things money can't buy

Remus

Remus is back behind his counter. Saturday mornings are typically busy as Solar System has become its own town hotspot for cozy, autumnal brunches through Pandora’s frankly fantastic marketing, though in a stroke of unusual luck, Remus has found himself alone caught in a lull. Marlene went home early to watch the Gryffindor Lions’ match with her dad, and Dorcas and Fabian are finding a movie on Mary’s laptop that she left yesterday in the breakroom whilst they pretend to be sorting sugar packets for Remus’ managerial benefit. He spends the alone time he knows is limited absent-mindedly doodling lyrics down on a napkin, humming along to a tune he created on his guitar the night before, suddenly craving the curve of its smooth wood under his hands. It would certainly make this process easier. It’s not like he’s going to do anything with the song once it’s written, but once he gets the inkling of an idea it never leaves him alone until fully developed, niggling at the crevices of his brain relentlessly wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. Which is partially why Remus feels like he’s halfway to going insane when he doesn’t have immediate access to a musical instrument and a pen and paper, and it’s rather unfortunate this happens to be very nearly always. Maybe he should keep a guitar at work, an acoustic at least. It would certainly fit in with the musical atmosphere his ever-growing vinyl record collection creates with their toppling piles around the room. What can Remus say? He’s a collector. 

The shop bell rings, causing him to look up. He serves a blonde girl who can’t be much older than sixteen her to-go matcha latte in under five minutes, settling back down with his napkin and pen before finding that his inspiration has since been lost. He wants it back. He swears that blonde girl stole it. Remus will get her back for that. He’ll just put green food dye into some milk the next time she comes in, and— God, Remus is bored. He cranks the speakers up a bit, leaving them playing the Spotify recommended songs that they automatically switched onto after Marlene’s latest playlist ran out, along with her entertaining presence. Remus would kill for some of Marlene’s irritating yet thrilling antics right about now, his life feeling exceptionally empty without them. He’s glad she’s spending some time with her dad though, he’d never deny anyone of that, and that she gets to watch the football match now that she can say she’s friends with the Captain of her favourite team. The group chat has been blowing up with support for James all morning, and some slightly intimidating, thinly-veiled threats from Marlene that Regulus fully removed her from the text-chain for without saying a word of his own. She’s added back now, courtesy of Evan and his unwavering sense of justice, and has switched back to using only kind words in blatant fear of being kicked out again, and that she’s losing Regulus’ respect – something not easily earned. Remus himself won’t be following the match, he’s never had much interest in sports despite being a certified exercise freak and unfortunately James will not be that exception, and instead plans on receiving the results of it via the inevitable spamming afterwards in the group chat, and will send his congratulations or condolences to James based solely off of the others’ responses. A solid plan, if he doesn’t say so himself. 

He hums the ending of some Bowie song that he can’t remember the name of and yet still knows every lyric to, counting through his tips for the week curiously just for something to do. He’s had his eye on a specific drum machine so he doesn’t have to imagine Barty’s beats in his head any longer and can recreate them himself to play along to in his spare time, and apparently he can afford it now. Remus grins to himself, placing the bank notes and change back into the cash register reluctantly to pick up in a few days’ time at the designated hour for it, already feeling himself buzz with excitement at the prospect of the drum machine arriving on his doorstep in less than a week. He’s going to have to ask Barty for some help with it, just to make sure he gets the right drum patterns, but that’s okay because he’s always looking for an opportunity to spend time with his mates, anyway. 

Slow and gentle guitar strumming replaces Bowie’s voice, and Remus blinks out of his daydreaming to find the shop still positively empty, barring Dorcas and Fabian’s loud guffaws travelling through the walls distantly, which, again, is strange on a Saturday, but not unheard of. Remus doesn’t recognise the song, which is quite common with the songs Marlene’s phone plays as he prefers much more old stuff than she does, and even though it doesn’t quite match his drum-machine-inspired upbeatness he finds himself quite liking it, pausing to pay attention as a man’s voice begins to sing lyrics almost as quietly as a whisper. 

I’m lying on the moon

My dear, I’ll be there soon

It’s a quiet and starry place

Times were swallowed up in space

Hold on. Remus stands up straighter, blinking. Pause. Marlene’s phone miles away doesn’t listen to him, though, and the song carries on playing. Remus focuses incredibly hard, sure that he’s mistaken. He rushes to boost the speaker to full volume instead, staying perfectly still to absorb the music.

In space we’re here a million miles away

There’s things I wish I knew

There’s no things I’d keep from you

It’s a dark and shiny place

Oh, no fucking way. This, Remus can’t be hearing right. But, the problem is Remus has impeccable hearing. He physically can’t hear something wrong, he knows this, but for some reason his brain refuses to compute, strongly set in denial. Because this sounds like Sirius’ voice. Though this can’t be Sirius’ voice because that would mean he’s singing very softly about love simply to the background of an acoustic guitar strumming; three things punk rock star Sirius Black does not do. It would ruin his carefully built bad-boy image, which is something incredibly precious to Sirius, Remus knows. Plus, Remus has listened to Sirius’ entire discography about four times this week, he would recognise this song, and Sirius would surely tell him on one of their frequent phone calls that he’s releasing new music? So, this can’t be Sirius, all rational evidence points away from it. No, this is just some Sirius wannabe who has nothing better to do with their life than spend what must be years perfecting his voice just for money and fame. Like, stalker much? Remus almost laughs, and suddenly thinks to himself that Sirius would find this hilarious. He whips out his phone, allowing himself due to the significant lack of customers and coworkers, and presses the voice record button, holding his phone close to the speaker. And as he’s recording this Wannabe Sirius’ singing for Real Sirius to drop his jaw in outrage and laugh loudly at, he has no choice but to properly listen and take in the lyrics for a few seconds too. 

But with you, my dear

I’m safe and we’re a million miles away

We’re lying on the moon

I’ll visit the solar system soon

Remus jolts and throws his phone across the room. Fully just tosses it at the nearest wall. Later he will ask himself why that had to be his body’s reaction, out of everything, but for right now he’s a bit busy freaking the fuck out. Is this Wannabe serious—pun not intended—because surely not, this either has to be the greatest, most idiotic prank the universe has ever played on anyone, or… 

Remus doesn’t want to let himself think about the ‘or’ just yet. Not until he’s confirmed this, because Remus is quite positive he’ll combust if his growing suspicions are correct.

It’s a perfect afternoon

Your shadow follows me all day

Making sure that I’m okay

and we’re a million miles away

Right. Remus needs a second, and third, opinion this instant.

“Dorcas, Fabian, get in here right now and tell me I’m not fucking insane!” He yells urgently, nearly screams because he’s not really able to contain his emotions currently. This is evident when Dorcas and Fabian trail in, clearly completely unbothered by this potentially life changing crisis Remus is experiencing.

“Sorry, but you do sound quite insane…” Fabian begins, Dorcas laughing and nodding beside him until they spot Remus with his head in between his arms leaning against the counter, groaning loudly and muffled, and immediately cut each other off with a gasp and rush to his side. 

