you wouldn't leave me now
February
It’s new, this thing between them. Shivering and fragile like a newborn foal wobbling in the space between them, carefully tended. It had been messy in its conception; Remus with a boyfriend, Sirius with a deep pit of jealousy growing in his stomach until he couldn’t eat or sleep or think.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Sirius Black is bad at relationships. Rehoming a stray dog means bitten fingers.
But they make it work, they muddle through. Remus is patient, and Sirius had come so close to fucking it up before it even started that he takes no risks with Remus’ heart anymore. He’s softer, the force of his affection smoothing out his jagged edges. A lifetime of walking on the eggshells of his own temper, bearing the nicked skin and blood-stained socks for the way Remus holds his hand.
The best part of all of it, though, is the return of the film nights.
Like now. James has football for another two hours and task master is on the laptop again even though neither of them is watching. Sirius is on his back with a lap full of Remus, his pale hands disappearing under the fleece of Remus’ jumper, fingers tapping gently against the soft hip skin he’s finally been granted the privilege of access to.
Staring up at Remus like this is like staring at the sun. it’s blinding, almost painful in its intensity but Remus provides him all his warmth. He can’t ever look away.
“Come here.” Sirius whispers, tugging Remus down, and (this is the best part about it, the best part of all of it) Remus does, planting his hands on the mattress beside Sirius’ head and leaning over so their noses are touching, then their lips.
All the other people Sirius has ever kissed, he’s gotten bored of; finds himself distracted mid-way through, mind wandering, thinking about anything else. Bored of their hands on his body, bored of the taste of their mouths.
He gets so lost in Remus they’ve missed meals, both entirely unaware of the hours trickling past in a cascade of sand. It’s scarily like obsession, the way he loves Remus, but it’s the only way Sirius knows how to love; doggedly, without reservation or hesitation.
And Remus deserves devotion.
Another episode goes by unwatched and Remus is sitting up once again in Sirius’ lap, his t-shirt and long-sleeve and knitted sweater discarded somewhere on the floor, his torso blocking out the lamp light, the angle making him glow like one of God’s favourites.
Sirius places reverent hands against his stomach, looking up at him, the sports bra that intersects his skin. He traces a golden stretch mark with gentle fingertips, the way it intersects the hair that leads from his navel to the waistband of his boxers that look suspiciously like James’.
This bit is all new, seeing Remus with his clothes off; seeing Remus with his clothes off and the lights on. It’s addictive.
“Fucking hell, re, look at you.” Sirius breathes up at him, hands still exploring, the skin warm and textured beneath his hands, the colour such a stark contrast from his porcelain-like hands, the blue veins still visible even in the low lighting.
“Sirius, stop,” Remus huffs, squirming in Sirius’ lap, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, hiding himself. Sirius whines and reaches up, pulling them away.
“Look at you!” he re-iterates, bending his knees up so Remus slides closer to him. His hands return to Remus’ stomach, walking down his sides, skating across, marvelling at the goosebumps that rise in their wake.
“What, fat and hairy?” Remus looks away and Sirius could cry, how can a man like Remus not realise how beautiful he is?
“Don’t- don’t say that like it's a bad thing to be. I’m dying over here.” and yeah, Sirius would love Remus no matter what he looked like, but he loves what Remus looks like; the stretch marks, the love handles, the happy trail (oh god, he loves the happy trail).
He tells him so, and Remus blushes so hard the pink is bright and stark against his brown cheeks, a delightful rarity that Sirius is never going to forget, not as long as he lives.
Soon enough, Sirius’ shirt is off too and he gets Remus’ hesitation because he sort of hates it- the feeling of exposure, that intimate vulnerability he would give to no one but Remus.
But it is Remus, so he bears the feeling for the sake of skin-on-skin, for the sake of togetherness, the kind he has always craved, and until recently, always been denied.
The bed is warm and the night is young and there is still an hour until James gets back from football.
Sirius had long been scared that kissing anywhere outside of a house party would carry such heavy implications of more he had never done it with anyone but Remus, never accepted invitations back to dorms or bedrooms or even just bathrooms, corridors, emptier spaces, always too mindful of the wires that could get crossed.
But Remus’ hands don’t stray anywhere Sirius doesn’t want him, an instinctive understanding of where they stand together, what they’re ready for. Remus’ legs remain a mystery, and Sirius feels safe.
Or maybe they don’t have an hour left anymore because then Remus’ fifteen-minute warning alarm goes off and the moment gets shattered by the painful, siren-like sound erupting from the bedside table. Remus huffs and rolls off him, allowing cold air to flood in and claw at Sirius’ over-sensitive skin.
