Loving Me Takes Patience

October 

Short days and colder weather should bring more time in bed next to Remus but instead more and more telly nights are replaced by apologetic texts (on the private text thread, that is getting drier by the day) that Remus’ boyfriend has called for a facetime, and Sirius finds more and more of his evenings are spent alone in bed, waiting for James to return from training, and hoping Remus will get off the phone early and appear outside the door, rumpled and soft. 

He never does. 

Sirius still sleeps in his spot, even when it's cold and only smells of Sirius and the school’s industrial laundry detergent. It’s pathetic and embarrassing and so fucking lonely because he can’t tell anyone. He doesn’t trust Peter to have the emotional capacity to deal with the depth and intensity of Sirius’ crush, and he sure as shit doesn’t trust James not to up and tell Remus just for the banter.  He’s never considered that having friends outside of the little group of four of them might be useful, but he sure as shit could use one now. 

Instead, in a pitiful move that only really serves to make everything worse, he turns to music. 

Of all the things their group has in common, music isn’t really one of them. James likes rap and grime and hip hop and songs with a fast beat and hard lyrics. Says they run at the same speed as his brain, says they make him feel less like he’s spinning at a faster rate than the world. 

 Peter takes after his mum, listening mainly to the beatles, the beach boys and bossa nova. Old man music, they tease.

Sirius is the king of teenage angst, cursed with a sixteen year old inability to separate and categorise feelings. A bad mark can make him cry harder than running away from home. An unrequited crush can feel more painful than his father’s belt against his back. (There’s a lot of nirvana) 

Remus is Remus, an amalgamation of two many different things, too much of a melting pot to categorise; bob marley is played as much as nine inch nails is played as much as stormzy. He listens to anything and everything, and he’s always dropping painfully accurate song recommendations that leave the recipient wondering if he can see through to their consciousness. (They day Remus recommended Sirius small town boy he thought he was going to fall apart)

Today though, Sirius needs something softer. Something solely sad. No angst, no shredding guitars and raspy male voices wrecked by sexdrugsrockandroll. He needs gentle. 

Baby, I’ll leave us behind if it means that you’ll be happy, and if it means you can’t have me, it’s fine king princess whispers seductively into his ear and he wonders what Remus is doing, if he takes his facetime calls at his desk or if he curls up on his bed, tucking up in his hoodie and holding the phone close, creating a virtual intimacy that could never hope to come close to the real thing. 

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. 

October’s saving grace is the two week half term that comes right at the end, and tides them over to november. It’s got halloween, and sometimes, if he’s lucky, Sirius’ birthday, which then gets rolled into one huge celebration. 

This year he wasn’t so lucky, Halloween falling on the last Friday, and his birthday the first Monday of school, but no matter. No Thursdays, at any rate.  James was still hosting his Halloween party like normal, always attended by the same mix of school people and home friends, filling up the Potter’s country home. 

The first week passes in a monotony of A-level work, James and Sirius sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table and slogging through the worksheets and question booklets and practice essays they’d been piled high with before leaving. It’s mind-numbing, distracting work, and fills more hours than he’d like. 

Being at home was always complicated for Sirius. Even calling it ‘home’ doesn’t quite feel right- it's James’ home, with James baby pictures and James parents and James culture. Sirius had just moved into one of the spare rooms like a guest who doesn’t know when to leave. Not that he’s ever been made to feel unwelcome. He can’t help that he feels it anyway. 

On top of that, the itchy issues he’d been feeling at school just increase tenfold when he doesn’t have to wear the same thing every day. Suddenly picking an outfit is an ordeal to be endured each morning, as Sirius stands and stares at his ill-organised wardrobe and every single piece of clothing makes him feel slightly ill. 

He takes to wearing pyjamas until lunch, burying as much of himself behind oversized layers of borrowed fabric, realising with a sudden moment of clarity why it is that Remus dresses the way he does. It’s easier to pass by hallway and bathroom mirrors when there’s no sense of a body under the tent-like clothes Sirius hides behind. 

James, used to all his eccentricities by now, says nothing but on the fourth day of holidays dumps a pile of old, worn t-shirts on Sirius bed. 