“Remus?” Dorcas says cautiously, placing a tentative hand on his back that, for some reason, makes him groan even louder. Lifting his head to see four soft, suitably concerned eyes staring back at him, he shakes her off to use his own hand to point to the black speaker sitting atop the long, newly-repaired shelves running behind them. Fabian and Dorcas turn to follow his gaze, focusing on the song blaring out of it to try and find out why it’s causing Remus such trouble, and why he doesn’t just turn it off. A long, silent moment of listening that forces Remus to tune into the soft lull again, emotions coursing through him at such a high speed he thinks his too-fast heartbeat might be his final undoing.

I would tread on glass to get to you 

Maybe it’s the way you complained

After I told you I’d lead you astray

That really sealed my fate

Fabian and Dorcas’ eyes widen almost simultaneously, turning to each other and then Remus in the blatant shock of realisation.

“Shit, that isn’t—”

“No way, that’s—”

“Shh. Shut up both of you,” 

You don’t have to wait 

but I’ll visit the solar system soon I promise

So please at least stay? 

It’s the only thing I want if I’m honest

Those last lines. The song draws to a gentle close, the raw thrum of guitar strings fading out into some new pop piece of shit that Remus especially doesn’t give a fuck about after that. Because that was Sirius. And Remus is the man Sirius chooses to text all day and call all night to repeatedly remind him how much he misses and wants to kiss him. And that was a certified love song. And if it is about Remus he may just explode, and if it isn’t he still may just explode though for entirely different reasons. Remus’ stomach hurts from all of the flipping and turning and fluttering. Dorcas’ eyes are bulging as they flick from the speaker, to a heavily groaning Remus, to a Fabian who is very clearly at a loss of what to do, or say next.

“Do you think it’s him?” Dorcas whispers, as if telling a secret, or treading very carefully around a delicate topic that could cause someone to abruptly snap, that someone probably, and quite validly being Remus. He lets his head fall back in exasperation.

“I don’t know, it sounds like it,” Remus replies reluctantly, and Dorcas nods in acceptance of this, then studies his face and chews her lip in concentration for a moment that makes him very wary of what she could be about to say.

“How about we find out? I’m logged into Marls’ Spotify, so I could just look at her most recently played song? Then at least we’d know,” Remus doesn’t even have time to immediately disagree to her proposition only to change his mind thirty seconds later after mild persuasion before she’s whipping her phone out of her back pocket, swiping and tapping so fast that he finds he can’t even process what’s written out so plainly across it for him once she shoves the screen in his face. 

[NEW] solar system – Sirius Black  

Played four minutes ago.

Remus’ stomach fucking drops, and he’s so glad his phone isn’t in his hands right now because it almost certainly would get crushed with the way his fists are clenching. He doesn’t even know why they’re clenching, but he does know that he’s feeling massively overwhelmed and that it is at least contributing to the cause. Dorcas looks up at him from where she and Fabian have crowded around the phone with him, her lips curling into the softest smile Remus thinks he’ll ever see.

“He wrote you a love song, Remus,” She says gently, like she’s explaining it to a very young child. And though he’d hate to admit it, Remus thinks the condescending tone does actually help with his short-lived acceptance journey of this whole thing, and he feels it begin to set in properly once she utters the words out loud for him to receive in warm truth. He feels it set in, along with everything else this means and the possibilities they come with.

“The first love song of his entire career,” Fabian remarks faintly; this is one of the more prominent meanings Sirius’ spontaneous new song is showcasing in flashing neon lights inside Remus’ brain, a sign that he can’t tell reads caution or not. Something that did not escape Remus’ notice as he was spending his spare, and work, hours studying Sirius’ discography is that not one single song of his is about love. Sure, he has some about sex, and cheating, and even brotherly love, but none are dedicated towards someone in that romantic way most artists inevitably end up writing about, whether they’ve experienced it or not. Remus admittedly did not know what to make of this at the time, and he still really doesn’t, but now Sirius has released possibly the most obvious, soppiest love song Remus could have ever dreamed of, that is, let’s be honest, directed at him, it has complicated things a bit for him. Marlene told him it’s a known fact that Sirius Black doesn’t sing of love when he brought it up with her a few days ago, and as he watches Dorcas frantically scroll through the trending hashtag of Sirius’ name on each of her social media platforms, he realises he didn’t quite grasp the true meaning of what it’s like to be known before. Not even when the paparazzi chased Sirius and James onto his fucking doorstep, apparently, because the sheer amount of opinions and content bombarding Sirius’ name across the internet that Remus makes a point not to get himself familiar to for this exact, horrifying reason is truly shocking him. Dorcas and Fabian don’t seem the faintest bit surprised as they comb through tweets together with blank facial expressions, and Remus wonders to himself when they became so numb to this sort of harassment and if he would be too if it wasn’t for his stubbornness when it comes to downloading social media. Running a hand over face, Remus drags himself to peek over Dorcas’ shoulder at her screen, frowning as he tries to make sense of what’s in front of him. 

 

Maya✨ @areusiriusss 

Y’ALL WHAT HAPPENEDDDD TO MY BOY SIRIUS 😭😭

 

heyy 😚✌️ @sparklezzbunny21

The soft boy agenda got to sirius black guys I AM NOT OKAY.

 

chloe @chl0eee.xo

our baby’s all grown up, he found love 🥹🥹

 

meghan🌟 @certifiedstar

OMG what if it’s about James Potter??? 

 

Josh @fortnite.elitee

The song is so fucking gay I hate it

 

Remus stiffens and turns away after that. Dorcas must feel it against her as she clicks her phone off with a sigh, pocketing it in her jeans and scans Remus instead of it with sympathetic eyes, prompting Fabian to do the same a second later. 

“Alright so I think the song came out last night with no explanation or warning, and Sirius still hasn’t posted anything about it from what I’ve read,” Fabian tells them with a grimace, and Dorcas nods her head in agreement.

“Yeah that’s what I’ve seen too. I don’t think he’s texted on the group chat either this morning, but it was mostly about James so that might be why,” Dorcas shoots an apologetic look in Fabian’s direction as she speaks because usually they try collectively as a group to make a point out of not talking about the group chat around Fabian, with him not being in it and all. He claims he doesn’t mind, but Remus has seen the jealousy flicker across his face when they all get a notification sent to their phones at the same time, and he doesn’t. Remus soothes his pity for the man by telling himself that as soon as Sirius, James and Regulus meet Fabian, something that is bound to happen eventually, he’ll be added to the group too. Remus suspects this is something similar to what Fabian tells himself as well. Fabian’s expression is careful to remain indifferent now though, that or he really just is, until it lights up abruptly with a newfound purpose.  