Then the sound stops and Remus is back again, looking over him, braids curling round his ears and that smile; dizzying, dazzling.
“I love you” Sirius gasps and-
Fuck. he wasn’t supposed to do that.
Remus’ smile falls. His eyes widen. Sirius is slightly scared he might throw up.
“...sorry?”
“Did you mean it?” Remus whispers and it’s a brittle, breakable thing. His voice wavers like a newborn foal and can’t tell what he wants the answer to be but he always does right by Remus, always does his best so he tells the truth, even though it might be the scariest thing he’s ever done.
“Yeah, I meant it. I have loved you-” and there are tears in his eyes now, because thinking back to when he first started loving Remus takes him down a long, winding memory lane paved with thorns and stony gravel, memories of halloween and christmas and new years and the monumental ways in which he fucked up. “-for a long time, now. Before halloween. That was why- that was why I went about everything so badly. You were all I could see.”
It’s like ripping his skin off, like reaching in and prying his ribs apart so Remus could reach in and rip his barely-beating heart out of his chest, it’s fucking terrifying and remus is just staring at him with those big brown eyes, like a deer in headlights, and Sirius is pinned beneath him.
“Oh.” it’s small but Sirius is a perverse sort of optimist so he tells himself it sounds hopeful. Remus nods, and says it again, but he’s not running away in fear, he’s still there, braced above Sirius, looking at him with wide, beautiful eyes and then his lips stretch into a smile, wide and joyful, and Sirius feels like he’s flying.
Remus kisses him.
He doesn’t say it back. Sirius tells himself that doesn’t matter.
*
Valentine's day falls on a Tuesday, meaning all the school couples only get the hours between four-thirty and eleven to celebrate their juvenile, innocent, statistically short-lasting love.
It’s enough.
By five, Remus and Sirius are in the greenhouse, wrapped up warm against the wind that rattles the loose window panes, fighting for dominance with the playlist leaking from the slightly water-damaged speaker Remus had found at Saint Christopher's the last time they had all gone into town.
Remus is on his back on the sofa, Sirius in between his legs, with both of them staring up at the ceiling, chest-to-back, warm. Together.
There has been a subtle, delicate thread of tension through the last few days of interaction, the unspoken knowledge of the imbalance, the lack of reciprocation, the fear, on both sides. For Sirius, that Remus does not (and will not, will never, could never) love him. For Remus, the fear that it’s all too soon, that Sirius loves not him but the idea of him, who he was when he was unattainable and thus desirable.
Neither are true.
But they are together nonetheless. The spar down the road had been raided and the table is laden with their favourite snacks- or the empty wrappers thereof. A joint dangles from between Remus’ fingers as one hand hangs off the sofa. The other is gently roving over Sirius’ chest, and Sirius sinks into the feeling, letting the high and the proximity hold him steady, keep him grounded.
The playlist is Remus’, the songs slow and syrupy.
I’m going back to 505
Remus begins to hum along and Sirius can feel the vibrations through his chest. He is safe here.
Safe enough maybe to voice the thought rolling around his head, tumbling over like it’s been caught in a rip current, bowled about his brain, unrelenting and vicious.
“Remus?”
“Hm?” and that too rumbles through Remus’ chest and into Sirius’ back. Another point of connection, closeness.
“How would you feel-” his heart rate increases now the first half of the words are out, fast enough that finishing the sentence becomes a battle against the squeezing of his ribs, the loss of breath. “-if I changed my pronouns.”
There’s a beat of silence, then; “It’s not my place to feel anything but supportive of it, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. Sirius feels himself melt like ice cream.
“So….” deep breath. In, out. “So if I said I want to go by they/them?”
“I’ll love you however you identify, Sirius, and I’ll support you in all of it.”
I’ll love you however you identify
“Marlene will think you’re copying them, though.” Remus jokes, soft and gentle, his hand still rubbing soothing circles into Sirius’ sternum, not that Sirius is paying any attention to that anymore.
i'll love you however you identify
“I still need to tell James, and Peter.”
“And they’ll be fine with it, love.”
Love.
Inside, Sirius is glowing, bright starlight from every pore.
Remus jostles them about a bit until he can place a gentle, lingering kiss on Sirius’ slightly clammy cheek bone. “I’m proud of you.”
“Love you, Rem.” Sirius sighs, nestling in. It's the first time they’ve said it since, too scared they’d overwhelm Remus with the sheer force of their affection, too scared that an overwatered plant is liable to die.
“I know, sweetheart,” Remus replies, and Sirius can hear the smile in his voice. “I love you too.”
In my imagination you’re waiting, lying on your side.
Sirius might hate Thursdays, but they’re beginning to think Tuesdays might be their new favourite.