directly at Sirius. "I don’t believe I recognize you."

“Ah, Professor McGonagall, I’m Sirius Black. I’m auditing your class. Lily Evans mentioned it was quite engaging,” he said tilting his head in Lily’s direction, who rolled her eyes in response.

McGonagall seemed less than impressed, but she didn’t seem the type to make a scene. “I see. Well, Mr. Black, I hope you understand that I will not tolerate distractions in my lecture.”

Sirius wasn’t fazed. “Of course, Professor. I’m all about engagement. You’ve got my full attention.”

She stared at him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “Very well.”

With that, McGonagall began the lecture. Sirius leaned in a little closer to Remus, who was already flipping through his notes. There was something soothing about the way Remus focused—how his brow furrowed and tongue stuck out just slightly in the corner of his mouth. It made Sirius want to get closer, to shake him out of his bubble of intense concentration.

McGonagall was already talking, her voice clear and precise as she began her lecture. “Today, we’ll be discussing the ongoing feminist movement and its impact throughout the 1960s and into the present. This movement isn’t just about women’s rights—it’s a radical redefinition of gender itself. It’s questioning the roles men and women are expected to play, both in society and in the private sphere. It’s transforming what we consider the very idea of gender equality.”

McGonagall paused, eyes landing on Remus.

“Mr. Lupin,” she said, her tone slightly more measured, “After last class’s reading on this topic, could you share your thoughts on how the feminist movement is influencing perceptions of masculinity?”

Sirius sat up a little straighter, his eyes flicking to Remus as he waited for his answer. Remus hesitated only slightly as he glanced sideways at Sirius. Then he cleared his throat and began his response.

“Well, the feminist movement isn’t just challenging women’s roles—it’s also forcing society to reevaluate masculinity. As women fight for their right to work, to have autonomy over their lives, and to break free from restrictive gender norms, men are starting to question the roles they’ve been forced into as well. We’re seeing debates about whether strength and emotion have to be mutually exclusive. And as more women demand equality in the workplace, men are realizing they can be more than just ‘providers’—they can be fathers, caregivers, or even more emotionally open.”

Sirius couldn’t help but watch intently, hungry for every word from Remus’ mouth.

“The movement,” Remus continued, “is proving that gender roles aren’t static. Men, too, can defy expectations—can express vulnerability without being seen as weak.”

“Excellent, Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall interrupted, nodding in approval. “Thank you for that insight. It’s important to remember that the feminist movement isn’t just redefining the place of women in society—it’s also forcing us to rethink how gender is shaped for everyone.”

Sirius leaned in close to Remus’ ear careful to keep his voice quiet enough so McGonagall wouldn’t overhear. “You quite know your stuff. Might need a study session with you to catch up if I’m going to continue auditing this class”

As he pulled away he noticed that Remus’ skin had gone about three shades redder than a few moments ago and he seemed to be deliberately not looking at him, which gave Sirius a flutter of satisfaction.

He leaned back in his chair, letting the conversation flow around him. He had accomplished his goal this time around. He just needed to slowly chip away at Remus until he fully revealed himself.

—

Tuesday

Sirius perched on the ledge of an old stone building, trying to shake off the lingering haze of a long lecture. He had a few minutes before his next class, but he wasn’t ready to head in just yet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his eyes scanning the bustling courtyard. They landed on a familiar figure—Remus, leaning casually against a tree. Sirius hadn’t expected to bump into him so soon, but who was he to pass up the opportunity? A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pushed himself off the ledge and strolled toward him, the cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers.

"Oi, Remus," Sirius greeted with a tilt of his head, running his fingers through his hair to untangle the mess the wind had made of it.

Remus turned at the sound of his voice, a faint glimmer of warmth in his eyes, though it quickly faded into something less open.

"Hey," Remus said, his gaze flicking to the cigarette between Sirius's fingers. His voice took on a faux sternness. "You really shouldn’t smoke, you know. It’s bad for you."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a broad grin overtaking his face. "I’m pretty sure you’re smoking right now," he said, his eyes darting to Remus's hand that was concealed out of sight, where a wispy trail of smoke was drifting from behind his back.