“Did you guys see the song cover?” Fabian asks excitedly, looking mostly to Remus for his answer. Yes, Remus saw the rushed black and white sketch of a wolf howling not to the moon, but the stars, specifically the brightest one in the sky, both as a tiny square on Spotify and a very daunting, sarcastically captioned image on Twitter about twenty times over. He doesn’t say any of that though, just nods slowly whilst feeling his skin grow increasingly paler and himself grow increasingly fainter in the head. Fabian falters at this reaction, and Dorcas pauses her passionate gushing about her theories of the obvious meaning behind the art to quickly grab a chair for him to shakily sit down in, and Fabian to pour him a glass of water. 

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Dorcas asks him quietly, her eyebrows drawn together. He brings the water to his dry lips, and Fabian crosses his arms accusingly as he watches him deliberately take his time swallowing before answering. 

“Two—” Remus clears his throat, setting the water down on the counter beside him with a heavy thud, “Two hours,” Dorcas exhales slowly, turning away from him as if she needs a moment to gather herself before she can talk, and Remus purses his lips, eyes sharpening. “You know I can’t help it,” 

“You told me it was getting better,” Fabian mutters, shaking his head. Remus scoffs incredulously, letting anger overtake him. 

“Because all you lot do is worry about me if I don’t! I’m not made of glass, far fucking from it, actually, but you treat me as if I’ll shatter sometimes,” He snaps, and goes to stand up and leave but finds his head swimming, dropping back down into his seat humiliatingly instead. Dorcas shifts her steely gaze to him again, and it’s so weighted that Remus, someone who really is quite emotionally strong, finds himself unable to hold it. 

“Remus,” She orders sternly, forcing him to look back up at her again, “you are shattered,” She says it like it’s a fact, and Fabian just nods supportingly, which is how Remus realises that he’s entirely alone on his side of the argument. Sirius would be on his side, he knows what it’s like to have insomnia, even if he doesn’t seem to have it diagnosed like Remus does. Oh shit, Sirius. Sirius who wrote a goddamn love song about him and released it yesterday without saying a word to anyone, including Remus now that he thinks about it, and since hasn’t heard a word back from him either. Remus’ hand flies to his pocket, where he normally keeps his phone, panic flooding through his body when it’s not there. He looks up to Dorcas and Fabian with a start, ignoring their concerned expressions. 

“Can you get my phone please?” He breathes, pointing over to the general direction of where he threw it earlier, cursing himself for not bothering to go and pick it up himself when he had the chance. Remus hates his body, not the way it looks, he quite likes that, but the way it chooses now of all times to crash out from his energy drinks that he’s somehow got himself hooked on again. Dorcas makes a sceptical face. 

“Remus—”

“Please.” 

She sighs heavily, stomping over to investigate the general area he gestured to, making a quite unnecessarily petty show out of ducking under tables in her search, leaving Fabian to glare warningly down at Remus as if he has enough energy to attempt to run away again without almost collapsing. A few, tense moments later and Dorcas is reemerging from under a table at least two metres away from where Remus originally thought his phone was with the device clutched in her hand. She shoves it into his hands, scowling and irritably flicking her braids back over her head from where they had all fallen in her face, and Remus’ cheeks heat up with shame. 

“I’ll go and take a nap in the break room after this, but I need to call Sirius so can you please both leave the room?” He tries to make his expression as apologetic as possible, refusing to actually say sorry for having a disorder , and internally winces when Dorcas and Fabian both open their mouths to argue, faces contorting with outrage. They clearly think better of it, though, remembering the lyrics Sirius wrote that basically spells out his name with one last matching withering glance over their shoulders.

“If you’re not in the break room in twenty minutes, I will drag you forcibly,” Dorcas calls down the hallway, and Remus doesn’t laugh, just nods to the empty room because he knows a bit too well she’s not joking at all and probably could drag him if she tried, especially if he feels as feeble as he does now. Remus takes a shuddering deep breath, then another one. Then another as he watches his newly-splintered phone ring, pressing it to his ear tentatively and squeezing his eyes shut in a silent prayer. 

“Remus?” A voice so familiar and close to his heart and yet so far away whispers in his ear, and fuck Remus feels hysterical. Another deep breath, this one even more shaky than the others.

“I like your song,” Remus says, putting as much effort as he can muster into sounding at least a little more steadier than feels, blinking as a stray tear rolls down his cheek. A pause in which Remus can only hear his own heartbeat pounding, and then a quiet, huffed laugh on the other end of the line that he really doesn’t know what to make of. 

“I’m glad you noticed it, I was beginning to get worried I hadn’t made it clear enough,” Sirius’ voice cracks, and Remus can’t tell whether it’s from the dodgy wifi or just pure emotion leaking into it in the way Remus was trying so hard to prevent happening to himself. Either way, it causes a few more tears to escape Remus’ own eyes despite the affectionate smile playing on his lips and suddenly he’s very glad he insisted on Dorcas and Fabian leaving the room, and that this isn’t a FaceTime. 

“I think you made it pretty bloody clear with the whole thing being called solar system and the cover having a wolf on the front,” Remus laughs wetly, hearing what’s left of his Welsh accent coming through his British façade because he might be crying but around Sirius who occasionally speaks German to himself despite having never even visited the country except for briefly on tour he really doesn’t care. 

“I wasn’t completely sure whether you knew the lore behind your name, to be honest,” Sirius counters defensively, though laughing loudly as he does. Remus grins, swiping his watering eyes as he quickly crafts his reply in his head.

“Sirius,” He says solemnly, pausing for dramatic effect, “do you really think I went my whole twenty-three year old life with the ridiculous latin name of Remus Lupin and didn’t sit down to google it once?” 

“I– maybe? I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Sirius chokes out between cackles when Remus puts on a very strong Welsh accent, not unlike to his mother’s, and starts to berate him as loudly and creatively as he can manage, only for Sirius to put on an equally passionate French accent and start yapping about hitting Remus over the head with a baguette and force-feeding him various pastries Remus can’t pronounce the name of until he ‘chokes on ze Frenchness’. It’s as Remus is about to tell him how much he would like to choke on his Frenchness that a timid, windswept middle-aged woman walks in warily, the tinkling of the bell above the door causing him to flinch and look up. The woman takes in the completely empty room bar for Remus, who is trying desperately to contain his laughter as Sirius carries on rambling in an angry blend of French and English in his ear, oblivious to the new onlooker. 

“Is this a bad time?” The woman asks him cautiously, taking another small step inside. Something like that, Remus wants so badly to say but unfortunately he’s the manager of this place and therefore cannot send away their only customer simply because a famous singer wrote a love song about him though right now is singing some French shit about revenge very badly and very off-key. Pulling the phone away from his ear so he doesn’t start actually pissing himself with laughter, Remus shakes his head, lips thinned, to the woman as he attempts to get a fucking grip. 

“No–no, this is a perfect time, sorry,” He manages, his chest straining with the effort to keep his giggles inside, and he’s positive it’s reflecting on his face because the woman shoots him a very strange look as she shuffles over to a window seat, picking up a menu that she peers suspiciously at him over. When he brings the phone back to his ear, Sirius is singing different variations of his name, presumably in an attempt to get his attention from where he suddenly disappeared, and it takes Remus the self-control of a saint to keep his face as straight as possible. 

