That Damn Sirius Black Grin
"Where the fuck is he?!" James cursed, gripping the wheel tighter as he sped down the highway, the flashing red-and-blue lights shrinking in the rearview mirror. His phone sat uselessly on the console—five calls to Sirius, all dumped straight to voicemail.
Not only was Sirius missing, but James was stuck in a car with a half-drunk Regulus.
"Please, James," Regulus whined, slurring his words. "Can we at least talk about this?"
"No! Shut up, Regulus!" James snapped, his nerves already frayed. Between the cops on their tail and the gnawing fear of not knowing where the hell Sirius was, he couldn’t deal with Regulus right now. "You shut up! I can’t believe you bloody kissed me after everything you’ve done! Your brother is fucking missing—can’t you see that?"
"He’s fine," Regulus argued, his voice steadier now, but no less infuriating.
"His car was fucking wrecked!" James shot back.
"But there was no one inside!" Regulus shouted, frustration flaring in his eyes. "He got away somehow."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" James snapped. "I know he's alive—hell, maybe he's not even hurt—but I have to check, alright?!"
"Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that, huh, Sherlock?" Regulus mocked, slouching further into his seat.
James shot him a glare, grip tightening around the wheel.
Regulus had grown up in a family where pain was just another lesson—something to be endured, even welcomed. He wasn’t all that worried about Sirius. He had seen firsthand how much his brother could take. Sure, maybe he was injured, but if he wasn’t dead inside that wreck, it meant he had figured something out. Sirius didn’t need saving. He was fine.
James, however, wasn’t convinced.
"Can you stop being a bloody wanker for one damn minute and actually make yourself useful?!" James shouted, indignation flaring at Regulus’ complete lack of concern.
"What do you want me to do, Potter?" Regulus asked, exasperated. "My brother isn’t answering his calls, and in case you forgot, there are cops crawling all over the place looking for anyone tied to the races. Cops, might I add, who are still on our bloody tail."
James let out a frustrated growl, slamming his foot on the gas. "Ugh!"
The city lights blurred as he sped toward the outskirts, heart hammering in his chest. As soon as he hit the main streets, he twisted through sharp turns, weaving between cars, his movements sharp and precise. The flashing sirens behind him grew fainter, their pursuit slipping further away.
With one last sharp swerve, he ducked into the first parking lot he could find, killing the engine. The car hummed in the silence, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
"I think I’m gonna—" Regulus started, voice unsteady.
Before James could react, Regulus fumbled with the door handle, shoving it open just in time to spill his guts onto the pavement. The sound was awful—wet, retching, miserable.
James pinched his eyes shut, exhaling sharply. "Brilliant," he muttered under his breath. "Just fucking brilliant."
"Are you mad at me?" Regulus asked, his voice slightly unsteady. His head was still hanging over the side of the car as he tried to steady himself, breath shallow.
James let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course, I’m bloody mad at you!" His voice was taut with frustration. "You’re wasted, your brother is missing, and you don’t even seem to care! And as if that wasn’t enough, you had the audacity to kiss me out of the blue—after you fucking broke my heart!"
Regulus flinched at the words but didn’t lift his head. James’ confession seemed to sober him up. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scared like those of a little kid.
"I—what?" Regulus stammered, his head snapping up, unsure if he’d heard correctly.
James let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Oh. You think it was fake? Me trying to get you back? You still don’t trust me, huh? No, of course not." His voice was sharp, each word laced with frustration.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. "See, I put in all this effort—just for you to give me a chance. I take you on the perfect date, even to your favorite band’s concert, and for what?" His voice rose, his anger spilling over. "To take you back home and find your ex waiting for you? Real nice, yeah. You really know how to treat a guy."
Regulus’ expression twisted into something cold, loathing creeping into his voice. "You’re in no position to demand anything from me," he shot back. "I owe you nothing, understand? Just because you take me on a date and treat me nice doesn’t erase the fact that you broke my heart first."
James clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the wheel. "No, it doesn’t," he admitted, his voice calmer but no less sharp. "But unlike you, I’m actually trying to fix things between us."