"No," Remus replied, his expression deadpan. "I’m not."

Sirius let out a small scoff, taking a long drag of his cigarette and holding it for a moment before letting the smoke swirl lazily into the air. "Really? Because it's either that or your jumper’s on fire."

Remus’s eyes flickered briefly as if weighing whether to play along. With a sigh, he finally pulled his hand from behind his back, revealing the cigarette nestled between his fingers. He raised it to his lips, taking a slow drag while keeping Sirius’s gaze locked. "Nope," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air above Sirius’s head. "I’m most definitely not."

Sirius stared at him, trying to keep his smile in check. "Right," he said, feigning disbelief. "Clearly, I'm mistaken."

“Exactly.” Remus’ lips curling just slightly. He tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with the end of his cane. Sirius watched him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at the playful deflection.

"Well," Sirius said, raising his cigarette in a mock salute, "if that’s the case, I suppose I’m not smoking either."

Remus didn’t bite on the sarcasm. Instead, he slowly dragged his eyes over Sirius, the look unreadable as usual. For a moment, Sirius lost himself in the intensity of it, and when he snapped back to reality, it felt like Remus had shifted closer—had he always been this close? Sirius didn’t think so.

Before Sirius could make sense of it, Remus’s hand brushed his, just the faintest touch, as he swiped the cigarette from his fingers in one fluid motion.

"Guess you’re not," Remus murmured, his voice low and rough. Without breaking eye contact, Remus put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled, the smoke swirling between them like something tangible. Sirius swallowed hard, resisting the urge to close more of the distance and breathe in the air straight from Remus’ mouth.

"I’ve got class soon," Remus added, stepping back and turning to leave. But before he walked away, he glanced back at Sirius one last time, a look that left him rooted to the spot, momentarily speechless.

Sirius watched him go. It had been too brief, too fleeting. He wanted more—more of that strange pull, more of the tension in the air. And yet Remus was already walking away, his shoulders tense as he used his cane to make long purposeful strides.

"You know," Sirius called after him, his voice laced with frustration. "if you weren’t trying so hard to avoid me, we could actually have a proper conversation."

Remus paused mid-step, before turning back to face Sirius, his expression neutral. "I’m not avoiding you, Sirius," he said, his tone measured, though there was an edge to it. "I’m just busy."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. What could he say to that? Remus turned back and walked away, the distance between them growing with each step.

He stood there for a long moment, wondering what had just happened—and why the thought of his cigarette between Remus’ lips was so damn enticing.

—-

Friday

Sirius hesitated only briefly outside the dorm before knocking, even though he already knew James wouldn’t answer. He’d made a show of forgetting about James’s football practice, but he’d actually been waiting for the excuse. A convenient opportunity, nothing more.

The door opened a crack, just enough for Remus to peek through, one eyebrow lifting in mild surprise. "Sirius?" His voice carried the usual blend of caution and exasperation. "What are you doing here?"

Sirius leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets, feigning nonchalance. "James around?"

Remus just looked at him. A slow, unimpressed blink.

"You know he’s not."

Sirius pursed his lips like he was deep in thought. "Do I?" He glanced off to the side, rubbing his chin. "Oh, right—football practice. Must’ve slipped my mind."

Remus let out a long sigh, the kind that suggested he saw straight through him, but after a beat, he stepped back and pulled the door open. "Fine. Come in, then."

Sirius grinned like he’d won something and strolled inside. The dorm was much the same as usual—James’s side in varying states of organized chaos, and Remus’s corner void of anything except a neat stack of books and coursework. A faint crackle of static hummed from James’s record player on the desk, the needle resting idly in the center of the vinyl. A few albums were stacked beside it, and Sirius recognized Rumours sitting on top.

Remus shut the door behind him, rubbing the back of his neck as he lingered near his bed. "So?"

Sirius flopped onto James’s bed, stretching out like he owned the place. "So," he echoed, rocking onto his elbows, watching Remus with easy amusement.

A quiet settled between them. Not tense, exactly, but thick with something unsaid. Sirius was good at filling silence, but for once, he let it stretch, waiting to see what Remus would do with it.