“Remus! Remu, Romulus, Wolf boy! Remus The Werewolf howling at the moon! Moony! Yo, Remus howls at the moon, he’s such a loon—” When Sirius starts beatboxing, Remus snaps back to reality and decides that he absolutely must put a stop to this. 

“Sirius. Sirius. Sirius! Shut the fuck—” Remus shoots a wary look to the customer pretending not to listen to him, but he unfortunately sees the way her lips purse disapprovingly at the swearing, “I mean please stop and listen to me. A customer walked in—yes I’m at work, I have a job. Yes I know you have a job, but it’s not—I know you released a song yesterday, I’ve just had a whole bloody breakdown over it! No, ignore that, sorry. Yes, I’m OK. Look, stop, listen to me, I need to go because I need to serve this customer,” He raises his voice slightly in frustration, and winces when he sees out of his peripheral vision that the customer has fully around turned to look at him now, not even ignoring him out of politeness anymore. And Sirius has the nerve to laugh at him through the phone. 

“Okay, okay fine, say hello to them for me!” Sirius hollers, cackling afterwards and clearly finding himself so hilarious that Remus can’t help but roll his eyes in response. Just as he’s about to click the button to hang up, Sirius hurriedly stops him. “Wait, wait, would you– would you want to meet up soon?” Sirius rushes, his voice sounding exceptionally out of breath and hopeful. Remus closes his eyes, smiling, and braces himself against the counter in front of him. 

“Of course I would, but can we talk about it later because I really have to go—” But Remus hears the line go dead in his ear, and when he confirms that Sirius did just in fact hang up on him as some sort of favour, he can’t help but chuckle disbelievingly, setting it down. Eyeing the woman who is either very indecisive or is still pretending to look at the menu to preserve Remus’ last shred of dignity, Remus remembers Dorcas’ lecture and his own waves of dizziness that have persisted throughout that phone call, despite his viable efforts to ignore them until now. He downs his glass of water, closes his eyes for a moment more, focusing, before rising to his feet and withstanding the immediate headrush the action garners. He walks as normally as possible with the edges of his vision growing fuzzy, forcing out an assuring, “Someone will be with you soon,” to the woman who will probably go home and complain about Solar System to all of her knitting friends and convince them to never return here, but Remus honestly couldn’t care less about that at the moment. He pads into the break room and flops onto the sofa that Dorcas and Fabian immediately evacuated when he appeared in the doorway, and when he doesn’t hear them leave he provides a muffled, “Customer,” into the cushion in front of him, smiling against the fabric as a few loud ‘oh’s are gasped, accompanied with more than a few swear words that the knitting, middle-aged woman would most definitely throw a fit at, and rushed footsteps. Kicking off his shoes, he shifts his body into a more comfortable position before replaying Sirius’ song as best as he can from memory in his head over and over again until he drifts off into a heavy, much-needed sleep with a smile on his lips, not dissimilar to how he did, in this very same room, a week ago to the fresh memory of Sirius’ kissing them.

You don’t have to wait 

but I’ll visit the solar system soon I promise

So please at least stay? 

It’s the only thing I want if I’m honest

                                                                                       * * *

Sirius

When Sirius hung up the phone to Remus, it was partially because he knew he had overstayed his digital welcome by more than he ideally should have and Remus did quite urgently have to go, but mostly because his manager has been spam calling and texting him all morning, and the most recent one threatened to cut all of his contracts if he doesn’t pick up the damn phone, which is why he’s now pacing his kitchen frustratedly as he gets absolutely torn to pieces by his manager who apparently is very tempted to not be his manager anymore. A victory, by Sirius’ standards, but unfortunately he does need a few of his other contracts, especially his ongoing one with Alice and Frank, so he keeps his opinions to himself for once and rolls his eyes silently to his fridge door when Karkaroff says something exclusively insulting and debatable. 

“Your entire image, ruined overnight! Why you wouldn’t consult me on this I have no bloody idea, this is terrible! The song is terrible. This is actually worse for me because—” Eye roll. Sirius tunes the man out entirely after this, only speaking to answer occasional half-rhetorical questions and fully placing his phone on the kitchen island to cook himself some late lunch without bothering to turn speaker on again when Karkaroff decides to switch to cursing Sirius out in Norwegian, a language he knows damn well Sirius doesn’t understand and isn’t about to sit here and try. Watching some slices of chicken sizzle in a pan in front of him blankly, it takes Sirius a good three or four minutes before he realises the incessant buzz of Karkaroff’s tinny voice coming from his phone in the background has stopped and with one final doubtful glance back at his chicken, he makes his way over to see if his narcissist of a manager has figured out yet that he’s just having a conversation with himself, and what he’s going to do to Sirius for it. Three months, Sirius reminds himself as he hesitantly flips his phone over, three months until he doesn’t have to put up with this bullshit anymore. His eyebrows draw together with confusion when he sees the call is still ongoing, yet silent, and decides to say something that won’t incriminate him, but will hopefully give him at least a few answers. Perhaps he  should have just risked his sanity and listened to the old bat drone on after all. 

“Yes?” Sirius says uncertainly into the phone. 

“Ah, at least you’re not completely useless as your parents say you are! Thank you for complying, Mr. Black, it may be that we can fix your mistake of music after all, God help us,” Karkaroff’s tone has turned about the brightest Sirius has heard it in years, which he is not taking as a good sign considering he has no idea what the fuck he just agreed to. Eyes wide, after quick consideration and a sprint back to his smoking abandoned chicken resting on his stove, Sirius decides that he’d much rather be scolded for not paying attention than accidentally entrust this monster of a man with any aspect of his career unknowingly. 

“Sorry, what did I just agree to?” Sirius winces at the exaggerated, angry huff on the other end of the phone. 

"Pay attention Mr. Black, this is why you need someone like me to guide you!” Eye roll. “You have agreed to do a small press tour following your silly single release where you will tease a new album and explain that the release of the song was for a drunken dare as a romantic gift to another male celebrity our media team is already selecting and that it will not affect your music style in any way,” Really? Sirius agreed to all of that? He pinches the bridge of his nose, struggling to decide which point he needs to disagree with first. Suddenly, he snaps his head up, mouth dropping open. 

“Hold on, you are not queerbaiting me! Fucking hell, no, absolutely not,” Sirius’ voice breaks into a shout through his fury. He cannot believe his parents and the demons alike to them that they decided to hire for him at the ripe age of sixteen when they could still manipulate him into signing any contract they wanted, this one being the longest lasting. It was only after it got put in place that Sirius realised what was going on, and it was far too late and he was far too young to do anything about it except run away to live at his best friend’s house where his family couldn’t exploit him any longer. “I’m not doing a fucking press tour either, that song was personal to me and I’m not going to let a dozen interviewers ask about it just to analyse my answer. Also if you think I’m suddenly producing a whole bloody album out of thin air just because you asked for it then you’re genuinely mad, I’ll write songs in my own time, and yeah, they’ll probably be back to my usual style but I’m allowed to experiment as an artist, honestly!” A pause, and then. 