Regulus scoffed. "So what now?"
James exhaled, shaking his head. "Nothing," he said, voice flat. "You’ve made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me. So get the hell out of my car. I’m going to look for your brother myself."
Regulus blinked, caught off guard. "Are you for real?" His voice wavered, almost hurt.
"Yes! I’m bloody for real," James snapped. "Get out."
Regulus shouldn’t have said it. He knew he shouldn’t have, but bitterness clawed at his throat, his heart ached, and now James Potter was stranding him in the middle of nowhere.
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"You haven’t changed a bit."
******
"Can you bloody relax?" Remus snapped, exasperation etched across his face. "Geez, be cooperative, will you?"
He couldn't believe this was how the night had unfolded. One moment, he was gripping the wheel, adrenaline high from the race, and the next—he was watching Sirius Black slam into the mountainside through his rearview mirror. His stomach had dropped. Instinct had taken over, and he’d stopped his car without a second thought.
Just as he was about to check on Sirius, distant sirens cut through the night. Fuck. The cops were closing in on the race scene. He couldn’t be caught. Not now. Not here.
Sirius had a nasty gash on his forehead, blood trickling down his temple, but he wasn’t unconscious—just dazed, half-lucid. Getting him out of the wreck and into the passenger seat of his own car had been a struggle, made even worse by Sirius being, well, Sirius.
Keeping him awake on the drive had been a nightmare. Even after crashing his car, even barely clinging to consciousness, Sirius wouldn’t shut up. He rambled, muttered nonsense, cracked jokes that weren’t funny. And then, of course, he had the audacity to demand specific music. "Rock 'n’ roll, Lupin. Play something decent."
Remus still wasn’t sure if Sirius had a concussion or if he was just always like this.
After rushing him to the nearest hospital and practically hauling him onto a hospital bed, Remus found himself facing yet another battle—getting Sirius to actually cooperate with the doctors.
It was not going well.
“I don’t do needles!” Sirius bellowed, scrambling off the bed in a blur of panic. Before anyone could stop him, he vaulted over the side and bolted, nurses scrambling after him in alarm.
“For fuck’s sake—Sirius!” Remus barked, rubbing a hand down his face before storming after him.
“You have a gash on your forehead!” he shouted, dodging past a bewildered orderly. “They need to stitch that up! Do you not understand that?”
Sirius, now halfway down the hallway, threw a look over his shoulder, wild-eyed. “Stitches involve needles, Lupin! I’d rather bleed out, thanks!”
“Why the bloody hell are you so energetic?!” Remus snapped, exasperation lacing his every word. “You crashed your car! You should be unconscious, not—” he gestured wildly at Sirius, who was currently using a hospital pillow as a makeshift weapon against the nurses.
“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch—” Sirius quipped, dodging a nurse’s outstretched hands and launching another pillow straight at her. “And so am I.”
Remus groaned, resisting the urge to strangle him. “You are insufferable.”
Okay, Remus had had enough. It was nearing three in the morning and he was bloody tired. In a quick movement he got hold of Sirius´ wrist, pulled him into him, and locked him in a headlock. “Someone please put him some sedatives.”
Sirius glanced over his shoulder. A look of fear and genuine betrayal flashed across his face. “You´re a bloody traitor,” he said.
“Yeah, well,” Remus shot back, “life’s a bitch.”
Before Sirius could come up with another smart remark, a sharp pinch stung his neck. His eyes widened in realization, but it was too late—warmth spread through his veins, the sedative working fast.
“You—” he started, but his tongue felt heavy, his limbs sluggish. The world blurred at the edges as his body betrayed him, sinking into drowsy surrender.
The last thing he saw was Remus crossing his arms, watching him with a mix of exhaustion and triumph.
“Finally,” Remus muttered. “Bloody menace.”
The doctors quickly briefed Remus on the procedure, their voices a steady hum against the hospital’s sterile buzz. He barely registered their words, exhaustion fogging his brain, but he caught the essentials—stitches, monitoring for a concussion, a few hours of rest.
Before he could ask any questions, they wheeled Sirius away, his unconscious form disappearing behind the swinging doors of the operating room.