“Dads, from when he was, y’know, a bit chunkier.” He explains, referencing a time a few years ago when a running accident had resulted in knee surgery and lots of bed rest for Monty, leading to weight gain that had clearly required a new wardrobe. 

“Thanks, jam.”

“You’re good though, yeah?” James asks, already turning towards the door. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Sirius calls back, brow furrowed as he tastes the lie, not even realising how not good he was before being asked. 

“Sick, see you downstairs.” James calls as he disappears, and Sirius stares at his face in the mirror for a long time, vaguely repulsed and not sure why. 

*

The rest of the holiday passes much the same and Sirius finds himself in bed scrolling instagram the night before Halloween. Pete has already arrived, and is on a bedroll on James’ floor, likely snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and Remus’ little bedroll is set up on Sirius' floor, waiting. 

Speaking of, he’s also posted on instagram. Something he hasn’t done in about three years. The picture is clearly candid. Remus, still clad in all his layers, is on his back on a striped carpet that Sirius doesn’t recognise. He’s holding a fat baby aloft, a string of drool dripping down from the baby’s smiling mouth, coming dangerously close to Remus’ forehead. Remus himself is grinning widely, eyes staring adoringly at the infant clasped securely in his veiny hands, little chunky legs mid-kick. 

Sirius goes to the comments, biting his lip to stop a grin, and goes to type ‘daddy’. With a sinking heart and a sick feeling, he sees that @charlie05 has already got there first. 

The boyfriend. 

It’s pathetic, and an overreaction but it makes Sirius cry. 

Halloween dawns wet and drizzly, and Sirius doesn’t usually put much stock into pathetic fallacy but the grey sky reflects his grey mood as he slouches at the breakfast table, phone untouched upstairs after he had spent too long last night stalking Remus’ boyfriend on instagram and being a bit weepy. 

The costume conversation had happened over zoom, Sirius and James curled together on the sofa, Remus lying down in bed with a bag of doritos that were likely filling his bed with crumbs, and Pete lying on the carpet. 

“We’re doing spice girls, and that’s final.” James had announced firmly. He’d been planning it for weeks, Sirius knew, had seen the little list of costume ideas he’s written and left on the desk of their shared dorm. 

“And no wriggling out of it, either. Remus, I know that look on your face. You're scary, no arguments.” 

“What, coz I'm black?” Remus asked, smirking. Those jokes always make Sirius and Peter flounder a bit but James loves them. 

“No, you arsehole, because I found a leopard print coat in mum’s cupboard so you can wear it over your normal clothes.” 

Remus had nodded gratefully, beaming at James through the screen and Sirius had peered up at the boy sat next to him, and realised that James was actually a lot nicer than people gave him credit for. 

Or maybe just Sirius. Maybe Remus knew how nice James was. Remus was good at noticing things. 

“I’m sporty, obviously.” 

“Oi!” Peter interjected, “I know you’re going to make me baby and Sirius posh you twat, why do we have to wear dresses and you don’t?” 

“Peter, I'll be wearing a crop top, so if you want your navel out you’re welcome to join me, but Mary’s hooked me up with some of her urban outfitters stuff. Don’t worry, Remus is the only one not showing any skin, and that’s only because we’d all get too horny if he suddenly turned up with his legs on show.” 

“Your boner’s showing, Potter, you wish you could have me.” Remus had thrown a dorito at his computer camera, winking at James in a way that had made Sirius’ stomach flip. 

“And Pete, you’re right,” James had continued, oblivious to Sirius’ internal panic next to him. “Sirius is going to have his little black dress moment, and Pete, I expect to see the union jack splayed across your tits. See you all soon, gentleman.” 

*

Now the day has dawned, it hits Sirius for the first time, as he pulls on one of Monty’s old hoodies that comes nearly down to his knees, that he’s going to be wearing a dress that evening, in public. Him and James, known for being irreverent little shits, would never balk at something like this, would embrace it eagerly even, anything to fuck with expectations. Hell, that’s why James had chosen the fucking group costume in the first place. 

Sirius shakes himself a bit and heads down stairs. He won't be the only one, and he’s seen the dress James had ordered for him, just a plain black one from h&m, but it’s tight and short and small and the material is silky smooth. He’ll love it. And if he doesn’t, He’ll force himself to. 