“Experimenting as an artist, that’s good, we’ll use that…” Karkaroff trails off concentratedly as if he’s writing something down, sounding completely unbothered, and Sirius feels like he’s actually going to explode. 

“I didn’t agree to anything! I’m not doing any press tours and you’re certainly not queerbaiting me. Goodbye!” Sirius yells, mostly upset at how much he lets this pathetic little man get to him every time they speak, and slams his finger on the hang up button. He throws his phone on the counter with a frustrated groan and a clatter, scrubbing at his face exhaustedly. The LBGTQ+ group of Sirius’ fanbase is very important to him as someone who grew up having no one to demonstrate to him that a person can be queer and ‘normal’ at the same time, and that in fact queer is normal, and he prides himself on being that for at least a few scared little boys out there just like he was. If he lost that trust with his fans, Sirius doesn’t know what he’d do. He doesn’t know what to do right now either, but his fingers do, instinctively dialling for the person who he views as his light at the end of this deep, dark tunnel he’s been lost in since sixteen years old and far before that too, following her blindly to what he prays is safety. 

“Minnie?” Sirius urges, his breath coming out in short, stressed bursts when he hears the line connect. 

“Sirius? What’s the matter? If this is a work inquiry then—” His lawyer’s strict, yet somewhat motherly voice crackles out of his phone and it fills Sirius with burning guilt to interrupt her as someone he views so highly but he can’t contain himself any longer, for anyone. 

 “He’s trying to force me to queerbait my fans, he can’t do that can he? He says he’ll cut all of my contracts if I don’t comply, what am I supposed to do? I can’t rebuild my network and I’m nothing without it, Minnie, nothing.” He takes a gasp of air between choked sobs, “ I don’t know how much longer I can take this, I think my parents are paying him to destroy me before the three months is up or something. I can’t do this for three more months, Minnie! There must be something, a loophole or—”

“Sirius, you're spiralling. Take a deep breath with me, that’s it. Now, listen to me. We’ve been through the terms and conditions of your legally binding contract a hundred times over, and you know as well as I do that there are virtually no loopholes that are worth risking taking, not when the end is so near. You also know that your parents ensured you are untouchable, on multiple accounts, from anyone, including their own employees as they didn’t know that you’d emancipate at the time that the contract was drawn up, meaning that Mr. Karkaroff’s threats are merely empty and he has nearly no real power over you. He’s trying to manipulate and intimidate you into following his orders, but Sirius you’ve got to remember he doesn’t control you.” She explains matter-of-factly, her tone comfortingly smooth and steady. Sirius does listen, very carefully and with the intention of tattooing this memory inside his brain so he can calm himself to the firm words of it when he inevitably needs this speech spoken back to him again in the near future. Sirius swipes at his eyes and nose, still taking the deep breaths Minnie asked him to. “Now, is that all? I’m presuming you don’t want to take legal action against Mr. Karkaroff, considering his wealth and status?” Sirius blinks, chuckling a humourless laugh. 

“No, no, thank you that was all. Thank you, Minnie. Sorry if I interrupted your work, I’ll try not to next time,” He says sincerely as he pours himself a glass of water, eyeing his blackened chicken suspiciously as he goes. He really wanted that chicken. Huffing quietly, he props his phone up on the counter and actually turns on speaker this time, using his free hands to tip the inedible food into the bin with a grimace.

“I was on my lunch break, but thank you for your consideration, Mr. Black.” Minerva points out, and Sirius can hear a smile in her voice, automatically putting one in his own. 

“You’re welcome,” He mumbles absently as he concentrates on trying to read the fine print on some posh ready meal he bought just in case he couldn’t be bothered to cook or something went wrong, which is more than likely; a difficult task without the reading glasses that he’ll forever insist he doesn’t need.

“Well, if that’s all, I have to get going now, Mr. Black. Stay strong and don’t let Mr. Karkaroff control you any more than he legally can. He can’t cut any standing contracts that you don’t sign off yourself. Goodbye,” Sirius can hear her amusement, as if she can see him squinting with his face far too close to the piece of detailed cardboard through the phone, and her last word snatches his attention back, causing him to put the meal down and rush over to the side of his mobile. 

“Bye, Minnie, and thank you again,” He exclaims quickly before she hangs up on him, leaving him grinning at his black screen before he sets it down again. He runs a quick hand through his hair, ignoring the incessant buzzing of his other phone somewhere else in the kitchen specifically for work stuff, already knowing what the notifications are without having to look. A solid, monotonous and depressing mix of frantic emails from his media team, the Google Alerts someone set up on his phone so whenever his name is mentioned in any article on any website he gets notified, even when it’s something he’d be much better off not reading, and his official social media accounts blowing up with activity from his fans, and the people who’d rather die than be mistaken for one. 

Sighing to himself, he pierces the clear, plastic film covering his ready meal, spaghetti carbonara because it’s somehow became one of his favourite foods since he tasted Remus’, he gives himself exactly the three minutes the food needs to spend in the microwave to think about his slimy manager and the problems he’s causing, and no more than that because he refuses to waste any more precious brain power on the subject. Sirius slams his microwave door shut, pressing three minutes into the timer and taking a step back to watch the sad container whirr around in dragging circles. Objectively, he knows his manager can’t really do much to him, or force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but believe it or not Sirius is also aware the man is a very persuasive businessman and could convince his connections in the music industry to drop Sirius easily and ensure he’ll never be able to find any work again. Which would be quite devastating to his career, he imagines. Karkaroff knows he knows that, meaning he enjoys hanging it over his head occasionally when he needs to brighten up his day by ruining Sirius’ as long as he still can, which seems to be more and more these days as they become steadily numbered towards the death of their binding contract. Sirius meant what he said to Minerva about his theory that his parents are paying Karkaroff to make his life miserable, because it’s the exact shit they’d pull and it’s not a secret that Karkaroff would gladly inflict psychological pain without getting money out of it, let alone with. There’s not much to be done about that though, Mr. Karkaroff has always reminded him of his parents, even when there’s an ocean between them and has been for years, because he was sometimes there at the house in France as a guest and Sirius could never forget those horrific dinner parties even if he tried—and yes, he has tried. He has the same cold, manipulative mannerisms as the rest of his goddamn family and their friends, all brought up on the same discriminative ideals and aristocratic tastes that Sirius and Regulus have both tried so hard to erase from themselves, even when it’ll always be etched into their very blood and bones no matter what they do. Well, Sirius suspects Regulus isn’t trying very hard to erase the aristocracy from himself judging by the collection of absurdly expensive jewellery he was flaunting the other day, and the suit he knows for a fact costs more than James’ car and Sirius’ motorbike put together, but all Regulus has ever known is luxury, so he can’t very well be blamed even if Sirius thinks the mansion he’s only ever been allowed to visit once is overdoing it slightly. The microwave beeps and Sirius blinks out of his daze of thought, internally patting himself on the back for not even wasting the whole three minutes thinking about his manager and his parents, even if he’s not supposed to be the fondest of his brother currently either, wincing as he accidentally burns the side of his hand on the steaming plastic. 

