Think too much

The firelight flickered low, casting shadows on the high common room walls. James was stretched across the couch, one arm draped over his face, while Sirius sat slouched in an armchair, feet propped on the table. A bottle of butterbeer dangled loosely from his fingers, untouched.

James peeked out from under his arm. “You’re too quiet. It’s unnerving.” he mumbled.

Sirius smirked faintly, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

“You alright?” James pressed, clear and softer this time.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius replied, the sharp edge in his tone daring James to push further.

James sat up, watching him. Sirius tensed, his eyes were fixed on the fire, but there was something far away about his expression, like he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Something happen?” James tried again clueless.

“Just the usual bollocks,” Sirius muttered. “You know how people talk. Nothing worth repeating.” He downed the half of his butterbeer in one go, as if to punctuate the statement.

James shrugged, leaning back. “People are idiots. Always have been, always will be.” he said easily. Sirius had been the talk of the school as the black sheep of his family. More than ever since it was official now, he hadn't been going back there in a year, living with James’s.

Sirius gave a noncommittal hum, his jaw tightening. It wasn’t just the words that had stuck with him. It was the ease with which they’d been said, the way no one even questioned it. Words tossed around like they were harmless. Like they weren’t aimed at anyone. Like they didn’t land somewhere.

He shifted in his seat, restless. “You’d think,” he said finally, “that wizards, of all people, wouldn’t be so bloody small-minded.”

James blinked at him, caught off guard. “Small-minded? What’re you on about?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said quickly, seemingly changing his mind, standing up and stretching in one smooth motion. “Forget I said anything. Let’s nick something from the kitchens. I’m starving.”

James watched him for a beat, suspicious but unwilling to press. “Right, but if we get caught, I’m saying you hexed me into it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius said, already halfway to the portrait hole. His grin was back in place, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

As they walked through the quiet corridors, Sirius kept the conversation light, cracking jokes and baiting James as usual. But in the back of his mind, the words lingered—sharp, barbed, and far too close for comfort. Because in their world, no one was queer. And even if they were, it wasn’t something anyone wanted to be.

They made it to the kitchens without incident, slipping inside with practiced ease. The house-elves barely looked up as Sirius swiped a loaf of bread and tossed an apple at James, who was caught it before it knocked down bunch of mugs with a loud noise that'd definetly get them caught. Letting out a breath in relief, he stared at Sirius with a mock glare.

“You’re reckless, you know that?” James said, biting into the apple.

Sirius grinned, leaning against the counter. “Reckless is what keeps life interesting.”

James shook his head, laughing quietly. “One day, Pads, you’re going to find someone who puts up with your nonsense long enough to call you out on it.”

“Someone like you?” Sirius quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly like me,” James said, smirking. “Except they’ll have to be better looking, obviously. I’ve set a high bar.”

Sirius chuckled, but the sound was hollow. Hopped on the counter with a leg propped up. The weight of James’s words hung in the air longer than either of them expected, and for a moment, Sirius felt exposed in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

James, oblivious as ever, was already rummaging through a basket of pastries. “You know, Lily said something interesting today.”

“Oh, brilliant. Let me guess, she found a new way to call you insufferable?” Sirius teased half-hearted, looking down.

“Something like that,” James said, grinning. “But she was on about how people always make assumptions, right? Like, about couples, or people being in love, or whatever.” He shrugged. “Said it’s all a load of rubbish. You know, how everyone expects things to look a certain way. I don’t know she dwelled on it like i was to remember it.”

Sirius froze for a fraction of a second before forcing a casual laugh. “Evans is too clever for you, mate. She’s going to figure out how to make you shut up one day.” rubbing his arm.

“Doubt it,” James said, popping a piece of bread in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “She’s right, though. People are idiots, thinking they know everything about everyone. Like, who cares? Love’s love, isn’t it?”

Sirius’s grip tightened on the counter behind him, his knuckles going white. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice low. “Suppose it is.” Did she sense something? thought Sirius, his nerve going off.

James didn’t notice the tension. “See? You agree with me for once. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, pushing off the counter. “You’re insufferable. Come on, let’s get back before someone catches us.” His hands felt dry, or numb he thought, pushing the entrance open.

“Fine, but I’m taking this.” James stuffed another pastry in his pocket and followed Sirius out.

As they made their way back, Sirius couldn’t shake the knot in his chest. James’s words had hit closer than he’d expected. The casual way James dismissed assumptions, the ease with which he said “love’s love,” as if it were the simplest truth in the world—it felt like a lifeline and a dagger all at once.

Because Sirius knew better. It wasn’t that simple. Not in their world. Not for him.

And certainly not when it came to him about someone close, even if it was okay with his friends, it wasn’t something you could "do in their faces".

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as they climbed through the portrait hole, hoping the familiar common room would drown it out. But the image of Remus—head bent over a book, that quiet half-smile when he was amused, the way his voice softened when he spoke to Sirius—clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind.

James flopped back onto the couch, a triumphant grin on his face as he unwrapped his stolen pastry. “See, this is why you keep me around. Midnight snacks and good conversation.”

Sirius gave a noncommittal grunt, dropping into an armchair.

James eyed him over his pastry. “You’re not still brooding, are you?”

“I’m not brooding,” Sirius snapped, a little too quickly.