A distraction comes in the form of Remus’ arrival, heaving a duffel bag behind him and suddenly a giant, with his feet shoved into a chunky pair of new rocks that Sirius is insanely jealous of. 

His jeans are massive, baggy and slightly  ripped and he’s wearing a chequered shirt layered over a clash t-shirt and Sirius hasn’t seen him in two weeks, which feels like two weeks too long. 

something about seeing him there in James’ entryway soothes part of the itch that had started to grow unbearable. 

“What are you looking at?” Remus asks him, grinning when Sirius just runs and wraps his arms around his middle. Remus is so soft, with his layers of clothing and his comforting smell and Sirius sinks into it. 

“Oi! Wanker! You didn’t tell me Remus was here.” and then James was barrelling in, and Sirius barely had time to step away before Remus was getting rugby tackled onto the rug, the two of them rolling and laughing, brown skin tones glinting under the warm lamps Effie uses to welcome people into the house. 

Remus rolls away from James onto his back and his shirt pulls awkwardly as the fabric snags on the carpet, revealing a collarbone, a slice of binder strap, and a splotchy, purple hickey sat right at the base of Remus’ neck. 

It’s stupid- he’s stupid- but Sirius had sort of forgotten what having a boyfriend actually meant. He’d never had one, how was he supposed to know? And in their cocoon at school where Charlie couldn’t visit, it was hard to remember there was anyone out there Remus was more intimate with than he was with Sirius. 

Even when the only intimacies they shared were legs pressed together under duvets and a head on a shoulder. 

It was still the most intimacy Sirius had ever experienced. 

*

Sirius gets ready for the party alone. Peter refuses to let them be witness to putting on a dress for the first time so James just shrugs and says that the spice girls would have had separate changing rooms anyway, before shunting Sirius into his bedroom, throwing the dress at him and leaving. 

If he looks out his window, he would see Remus lighting up a joint with Effie, which was a weird thing they did that no one really talked about, and was equal parts worrying and very sweet. 

He doesn’t look out the window, though. He stares at the black dress on the bed. With slow, halting movements, he drops the towel he’s wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, somehow unable to wrap it around his hips like he’s supposed to. 

Standing naked, he reaches for his oldest, smallest, tightest pair of pants, having heard all about vpl from the girls, and somehow inordinately scared of it. He stares at the dress a while longer. This feels like a Big Moment, but he can’t really figure out why. 

“Hurry up, tosser!” James calls from outside the door, hammering it before Sirius hears his footfalls disappear down the stairs. He sighs and reaches for the dress, pulling it up from the floor, feeling it slide up his legs and over his hips until he’s pulling the straps over his shoulders. 

He’s done his hair specially for the occasion and for the first time in two weeks he turns willingly to the mirror, and-

“James sent me to get you, people are arriving. Oooh! You look lush, like a proper lady.” Remus is standing in the doorway, leering at him in a way that makes Sirius flush. The mirror inspection will have to wait. 

“What the fuck is this, rem, pimps and hoes? Look at you.” 

Remus does look like a caricature of a brothel owner in his black, torn jeans and baggy black long sleeve under a floor length leopard print fur that brushes the ground as he walks. His hair’s been cornrowed, and the neatness of the style highlights the delicate bone structure of his face. 

“Shut the fuck up, arse.  I look like a pimp named slickback, I know, let's go.” 

“A pimp named what?” Sirius asks, sidling up close as they leave the bedroom. Remus smells of weed and lynx and Sirius wants to bury his face in his neck and never leave. 

“Fucking white people,” Remus mutters under his breath. “Don’t worry about it yeah, they won’t have had the boondocks in the Black household.” he says louder, shoving Sirius down the stairs ahead of him, to where the sound of voices and music indicated that the party was starting. Sirius smoothes sweaty hands over his dress-clad hips, takes a deep breath and plasters a grin across his face.  

James looks fucking good, actually, his muscled abdomen on show between the wide-leg adidas trousers and nike halter top he was wearing. 

“Ah! Sirius! Let me do your makeup, please please please pretty please!” Mary Macdonald shoves her face into his and he takes a step back. The dress had been one thing, but makeup….