He transfers his spaghetti onto a plate, grabbing a fork as he goes and sitting at his coffee table instead of his sofa this time, forcing himself to be a little more civilised than usual. Making a face at the thought that sounds like it was crafted from his own mother’s words, Sirius decides to drown them out by diving into his food, shovelling a forkful into his mouth before it can produce any more stupidity. Without anything to entertain him as he eats, he examines with his eyes the wad of unopened envelopes he shoved out of the way for his plate at the other end of the table, reading their return addresses with varying states of interest. When he reaches the shiny gold envelope, the only one that he has actually opened, he smirks at the knowledge of what it contains. He’s successful enough to have been invited to Yule Ball, which is a fucking ego boost, and it’s as he leans in slightly closer to inspect the fancy, thick card he imagines with a dangerous arch of his eyebrow what his manager would say if he brought Remus along with him, someone who, as much as he looks like he should be a celebrity in Sirius’ opinion, is quite unheard of and wouldn’t do any good for the playboy reputation they’ve tried to give Sirius over the years. Which is why that’s exactly what Sirius is going to do, he’s decided, as long as Remus wants to come and is still even putting up with Sirius and his antics by December, and also because he’s always actively looking for an excuse to see Remus, and a massive, lavish party is a great one. The invite said he could bring two guests, and usually he would’ve already called James up and told him that he will be accompanying him, but Sirius’ life isn’t really what it usually is right now.

For example, when he finishes eating his food and finally migrates to his sofa to click on his TV, the televised version of James’ football match against Durmstrang appears in front of him, which is odd because he always is there to watch the match live, and has never needed to see what the digital version looks like before. He can’t bring himself to turn it off, though, just like he couldn’t bring himself to turn up to the match the morning after he released a surprise new song and a week after James and him stopped talking, granting himself the small mercy of muting the commentator’s nasally voice instead. He watches the camera pan around the pitch silently, able to pick out which tiny figure is James alarmingly quickly, which he can’t help but hate a little bit, until it fully zooms in on him tackling some player Sirius doesn’t recognise to get the ball, looking so, disconcertingly different without his glasses and signature smile.

Good mood steadily fading, Sirius wonders absently if he should go anywhere; actually leave his house for once without the excuse of watching James run around on a field or needing to go to some business meeting or other. He stares down at his wrist that is bare in the t-shirt that he’s wearing, at the black ink snaking its way around it in a constellation of his, Regulus and their cousin Andromeda’s namesakes. Maybe he should get another tattoo; having the privilege of seeing Remus’ entire impressive assortment when he accidentally walked in on him, Sirius still both cringes and blushes at the memory, really inspired him. As symbolic as it is, Sirius thinks that having a drawing of a solar system or a wolf permanently etched into his skin is perhaps a bit forward, and damaging his whole image as a certified rockstar is where he should draw the line for for grand romantic gestures towards a man he’s only known for just over a week and isn’t even dating. He doesn’t have any other ideas on what to get though, and the idea of sitting in a chair in aggravating pain and boredom for a few hours for a meaningless tattoo doesn’t exactly excite him, unfortunately. 

Right as he’s about to give up and spend an hour riding his motorbike around angrily for no reason or destination at all, in front of him the TV flicks onto something, or someone, rather, who catches his eye immediately. Black curly hair, haunting grey eyes and skin so pale it’s almost translucent that Sirius has never seen on anyone outside of his own family. A record that still stands because this man on the TV is in Sirius’ family. Regulus, at James’ football match, clapping for a goal that Sirius missed and smiling so widely that he almost doesn’t recognise him. He’s standing in the Gryffindor Stadium VIP box that Sirius recognises all too well from his own frequent visits over the years, wrapped in a black trench coat and dark grey scarf, applauding with leather-gloved fingers even though it’s only September. Never, not once in all his twenty-two years of knowing him, has he ever seen Regulus go even remotely near a sports pitch voluntarily, of any kind. When they were younger they were both forced into doing multiple sports considered owned by the rich like lacrosse, fencing and polo, but that was involuntarily, and here he is now perching in his seat with his back as ram-rod straight as ever, eyes trailing wherever his boyfriend goes with a soft fondness Sirius is sure he’s not aware of. The camera flicks back onto the pitch where everyone has resumed playing after a brief break of celebration, but the image of Regulus is still burnt into Sirius’ mind. Regulus is considerably well known, and it would be more than considerable had he not chosen to use a pseudonym for his books, but after Sirius’ spontaneous release yesterday and purposeful lack of public activity since, of course the cameras are going to fixate on his little brother in substitute. Did he and James realise this? Probably not because they’re both helpless when it comes to how the media and press works, and they didn’t have Sirius to advise them against the whole thing; an amateur mistake. Suddenly Sirius is very glad that he didn’t decide to go to see the match after all because if he had turned up to that goddamn VIP box just to see Regulus cheering with all of the other trophy wives, he doesn’t know what he would’ve done. Either turned right back around, or threw Regulus off of the balcony onto the grass where James could see and then turn right back around and not look back over his shoulder once. Also hire someone to record and edit it in slo-mo for his Instagram too, obviously. 

Rolling his eyes as Regulus appears on screen again, he flicks his TV off with a tiny twinge of guilt he shoves down with the rest of his emotions that bubble up whenever he finds his mind wandering to last week’s dire events and revelations, and rolls over to stare longingly at his—personal—phone from its place on his kitchen counter. Normally this would be right where he bombards Remus with text messages complaining how boring his life is without his enlightening presence and lightly threaten him into calling, but Remus is at work and busy right now, and Sirius suspects he needs a little more time to process the song that he only found out about just an hour ago before they can speak regularly again. Sirius really was growing very worried as Remus’ silence only increased throughout the night and day, each hour that went by another far-fetched, anxiety-induced theory of what Remus could be thinking plaguing Sirius’ mind. When he saw his personal phone ringing instead of his work one and unlocked it to see Remus’ name brandished across his screen, Sirius nearly jumped out of his skin with adrenaline. And when Remus agreed to meet up with him soon, his heart did soar straight out of his chest, and while he is somewhat scared of how intense his feelings have grown so quickly, it mostly excites him that he’s able to feel like this after spending so many years as a child being told he’s not. Sirius doesn’t entirely know what day or even where or how he’s planning to go and see Remus, but he entrusts that the least the universe can do after making his life such utter shit recently is make sure it happens, and that it goes well. Because when Sirius and Remus were together last weekend, everything they did, the conversations they were having, the promises that were made were all in the haze of everything else crazy that was happening around them, and when they have no distractions or heightened emotions to fuel them, will whatever they have still feel so right? Sirius prays that it will. He’s already invested so much into this literally and emotionally that he thinks it will genuinely be his final straw if he loses Remus, because some days it feels like he’s all he has left. Which is slightly ridiculous considering Sirius only met him the day he lost everything else, this perhaps being the reason he feels himself clinging onto him so tightly; the one person who has given Sirius the consistency that someone really needs when it feels like everything in their life is changing.