Remus had a splitting headache—partly from the adrenaline crash of fleeing the cops, but mostly from enduring Sirius Black as a passenger. When someone wrecks their car and is barely conscious, you’re supposed to keep them awake. So, against his will, Remus had spent the entire drive to the hospital making conversation with the most insufferable bastard alive.
If you could even call it a conversation—it had been more of a relentless argument.
At first, Sirius had gone off on Remus, accusing him of kidnapping and demanding to be taken back to his car.
“Your car is wrecked!” Remus had snapped.
“And your solution was to just leave it there by the mountainside?!” Sirius shot back.
For fuck’s sake. Remus was saving this idiot’s life, and for what? Honestly, he should’ve left him to his own damn fate.
Exhaustion finally won, and Remus slumped back into the stiff hospital chair, arms crossed, head tilted at an awkward angle. The adrenaline that had kept him running all night had drained away, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that settled into every muscle.
But sleep didn’t come easy. Every couple of hours, nurses barged in to check on Sirius, wheeling him back into the room after stitching him up, then returning repeatedly to monitor his vitals. Meanwhile, Remus drifted in and out of restless sleep, never getting more than an hour or two at a time.
Sirius, of course, slept through it all—completely unconscious, blissfully unaware of the hell he’d put Remus through.
By eleven in the morning, Remus finally woke properly, groggy and aching, but at least somewhat functional.
The first thing Remus saw was Sirius Black, sleeping soundly, his face bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the hospital blinds. His usually sharp features looked relaxed, almost delicate in sleep, the tension from the previous night smoothed away.
Remus swallowed hard.
Was Sirius Black actually... pretty?
Haha. What? No. No way.
This was just the exhaustion talking. Sirius Black wasn’t pretty—he was a bloody menace.
It didn’t matter how his dark hair spilled over his pale skin, how his lashes were annoyingly long, or how his skin looked irritatingly soft in the morning light.
Sirius Black wasn’t pretty.
…Was he?
Remus had been staring—so lost in thought that he didn't notice when Sirius Black's eyes fluttered open. But he damn well heard him.
“Hey, Jame—” Sirius started, voice groggy, before abruptly stopping. His gaze sharpened as he realized who was sitting in front of him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Then, as if the fog in his brain cleared all at once, he blinked and frowned. “Wait—what am I doing here?”
“You don’t remember?” Remus asked, raising an exhausted brow. “You crashed into the mountainside, the cops showed up, and then I had to—”
But before he could finish, Sirius’ eyes widened in alarm. He suddenly shot upright in bed, gripping the sheets like he'd just been electrocuted.
“And my fucking brother kissed my best friend!”
Remus blinked. “What?”
Sirius turned to him, practically vibrating with indignation. “My brother!” he repeated, voice high with betrayal. “That little weasel! He kissed my best friend!”
Remus blinked again, utterly baffled.
“Okay—what?” he said, rubbing his temples. “I just told you that you crashed your car, nearly got yourself killed, and woke up in a bloody hospital. And out of everything, that’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”
Remus had no idea when any of this had happened. He knew Regulus from the library—quiet, brooding, always tucked away in some dusty corner—but there was no way in hell he’d ever guessed that Regulus Black was involved with James Potter.
Hell, Remus barely even knew James. Just his name, really—something Regulus had mentioned in passing once or twice. But now, apparently, there was a whole thing going on, and Remus had somehow woken up in the middle of it.
“You don’t get it—” Sirius insisted, shaking his head. “Those two hate each other.”
“Yeah, I recall,” Remus said dryly. “Regulus told me all about how you parent-trapped them—blackmailing him with the threat of outing him to your mother if he didn’t play along.”
“I was just trying to get them to get along!” Sirius argued. “I was never actually going to out him—I barely even talk to my mother—”
“You’re still an asshole,” Remus interrupted, unimpressed.
Sirius shot him an irritated look. “If I’m such an asshole, then why did you save me, huh? Mr. Morally Superior?”
Remus exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “Because I have values, Black. Don’t know if you’re familiar with those.”