“She did mine!” James hollers from across the room, and Mary nods rigorously. Sirius has always found her a wee bit overwhelming, but he nods and lets himself get pulled into the bathroom. 

When Mary climbs into his lap with an eyeliner pen in hand he starts to suspect she has ulterior motives, her vodka-soaked breath clouding around his face unpleasantly as she leans in too close, lingers too long. She giggles and shifts in his lap, inspecting her handiwork. 

As much as he doesn’t much like Mary, it had felt good, having those gentle brushes tickle his face, having a soft hand grip his chin and twist his face this way and that. Comforting, like when someone else brushes his hair for him, and he can just sink into the sensation of being cared for. 

“Okay, I think I’m done.” she finally says, sliding off his lap, the black skirt of her- admittedly quite good- slutty wybie costume sliding up a glowing dark thigh as she does so. 

“Have a look, babe, and maybe find me later?” she says coyly, biting a plush lip before slipping out of the bathroom. Sirius sits on the toilet seemingly incapable of looking, before deciding to fuck it all and trust her, going back to the party without checking what she’s done to his face. 

The party’s in full swing by now, teenagers drinking quickly and more arriving every minute. In the centre of the floor Remus and James are dancing together the way they always do, the two of them always a bit more in touch with popular culture than Peter and Sirius. 

The song is Dizzee Rascal, Sirius knows that much because James loves him, says it helps his brain calm down, to listen to music that keeps up with it. It doesn’t quite make sense but James always mellows out with it on so it clearly works. 

It’s like there’s a spotlight shining down on the two of them. Remus has a joint tucked behind his rounded ear, the one with a little hoop through it, and he’s clearly had a bit to drink too because he wouldn’t be like this otherwise- loose, relaxed. Fucking sexy if you ask Sirius, the way his hips go forward and his chest falls back in an upright slouch, the way his hips sway, the way he dances. 

Remus and James have always loved to dance together, it being both such a big part of their cultures. But James’ bhangra is a world away from the dances Remus says they do in Jamaica, and Sirius lives for the rare times the circumstances align where he’ll let go enough to dance with anyone other than his family or the Caribbean girls at school. 

Seems he’s in luck. Wrong music, but still-

Hey, turn the bass up 

Hey, oi, turn the base up, yeah 

James starts jumping around, others around him joining in but Sirius only has eyes for Remus, even as an arm comes around his shoulders and drags him into participating. 

What the fuck? What are you doing? Don’t touch it, who told you to touch it? 

James and Remus shout the words at each other, and Remus runs a hand over his hair, fingers snagging on the joint, which he slides out from its little shelf and holds delicately between two fingers. Sirius knows that if he didn’t respect effie so much he would have just lit it in the Potter’s living room. 

Big dirty stinking bass

Remus grins up at Sirius, eyes glinting with drink. His tongue pokes out between his teeth as he furrows his brows at Sirius and sings along; “I’m a bass like junkie, I’m a bass like junkie, and I like it funky. Big, dirty stinking bass.” 

He shimmies his shoulders along, dancing with James and it shouldn’t be attractive, it should be cringey but it isn’t, somehow he pulls it off, joint hanging limply from the fingers that Sirius wants in his mouth.

 He’s shed his coat at some point, and the sleeves of his shirt are shoved up to just below his elbows, the most skin he ever shows and the dark room conceals the hickey so for a moment, for a song, Sirius can convince himself he has a chance of being wrapped up in those arms. 

*

The ignorance can’t last long though, and soon enough Sirius is laugh-at-yourself-in-the-bathroom-mirror drunk, as he pisses. He goes to wash his hands but the sight that greets him isn’t what he’s used to. Instead of slightly greasy black hair hanging limp and knotty; clean, brushed out curls sit on his shoulders. Bare, pale shoulders intersected by a thin strap of black that’s somehow racier than underwear, the way it contrasts his porcelain skin, highlighting how broad his shoulders are, the shadows of his clavicles. 

The square neck of the dress, designed for cleavage, sits flat against his pecs, and for a split second Sirius wonders what tits would look like there, before physically cringing. 