Making a face at the cushion his face is resting on, Sirius decides that he absolutely needs to get out of both his flat and his mind before he drives himself insane, and what better way to do that than actually driving but a famously perilous vehicle through the busiest streets of London, specifically Gryffindor city centre? Sirius thinks it sounds like a fantastic self-deprecating plan for the day. Pushing himself off of the sofa, he clads up in his black leathers because he’s not stupid enough to go without them, picking up the Apple Watch Regulus oddly bought him after Sirius pulled up to the cafe they agreed to meet at one day on his motorbike, claiming it will automatically call emergency services if he ever gets into an accident riding it like he’s apparently bound to do due to his ‘absolute idiocy and borderline suicidal tendencies’, as he goes. His helmet in one hand, Sirius uses the other to grab his phone to zip away safely in his trouser pocket and it’s as he’s doing this that a specific message written across his screen catches his eye, sent from a person he could never ignore.

(15:05) Mum ♥️ (the good one):Hey darling, we heard your new song and me and Monty love it, but we’re appalled you haven’t told us anything about it yet! Come round for a gossip and free food soon? We’re so proud of you xx

Sirius’ face breaks out into a smile, and he sets his helmet back down on the counter beside him with a thunk so he can type his response back freely. He tilts his head, considering his options and deciding that he’d much rather drive somewhere with a destination instead of do it aimlessly, and takes his chance whilst he can.

(15:09) Sirius: hii thank you!! do you think I could come round now? only if it’s okay xx

(15:10) Of course it’s okay darling, I’ll put the kettle on. Monty says travel safe. Love you x

Sirius was wrong. There have been three people consistently there for him throughout this past week; Monty, Effie and Remus. Even when Sirius and James both cancelled Sunday dinner without explanation, knowing how upset it would make their parents. Even when Sirius couldn’t bring himself to answer more than a short, depressingly vague response to Effie’s bright, as kind as ever message earlier this week, the guilt gnawing at him quietly since. Even when Effie called him yesterday, only an hour before his song went live and was very clearly distressed by whatever James had finally told her about what happened, leaving Sirius reeling slightly once he had assured her that he was perfectly fine and hung up the phone with drawn eyebrows. Now though, he can make up for all of that and spend some much-needed quality time with his parents, and hopefully get their famously wise advice on what he should do next, despite the subject of the conversation being their other, biological son. Lifting his helmet again, Sirius fires out a quick reply to Effie and steels himself for the journey ahead of him, knowing that he can’t get lost in his own head if he’s going to be dodging cars and people alike.

(15:11) i love you both too x

He collects his motorcycle from the large garage attached to his apartment building with a slow smirk when he catches sight of the metallic beast he considers his own child, its dark, expensive wheels glinting in the daylight. Tossing his hair over his shoulders and grimacing at what the wind is going to do to it when it’s relentlessly batting at his face, he pushes his helmet on and swings himself onto the bike in a motion he’s practiced a hundred times over. Sirius rides in a way that Regulus would probably have a heart attack if he saw, eyes sharp whenever he begins to speed up quicker than he really should do on a city street. He rolls to a neat stop at the top of the Potters’ excessively long driveway after about ten minutes, tugging his helmet off with a shake of his hair, grinning at how skilled he’s becoming driving his ‘death trap’ of a bike. Climbing off, he pats the smooth seat of it like he’s seen riders do in films as an expression of gratitude towards their trustworthy vehicle for getting them to their destination safely, chuckling as he thinks of what James would say at the display before several realisations punch him in the gut all at once and his smile falls. His helmet hanging loosely from his fingertips on his other hand, he uses his free one to unlock the door to the house with keys the Potters’ gifted to him not even two weeks after he officially began living there. 

“I’m here!” He announces in a sing-song voice as he steps inside, placing his helmet on the decorative table in the entryway as he always does, the table only really still standing there for that designated purpose, tossing his keys beside them. Effie and Monty emerge from different directions though entertainingly in sync to greet him as he steps out of his shoes, shrugging off his jacket and gloves as he goes. He bends down to envelope Effie into a tight, delightfully warm hug before straightening up to allow Monty to do the same, him being who James gets his considerable height from. 

“You look as handsome as ever, have you been eating well?” Effie asks with accusatory raised eyebrows as she leads them both through into the living room. Sirius laughs, thinking back to his blackened chicken from earlier. 

“I’ve been trying,” He says honestly to a scolding tut and exasperated muttering about how ‘boys can’t fend for themselves anymore’ that only makes him laugh harder as he collapses into his long-appointed sofa chair. Effie sends Monty bumbling off into the kitchen to prepare some biscuits and tea that Sirius couldn’t ever refuse, and can never seem to offer his help to make before someone quickly and sternly dismisses him. Effie is in the middle of gauging details about him and Remus’...whatever they are before Monty strides back into the room, arms laden with steaming mugs and treats claiming they need to start the whole conversation again for his ears. Rolling his eyes affectionately, Sirius takes a mug from him and a plate piled with various cookies and other sweet snacks he doesn’t know the name of before giving him a summary that Monty scoffs at, complaining how it’s unfair that his wife gets more information than he does. 

“I’m just saying! Why is it that all I get is ‘I found this boy, he’s well fit, Dad, we kissed and then I wrote a song for him, end of story’ when your mother gets told everything?” Monty exclaims with wild gestures of his hands that makes his tea slosh around precariously in his cup, causing Effie to quickly take it from him before he stains the carpet. Him and Sirius both grin at each other widely, and Effie hums knowingly once settled back into her seat, peering at Sirius over the top of her chocolate biscuit. 

“He also walked in on the poor boy just in his boxers,” She tells Monty with a playful arched eyebrow, prompting Monty to gasp and Sirius to hide his crimson face behind his hands. 

“Why would you tell him that, out of everything?” Sirius groans as the pair of them both cackle at his humiliation, clearly enjoying themselves. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Sirius. At least you got a preview before the real thing, make sure you like what you see,” Monty winks suggestively, and Effie throws a cushion at him, shaking her head disapprovingly and cursing his name under her breath. Sirius removes his fingers from his eyes at this, openly throwing his head back to laugh and strongly encouraging Effie and Fleamont to do the same. 

