Golden Boy

When he comes downstairs on Tuesday morning (god Sirius hates Tuesdays), James is stress cleaning. He's moved on from normal post-party cleaning from the look of the full bin bag in the corner into panicked oh-my-god-everything-must-shine cleaning. Sirius leaves him to it - it's too early for that. Peter is half asleep in front of his cereal in the kitchen and therefore far more reasonable company. 

Sirius makes a face at the state of their bread (god does he miss proper french bread), then a face at the state of their fridge (empty so so empty), then a face at the state of their cupboards (also depressingly empty), then joins Peter in having cereal. He's not the biggest fan but whatever, tea cheers him up a little. 

“We don't have any decorations up,” James moans from the sitting room looking around like it's disappointing him deeply. “It's so … barren.” That's not actually true, there's a single childhood picture of Peter sobbing taped in the middle of the wall but when James continues with - “Unwelcoming. Cold.” - Sirius feels that now might not be the best time to bring that up. 

“We don't need decorations,” is what he says airily instead.

“We do,” James answers immediately, “And while I'm still here I will be getting you some but - no time today.” He sighs again and looks around the room, hands on his hips. “Do either of you have bouquets in your rooms?” 

“Like.. flowers?” Sirius double checks and James nods, “Uhhh given that we're all painfully single I'm gonna say no.”

“Not painfully,” says James, who complains about not having a boyfriend or girlfriend at least twice a day, “And you can buy yourself flowers. Or a friend.” This, Sirius supposes, is true. 

“How come you've never bought me flowers?”

James frowns.

“I haven't?”

“Nope.”

“What ones are your favourite?”

“You don't need to buy me flowers,” says Sirius, amused, “And do people really have favourite flowers?”

“I do.”

“If it's a lily,” Peter wakes up enough to warn and Sirius snorts with laughter. James pouts and blushes hard enough that it comes up on his darker skin. 

“It's not.” Sirius is sort of convinced that it actually is. “I like sunflowers.” That also tracks he supposes. “Anyway. We need to brighten this room up.”

“I doubt Remus cares,” Peter points out, bored, and oh, Sirius had forgotten that he would be arriving today. Fucking Tuesdays. James’ pout deepens. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, “I'm gonna go clean Gildroys room.” And off he goes, awkwardly tripping over the vacuum's wire as he does so, cursing lowly to himself, then even more awkwardly scooping it up and carrying it upstairs. Sirius and Peter exchange shrugs before returning to their cereal.

James’ nerves are making Sirius uneasy too however, and he goes upstairs after dumping half of his cereal - it got too soggy - clutching his second cup of tea feeling jitterish and stressed. This Remus fellow had better be worth it. 

He picks up his phone then tosses it to the far end of the bed then crawls over to it then stares at it for a long time before picking it up again and then staring at it again. Fucking Tuesdays. He stares at it some more before unlocking it and quickly clicking onto the phone app and then the right number and then it's ringing in his hands. A pause then -

Rrrrrrrrrring rrrrrrrrrrring rrrrrringgggggggg rrrrrinnggggggggg

He waits until it rings itself out. Unanswered. 

He's not sure how much longer it is until James calls him down. His yell startles him out of his position, sat cross legged on the bed, his phone clutched to his chest, staring blankly out the window. 

“SIRIUS”

“Coming,” he mutters mostly to himself, tripping over his own feet as he gets out of bed and then stumbling rather dramatically to the side when he overcorrects, trying not to fall over. Then yells louder for James’ benifit. “COMING.” 

He puts on one of the only sweaters he owns before he goes, a soft oversized plain black one, because he's cold and tired and vulnerable. He pushes the sleeves back to his elbows then scowls when they immediately fall back over his fingers and rolls them back properly instead as he goes down the stairs, cursing Tuesdays and winter and James Potter as he does. Needless to say, he's in a bad mood when he comes into the sitting room, folding his arms across his chest as he does so and to scowl at James and-

Oh. Right.

He really has to stop forgetting about Remus Lupin and his new arrival into his life. Although if this is said Remus Lupin, he'd say that time is officially of the past. 

