December
Then a crowd a young boys
they're a foolin' around in the corner.
Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies,
and their platform soles.
They don't give a damn- about any trumpet playin' band,
It ain't what they call Rock and Roll.
And the Sultans?
Yeah, the Sultans, they play Creole.
(Creole.)
And then the man he steps right up to the microphone,
And says at last just as the time bell rings:
"Goodnight, now it's time to go home."
Then he makes it fast with one more thing;
"We are the Sultans,
We are the Sultans of Swing."
Remus didn’t show up to watch him the next day.
Sirius pretended not to care as he made the well-practiced walk up from the ice rink to their dorm room, but somehow ended up in the martial arts gym instead.
The lighting was dimmer there, warmer, and the smell of sweat masked by cologne clung to everything. The walls were simple; grey, exposed, and attached to the low hanging ceiling of the same nature. On the far side of the room sat a few raised arenas, and along the wall closest to Sirius, yoga mats and foam rollers; presumably for warming up or cooling down.
And along the wall across from him… Remus.
Remus moved so quickly his hands appeared to be a blur.
Hit, dodge, hit, hit, dodge.
If the punching bag were a real person, Sirius had half the mind to think they’d probably be dead.
They were alone except for two other boys sparring in one of the far arenas, but Remus appeared to be unaware of his surroundings entirely. Striking the bag again and again before it even got the chance to swing back to its original position.
His shirt had been discarded on the ground somewhere nearby and his toned, scarred back was exposed, a bead of sweat rolling down his spine. Sirius hadn’t even realised he’d walked up to him (close enough to see that, nonetheless.)
Remus’ breathing was even and practiced, a calculated exhale for each hit. He suddenly straightened up and brushed the hair from his face. “Hi.”
Sirius was in some form of shock, and, god above spare him, said the stupidest thing imaginable, which was, “You must do that a lot.”
Remus cracked a smile. “Well, we are in a sports school, yeah.”
“Right.”
The other boy laughed and Sirius could feel his face burning as he stammered, “You, um. You didn’t come today.” It sounded pathetic even to his own ears.
Remus nodded mutely, reaching up for his moon shaped necklace he always wore, refusing to meet Sirius’ gaze. “I had… Well, I had some things on my mind.” He admitted, throwing off the boxing gloves on his hands.
“What kind of things?” Sirius ventured.
Remus loosed a breath and picked up his shirt from where it was discarded on the ground, walking over to a couch Sirius hadn’t even noticed was there.
It was an old, red, beat up thing that the stuffing was coming out of in places. Remus sat down, and with the t-shirt he still had in his hand, wiped the sweat off of his face.
Sirius sat beside him and the two were quiet for a moment. Sirius noticed the other boys had left at some point and they were all alone.
“My mother died today.”
Sirius whirled around to face him. “What?!”
Remus’ neck snapped up. “No! Not, not like today, today. Just, on this day.”
“Oh.” Sirius breathed.
And they were silent again.
He could tell Remus was struggling and wanted to help, but didn’t know how. His hand moved to touch him, maybe put his arm around him- but stalled.
He settled for setting it atop his knee instead.
Remus immediately put his own hand on top of his and it sent Sirius’ heart skittering.
“Oh.” Was all Sirius managed to say, again.
“Yeah, oh.” Remus chuckled sadly.
Kiss me. The thought had shot across his mind before he could even understand what he was thinking. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
The thought hit him like a freight train and he made to remove his hand but Remus’ fingers tightened on his.
Ok. Breathe. Breathe, Sirius.
“Was she, um, was she nice?”
“She was, yeah. I don’t remember much, but… She was.”
Sirius nodded. “Who taught you how to do that?” He gestured vaguely at the room with his free hand.
“My brother.”
“Could you show me how?”
Remus smiled. “Sure.”
He stood up then, offering Sirius a hand and pulling him to standing. They walked over to the bag Remus had been using, and he finally put his shirt back on.
“Alright, stand with your feet a little bit apart, er- move that one back a bit- yeah.” He did a once over of Sirius’ form before touching his jaw. “Keep your chin tucked.” He murmured, tilting it down for him.
The hairs on Sirius’ arms stood on end.
Remus walked behind him. “And keep this-” he put a hand on his stomach, “tight.”
He felt a little bit light headed.
He told him to make a tight fist by making sure there were no gaps for air to get into, which Sirius thought was probably impossible- but didn’t say anything. They went back and forth, Remus showing him something and Sirius copying it, until he was thoroughly worn out.
“Done for tonight?” Remus asked quietly.
“Mhm, you’re a good teacher.”
“Thanks… that’s- thanks.”
Sirius nodded. “I think I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Thought you were sore everyday, Padfoot.”
Sirius shoved him with his shoulder and looked up to see that- Remus was staring at his mouth.
Something tightened in his chest and he straightened. “Right, well. We better get going.”
Remus nodded, and they headed up to their dorm without saying anything further.
It was December now, which meant the days were quite short, leaving them in darkness a lot of the time. When they entered their dorm, James and Peter were laying on their beds, throwing a tennis ball back and forth.
Sirius scoffed. “Gross, James, isn’t that the ball that Pete uses to roll out his arches after dancing?”
James shrugged. “We’re bored. I don’t care. Where were you guys anyway?”
“Sirius decided he wanted to learn how to box.” Remus drawlled, tugging off his shirt and trousers to get ready to sleep.
“Bet that went over great.” James snickered.
“Hey-!”
“What?!” He laughed, “mate, you’ve got the narrowest forearms I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Oh shut up.” Sirius huffed, flopping down on his bed and shutting his eyes.