“Bullshit! You don’t even have any frie—” Sirius snapped, but then his face twisted in confusion. “Wait… did you say values?”
“I didn’t even mention anything about friends!” Remus shot back, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re such a—” He struggled for a word, glaring at Sirius before finally huffing, “Such a—ugh!”
Sirius laughed, thoroughly amused by Remus’ frustration. “Can’t even come up with an insult, huh? That’s adorable.”
Remus scowled, but before he could retort, Sirius tilted his head. “Hey, Lupin—how much is the bill, anyway?”
“I already paid,” Remus said flatly. “Don’t worry about it.”
Sirius’ lips curled into a genuine smile. “Awww, you did? That’s actually kinda sweet.”
“Yeah,” Remus deadpanned. “With your bloody card.”
Sirius’ smile instantly dropped into a thin, unimpressed line. “Tosser.”
"Can you take me home?" Sirius pressed, shifting impatiently in bed.
Remus crossed his arms. "Don’t you want to at least call your brother? Let him know you’re alive?"
"Are you mad?" Sirius scoffed. "I’m bloody pissed at him right now. Him and James. I don’t want to talk to either of them."
"Are you serious?"
Sirius grinned. "Of course I’m Sirius! Ahaha, get it? ‘Cause my name is—"
"Yeah, yeah," Remus cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hilarious."
Remus found himself pondering the series of life choices that had led him here. It all started the day he was born—a bit dramatic, sure, but wasn’t that just the nature of things?
Remus Lupin had been born into poverty, and even now, he could barely afford a roof over his head. His parents were long gone, lost to time, leaving him to fend for himself. All he had in the world was his car. So instead of turning to theft or crime like any other desperate kid might, he chose something slightly less immoral—though still entirely illegal—racing.
When he first got into it a few years back, he had no idea if he’d be any good. But he had nothing to lose, and if he ended up crashing into a wall, well… at least that would be the end of it.
Turned out, he was damn good. It took time to sharpen his skills, to learn the tricks and strategies that would keep him ahead, but little by little, he climbed the ranks. And it wasn’t just that—people started betting on him. Because everyone loves an underdog.
His car was a mess, practically held together by sheer willpower, the motor barely functional. But somehow, he made it work. It became his trademark—the racer who drove a scrap heap yet still managed to win. The money started coming in, enough to get by, but Remus never indulged. No luxury cars, no reckless spending. He kept things simple, saved for emergencies, because if life had taught him anything, it was that it could strip you bare in an instant.
That being said, his biggest issue with the other racers was that most of them came from money—spoiled, entitled brats who treated illegal street racing like some thrilling pastime rather than a means of survival. They didn't need to race. They did it for the adrenaline, for the rebellion, for the sheer hell of it. Because when you had everything handed to you on a silver platter, you had to chase danger just to feel something.
Remus had nothing in common with them. He didn’t belong in their world of luxury cars and bottomless trust funds, where losing a race was just a minor inconvenience instead of a financial disaster. That was precisely why he couldn’t stand Sirius Black.
Even his goddamn surname was worth more than anything Remus had ever possessed.
However, his mother—Hope Lupin—had always taught him the importance of kindness, no matter the circumstances. She had been a beam of sunlight in an otherwise bleak world, always smiling, always nurturing, even to those who didn’t deserve it.
So, when Black asked for a ride home, Remus had to swallow his pride, shove down his instinctive annoyance, and ask,
"Where do you live?"
And that was how, an hour later, Remus Lupin found himself standing in the most extravagant apartment he had ever stepped foot in—sprawling, modern, and drenched in the kind of wealth that made his skin itch. Worse still, he was trapped there for the day. His own place was too far, and after the chaos of the past twenty-four hours, he was in desperate need of a shower.
Unfortunately, his only company was none other than Sirius Black.
After helping Sirius settle into his bedroom, Remus exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. Might as well make the best of it.
"Can I take a shower?" he asked.
Despite everything—despite the crash, the hospital, the stitches—Sirius Black still had the audacity to smirk.
That damn Sirius Black grin.
"Do whatever you want, handsome.”