Remus Lupin is tall. In a gangly kind of way that makes him look like he's not quite sure what to do with his limbs, like he grew up so fast that his body couldn't also grow out fast enough. Sirius bets he has knobbly knees. He's kind of odd looking, generally, with a poorly done modern sort of mullet, much shorter around his ears than anywhere else, his hair colour that sort of straw - brown - blond colour no one can ever really describe and his ears are too big for his lightly freckled face. He has two very prominent scars, one running from the corner of his jaw, just below his ear, across his (slightly crooked) nose, the other from under his jaw up the right side of his face, clipping the side of his mouth, almost to his hairline. His right eye looks clouded and unfocused, the pupil far bigger than the left. He's almost, sort of, beautiful.

He's also wearing the ugliest knit jumper Sirius has ever seen in his entire life. He didn't even know colours could clash like that.

“Sirius,” says James with a relieved grin. Sirius doesn't know what to do with his hands so he busies himself putting his hair into a bun. “Er - this is Remus. Remus, Sirius, Sirius - Remus.” 

“Hello,” says Remus in a very deep voice and he promptly stumbles over his own feet. While standing still. Sirius is almost impressed. The way James grabs him and gently rights him implies that this isn't an uncommon occurrence. 

“Hello,” says Sirius, “Do you think this room needs brightening?” 

“Er,” replies Remus' eyes flying between Sirius and James, blushing slightly from his near fall, “What?” James groans.

“Jamie was worried,” Sirius explains flippantly, “That you would think the room needs brightening.” Remus looks around like he hadn't actually bothered doing so until now. 

“Ignore him,” says James firmly and Sirius huffs indignantly, “He hates Tuesdays.” That is true. Sirius feels a little comforted that James knows this about him, even though it's something he complains about loudly and frequently.

“Right,” says Remus and Sirius wishes he would say something properly, a whole sentence. There's an awkward kind of pause but it might just be Sirius that's feeling awkward because Remus looks totally unphased. 

“Right,” James agrees easily. “Peter?”

Peter comes shuffling out of the kitchen, a blanket around his shoulders as always and a thoughtful look on his face as he takes in the … person that is Remus Lupin.

“Hey, I'm Peter.”

“Hello, I'm Remus,” says Remus and then frowns, like he's given too much away.

“I suppose Sirius has already asked if you think the room needs brightening?”

Remus’ mouth twitches like he might laugh and he glances back at Sirius with an almost warm look before looking away immediately. 

“He has.”

“Bugger,” says Peter with a sigh, “Are you a werewolf?”

“Oh,” says Remus uncomfortably, “Yes.” He tugs at the god awful jumper.

“That's no excuse for that jumper,” says Sirius before he can stop himself and three pairs of eyes turn to blink incredulously at him. James winces with almost his full body. “But!” he adds rather desperately as his brain catches up with his mouth in an effort to save himself, “Very cool! Really cool - hey do you see colours?” Maybe that explains his choice in jumpers and Sirius is about to save a poor soul who didn't realize what he’d put on his body.

“Colours?” repeats Remus slowly looking a little like he's been slapped and Sirius nods vigorously. God he shouldn't be allowed to socialize on Tuesdays. 

“Yeah - some werewolves can't! Or well they see dog colours, instead of human ones - I was thinking of doing a painting that could make them see human colours, you know? At least for a bit but. Well. I'm a little worried it might, like, break their brains or something, like too much colour, right? So, well. It's a work in progress. Anyways. I could make you wolfsbane, if you need some?” 

Remus blinks, his mouth quirking upwards into a slight smirk. Amused. Definitely amused. 

“I can see colours,” he says - a full sentence! - “The human ones. And um, yeah that, I mean that would be good if… if it's not not a bother.” Well, so he really has no excuse for that jumper then, if he can really see it in all its glory. 

“We've got all the ingredients,” Sirius assures him, biting back another comment about his jumper, “And Lily. You know Lily. She's a genius.” Remus nods in agreement. 

“Great,” says James, who looks like he thinks this is in fact, great, and probably does, “Should I show you your new room?” Remus nods and Sirius steps to the side to let them out to the stairs. James pauses and looks back apologetically to their new temporary roommate, “I'm sorry there's so many mirrors.” Remus looks startled and slightly creeped but he follows James up the stairs anyway, both of them carrying one of his bags. His elbow brushes Sirius’ arm as he passes. 

“Well,” says Peter, “he seems alright.” Sirius shrugs.

“Might still be a maniac.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I don't think so though.”

“No,” Sirius agrees, “I don't think so either. Hey, what do you think the chances are of convincing James to order in pizza tonight as a, like, welcome party?”