And then there’s his face- 

An expertly done cat eye gives his face a dramatic, dark look. Pale shimmer across his eyelids and cheekbones lends an ethereal quality. He’s pretty and feminine and it feels like finding James, like moving into the Potter’s, like a hug from Remus- like home. 

Sirius slides down to the floor, and starts to cry. 

“Sirius I’m going to piss myself so I’m just-oh.” 

Remus shuts the door gently behind him. Sirius doesn’t know how long it’s been, here on the bathroom floor crying and digging his nails into his arms in an effort to pull himself back to the present, but it won’t work. 

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Suddenly Remus is on the floor next to him, warm, dry fingers gently pulling Sirius’ hands away from his body, before he’s being tugged into a soft, warm body. Arms wrap around him and it’s only when he feels Remus’ warmth does Sirius realise he’s freezing, clad in only the tiny dress and boots, long legs vulnerable to the world. He pulls his knees into Remus’ body too, as the other boy begins to rock him gently. 

“Okay?” Remus asks after a bout of silence. The tears are drying now he’s not alone anymore. 

“How did you know?” Sirius has never asked before. None of them have, sort of agreeing it was off limits, but now it feels so important to know. 

“Know what?” 

“That you’re uh,” and they’ve never spoken about it so Sirius doesn’t know how, but he does know what Remus looks like when he’s upset, the way his face falls blank but his eyes swirl with emotion and Sirius hates seeing it so he stops and searches for the words. 

“How did you know that you’re a boy?” and yeah, maybe it’s clunky and it could’ve been worded better but he’s drunk and sad and everything in his body feels wrong, wrong, wrong but the dress and makeup adorning it feels right, right, right and Remus is the only person who might be able to understand. 

“Uh, that’s… a bit of a long conversation, mate. Are you just curious, or-” 

“I think I hate being a boy.” it’s whispered, hushed, forbidden, a secret. It’s finally been said out loud, that itch under the skin every time he has to dress in his clothes or shave or wash. That cloying, thick wrongness when he can see the outline of his figure under a shirt, when he’s not hiding behind as much as he can. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Remus breathes and Sirius shudders because Remus is not a pet name boy, he’s never been. Affectionate insults, sure, but sweetheart? It sounds as foreign as a different language and it settles over Sirius like a blanket. 

You’re on the bathroom floor with a beautiful boy and you think you love him but he has a boyfriend and you know you hate yourself. 

The thought circles round Sirius’ brain as hands smooth up and down his back and arms. 

“We can chat about it tomorrow, yeah? I can help you through this. Do you, uh, want me to call you something else? Different pronouns?” 

Sirius shakes his head violently. It feels safe here, locked in the bathroom with his best friend and the intangible concept floating between them. New names, new pronouns, they’re all so terrifyingly real and Sirius can’t cope with that yet. 

“Okay, okay, love.” 

God, he’s so beautiful. Sirius shifts, looking up at Remus through a film of tears. His face is so close and his lips are pink and full and his hands are gripping Sirius like they were made to and Sirius is drunk and he knows he shouldn’t but he’s always been a selfish bastard so he doesn’t care what he shouldn’t do, and he does it anyway. 

He stretches his neck just those few centimetres and presses his salty lips to Remus’ sweet ones. Remus’ mouth tastes like weed and lemonade and it’s warm and Sirius is oh-so-cold so he falls into it, a pale hand coming up to clutch at Remus’ shoulder as he presses closer, letting his mouth open and oh,

Remus is a good kisser. Sirius has kissed before but not like this. Remus is gentle and firm at the same time, a heady contradiction that has Sirius melting as Remus tilts his head slightly, deepening the angle. His fingers tighten on Sirius’ back and Sirius makes a noise he’s never made before when being kissed, a soft utterance in his throat, pulled forth by pure pleasure. 

It echoes loudly in the empty bathroom, and Remus pulls away. 

Far, far away, scrambling against the smooth tiles until his back is at the other wall, chest heaving. Remus looks at him with something akin to horror, mouth open, eyes wide, and reaches for the door handle, pulling himself up. 

“Remus-” 

“Sirius, what the fuck?” it’s whispered, fragile and breakable words into the newly created space between them. 

And then he’s gone. Sirius is cold again.