“Right,” James said, drawing out the word. “You’re just sitting there staring at nothing, being your usual cheerful self.” He tossed a balled-up bit of greasy parchment at Sirius’s head.

Sirius batted it away, scowling. “Shut up, Potter.”

James leaned back, grinning. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we?”

Sirius didn’t reply. He could feel James watching him, waiting for some sarcastic comeback or dramatic gesture, but he had nothing. His mind was a storm of thoughts he couldn’t say out loud.

The stairs to the common room creaked, and they both looked up.

“Speak of the devil,” James said with a sly grin.

Remus stepped through, hair tousled from sleep, his sweater loose at the neckline, resigned for sleepwear. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking at them. “What are you two doing up?”

Sirius’s throat went dry. He definitely didn’t disclose the devil was Remus. No mention of the name whatsoever. None, he thought quickly. He didn’t meet James’s eyes when he spoke.

“Midnight snack,” James waved his pastry in the air cheerfully. “Want some?”

Remus shook his head, yawning as he made his way to the couch. He sank down next to James, his movements slow and heavy with sleep. “You’re both impossible,” he murmured.

“Only him,” Sirius muttered, but his voice was softer than usual. He also wasnt Remus’s eyes. For more rooted reasons suddenly.

James smirked, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned back, stretching out lazily. “Well, I’m off. You two can fight over who gets to brood in peace.”

Before Sirius could protest, James was gone, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Remus tilted his head, studying Sirius. “You alright?”

Sirius forced a grin. “Fine. Just tired.”

“Liar,” Remus said, but there was no malice in it.

Sirius looked away, his fingers digging into the armrest. “People are annoying. That’s all.”

“True,” Remus said lightly, but his eyes lingered on Sirius.

For a moment, Sirius thought about saying something—anything. But the words caught in his throat, tangled with fear and doubt and the unspoken truth he wasn’t ready to face.

“Go to bed, Moony,” he said instead, his voice a little too sharp. “You look like death warmed over.”

Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He pushed himself up, casting Sirius one last curious glance before disappearing up the stairs.

Sirius stayed at the armchair untill his hearbeat slowed down. Realizing it wasn’t as thrilling when the quick beats were the result of fear.

He thought about it, what James said-what Lily said technically- and how it could be okay, if he was different. It would be distancing maybe. It wasn’t something he could just have, like the way James could have it with Lily. He pushed the dorm dorm walking in.

Sirius didn’t let the next thought in, but it sizzled. Not only did he wish for 'it' here with his friends, but he wished one of his friends. He glanced at the bed next to his, curtains drawed. He let himself stare a little before his eye shifted to the next bed after, which was James’s, he shook himself with guilt. Not only was he betraying a friend's trust with his thoughts but he was decieving his other friend by hiding things that would definitely not be something someone would look for in a mate.

Not being able to confide in your best friend about something must just be the tip off to how bad 'something' was.

He decided to just take a blanket and go back to the common room.

..

The thought of Remus settled like a weight in Sirius’s chest, heavy and unshakable. Now it was named: the thought of Remus.

The common room was empty now, save for the embers in the fireplace and the faint hum of the castle settling for the night. Sirius sat in the armchair, his legs draped over one side, staring at the ashes of the fire as though they might give him answers.

Sirius stayed where he was, staring into the dying fire. The common room felt colder without Remus in it, but Sirius stayed anyway, unwilling to face the thoughts waiting for him in the dark of his dorm.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that let thoughts creep in, thoughts he’d spent years trying to drown out with noise, with pranks, with careless charm. But here, in the stillness, they came rushing back—louder, sharper, undeniable.

Remus.

The way his voice softened when he said Sirius’s name. The way his hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary when they passed notes in class. The way he smiled at Sirius, not the wry, sarcastic smirk he gave everyone else, but something warmer, gentler.

It made Sirius feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

And yet, every time he thought about it, his stomach twisted with guilt. It wasn’t just the casual jabs and slurs that flew around the castle, the careless way people used words like "queer" or "poof" to fill silences or insult enemies. It was deeper than that. It was the unspoken rules of their world, the expectations he could never meet, the Black family name he’d already burned to ash but whose shadow still loomed over him.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. Loving Remus—if that was what this was—felt like a betrayal of everything he’d fought to become. Right now he didn’t care about the stares, the whispers, the jokes. But he cared about what it might mean for Remus, for their friendship, for the fragile bond they’d built out of shared secrets and silent understandings.

Someone came down from the dorms, and Sirius tensed. For a moment, he thought it might be Remus coming back down, but it was James, barefoot and blinking blearily.

“You’re still up?” James mumbled, scratching his head.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sirius said quickly, slipping back into his usual mask. “What’re you doing up?”

“Forgot my wand.” James yawned, shuffling over to the couch where he’d left it. He picked it up and squinted at Sirius. “You’re thinking too hard again. Never ends well for you.”

Sirius forced a smirk. “Careful, Potter, or I might think about hexing you.”

James chuckled, waving his wand lazily. “Go to bed, Pads. The world’s problems will still be here in the morning.”

Sirius didn’t answer, and James didn’t press. He gave Sirius a pat on the shoulder as he passed, a simple gesture that said more than words ever could.

When the door closed again, Sirius exhaled shakily. The room felt bigger, emptier, and the weight in his chest hadn’t lifted.

But for now, he stayed where he was, staring at the ashes and pretending he didn’t see Remus’s face in the flames.