Remus exhaled through his nose, glancing at the record player. "I was listening to music before you knocked."

Sirius tilted his head. "James’s music?"

Remus huffed. "Obviously. It’s his record player."

"And his albums?"

"Yep," Remus said, emphasizing the 'p.' "But I only pick the ones I actually like."

Sirius smirked. "Ah, so you’re curating the experience. Good to know." He propped himself up on his elbows, nodding toward the turntable. "What were you listening to?"

Remus hesitated, then shrugged. "Fleetwood Mac."

"Rumours?" Sirius guessed, already knowing the answer.

Remus gave a small nod.

Sirius made a lazy gesture. "Don’t let me stop you."

For a moment, it seemed like Remus might resist, but then he stepped over to the desk and carefully lifted the needle, setting it where he had left off. The soft hum of static filled the room, followed by the opening chords of I Don’t Want to Know.

Sirius grinned, tapping his fingers against his knee. "You ever think about what it must be like to be in that band? The breakups, the cheating, writing songs about each other while still playing together?"

Remus exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Sounds miserable."

Sirius stretched his arms behind his head. "Sounds brilliant. All that emotion turning into music? That’s why it’s so damn good."

Remus gave him a sideways look. "You like the messy ones, don’t you?"

Sirius shrugged. "Best kind."

"Figures." Remus snorted softly.

Sirius caught the teasing edge in his voice. "Come on, don’t tell me you don’t think The Chain is one of the greatest songs ever written."

Remus let out a small, conceding breath. "I didn’t say that."

"Exactly," Sirius said triumphantly. "So what else have you been stealing from James’s collection?"

Remus rolled his eyes but turned back to the stack of records, flipping through them with careful fingers. "He’s got Houses of the Holy."

Sirius sat up properly, beaming. "Oh, now that’s a good one."

Remus turned the album over in his hands, tracing the tracklist. "I like No Quarter a lot."

Sirius let out an exaggerated gasp. "Remus Lupin likes No Quarter? I never would’ve guessed."

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"

Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. "It means you’ve got taste."

Remus rolled his eyes again, but there was something lighter in his expression now. He set Houses of the Holy aside and pulled out another album. "Dark Side of the Moon," he said simply, turning it toward Sirius.

Sirius grinned. "Pink Floyd? Now we’re talking." He gestured at the record player. "Put it on."

Remus paused, but then Rumours ended, and without much thought, he replaced it with the vinyl in his hands. The room filled with the eerie, pulsing heartbeat of Speak to Me, and Sirius leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment.

They listened for a while, letting the music settle around them. The conversation slowed, then drifted into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just easy. Like they were truly sharing something.

Halfway through the album, as Us and Them played in the background, Remus spoke up.

"I used to listen to music with my mum when I was younger." His voice was quiet, but Sirius heard the shift in it, the careful way he said it—like he wasn’t used to giving up this kind of information.

An electric rush shot through him, a dizzy sort of headrush that came with the realization that Remus was letting him in, just a little. He kept his voice light, careful not to make it feel like a big deal. "Yeah?"

Remus nodded, staring at the ceiling. "She was always quiet, but music was something we shared. When my father was at work…he didn’t care for it much."

Sirius swallowed, watching him closely. "What did you listen to?"

Remus’s face softened slightly, his eyes going distant like he was somewhere else entirely. "Bob Dylan," he murmured. "The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan is her favorite."

Sirius glanced toward the stack of records. He shuffled through them, flipping past Zeppelin, The Beatles, The Stones—until he found it. A woman clinging to Dylan’s arm on a snowy street, the two of them wrapped up against the cold.

"Got it," Sirius said, holding up the album.

Remus blinked in surprise, sitting up slightly. "James has that?"

Sirius smirked. "Apparently." He pulled Dark Side of the Moon off the turntable and slid Freewheelin’ into place—the room filled with the familiar, wandering strum of Blowin’ in the Wind.

Remus didn’t say anything. But as the song played, he exhaled slowly, something in his posture unwinding.

Sirius leaned back, stealing a glance at Remus from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him look so... at peace. In that moment, with serenity softening Remus’ features, Sirius thought he could stay like this forever.