Once they calm down, there’s a lull of comfortable silence that they each spend sipping on their drinks and munching at their respective snacks until Effie and Monty share a long silent conversation between them and turn back to Sirius with matching sympathetic frowns and the silence is no longer very comfortable at all. Sirius immediately knows what’s going on, and immediately wants to reject the whole thing entirely before his senses kick in and he accepts with a heavy exhale that he owes these people who have done so much for him out of the pure unwavering kindness of their hearts over the years an explanation, at the very least. He sits up, setting his tea down and regretting it because now he has nothing to hide his nervous fidgeting with, staring at Effie and Monty expectantly for the first question. Registering that Sirius knows what’s happening, Effie relaxes her shoulders a little bit and glances back to Monty doubtedly once more before squaring Sirius with a firm, yet softened by motherhood gaze that tells him that it’s starting. 

“James told us everything that happened last night. We were very shocked as you can probably guess, but we don’t have any idea of how you must feel. Assuming you didn’t know anything about him and Regulus either?” Effie’s lips thin as she speaks, an unreadable tone wrapping itself around her words that Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever heard before except from when she had to have a conversation with Walburga, Sirius’ biological mother, all those years ago to confirm the logistics of accepting Sirius into the Potters’ care. Sirius is admittedly curious from Effie’s change in demeanour what exactly James told the both of them last night and what their true opinions on the whole affair is, and secretly hopes he can pry some details out of them in this conversation for himself. But wow, they’re going straight to the point, are they? Sirius has only spoken to Remus about what happened last week so far, and he’s not quite sure how mentally ready he is to talk to James’ parents about it, no matter how unbiased they’re attempting to come across. Sirius steels himself for this, thinking his words out carefully and not trusting his brain to not be painfully unfiltered without supervision. 

“I think a small part of me knew it made sense from things that hadn’t added up over the years, but I was just very strongly in denial that James wouldn’t do that to me, you know? That if something were to happen between them he’d tell me immediately because I didn’t think he even had the capability to lie to me like that. If he hadn't lied—well, I mean when he and Regulus first started seeing each other I didn’t have a very good relationship with Regulus so I probably would’ve been quite angry, but I would’ve gotten over it eventually. But now I’m not…I’m not sure if I can? Remus told me that if I don’t know who James is anymore, I have to mourn the loss of the person I thought I knew before I can start to get to know the real one, and I think I’m doing that, in my own way, but I just can’t stop thinking that if I was faced with James right now, I wouldn’t be able to speak to him, not yet. It’s just—he was actively lying to me for seven years when I’ve been nothing but open with him, I mean what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He pauses his ranting as he feels his temper rising dangerously, and he goes over his last words in his head and winces, looking up to the pair of them from where he was previously fixating on his lap. “Sorry for swearing,” Effie shakes her head dismissively, a change from where she had been sitting perfectly still and listening patiently with her husband. When it’s obvious Sirius has finished speaking for now, Effie pauses from a long moment, obviously thinking very hard about her next choice of words just like Monty seems to be, except he doesn’t have much intention on speaking for a little while, if Sirius knows him well enough, and is going to instead input some very wise words at the end of the conversation to make up for it. 

“I don’t how much I can say on this, it’s complicated with you both being my sons,” Effie warns, and Sirius’ heart flutters a little bit at being acknowledged as her son, even though he’s heard it a million times before and this isn’t really the right context for heart flutters, “I will say I think James has made some very stupid and rash decisions, and you are perfectly valid in however you feel as a result of them. Obviously I wasn’t spending all day every day with him like you were for most of those seven years, but I still thought I knew him well enough to tell when he’s lying with him being my own child. He has hurt both of us deeply, me and Monty, even though we’re delighted that he’s found someone for him, and that even if we didn’t know of Regulus before, we do now. I think…me and Monty’s perspective is that we’re going to try and get to know, like Remus said, the new James and Regulus too because we think we will heal best that way; by accepting and adapting to these changes. That isn’t, by any way, me trying to influence you though Sirius, I just wanted to let you know that we have, for example, invited them both round for dinner in a few weeks, so you know where me and Monty stand on all of this, and aren’t caught by surprise.” Monty nods here, and it’s almost punctuating to the end of her speech as after that Effie leans back in her chair, taking a long sip of her tea as if she’s expressed all of her most pressing thoughts and her mind can now finally be at peace again. Sirius blinks once, twice. He doesn’t quite know what to make of all of that. Well, he has the very strong urge to say ‘good for you’ and actually mean it, because he genuinely thinks that how Monty and Effie are planning to move forward from this is both effective and admirable. Like, their son has been in a secret relationship for years, so what do they do now? They get to know both the son and the secret boyfriend, of course. This is probably what Sirius should be doing too, in fact it’s what he wants to be doing but there’s something stopping him, something in his brain screaming ‘don’t forgive him yet, he doesn’t deserve it’. Sirius suspects it’s his petty side attempting to coerce him into ignoring James for the next seven years just to give him a taste of his own medicine, but no matter how fair it may be, Sirius isn’t willing to do that to himself, to James, to Effie and Monty, to Regulus. Sirius nods in acknowledgement of Effie’s words, careful to keep his expression neutral. 

“I respect that. I think that is a good way to handle all of this, especially as James’ parents. Despite how I’m feeling about him, I know that none of this was easy on him and I’m glad that you guys can be there for him, because I know he needs it.” He explains simply, and he thinks he sees something like pride flicker across both Effie and Monty’s face at that, making him feel a little bit sheepish. Just as he’s turning his head away embarrassedly, Monty clears his throat gruffly, which snatches his attention right back. 

“And what about you? You need someone too,” Monty points out with a raise of his eyebrows, and Sirius swallows harshly, nodding sharply. 

“I do. I think Remus has been that person for me recently, and both of you too,” He admits, shocking himself slightly with how easy that was to say out loud. Effie and Monty both visibly take this in, the corners of their mouths curling upwards in unison and betraying their approval of Sirius’ response. 

Monty leans forwards a little bit, his smile fading in a way that means whatever he’s going to say next will not be positive. This makes Sirius falter too, he finds he much prefers when he, Effie and Monty are all laughing together rather than sitting around a table talking about depressing shit that actually revolves around Sirius’ life. 

“You said you had a bad relationship with Regulus, if it is good now then why do you not seem bothered by the fact he lied to you as well as James?” Monty inquires, seeming more curious than anything else. Sirius feels a bit taken aback, and literally feels himself rear back in his seat, because this is the exact question he’s been asking himself internally all week on repeat, and Monty just put it so casually into words spoken aloud with an expectation for him to know the answer. And Sirius really doesn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know,” He says, voicing his only thought, and when Monty’s face falls, Sirius tilts his head, actually attempting to work it out just to appease him. “I feel…strangely indifferent about Regulus right now. I spent so long hating him for so much worse than this when I was younger that I guess it feels like if we survived that then this isn’t really a big deal in comparison. Like, I’ve always known he’s not perfect, like he knows I’m not either, so him lying to me doesn’t seem all that bad. Plus, we barely talked about our love lives, or talked at all for some of those seven years, in the first place so it doesn’t feel like he was lying to me, just…not telling me something. And he’s a very private person so I’m used to that. I think the reason I’m not bothered is because this isn’t out of character for Regulus, and honestly I’m happy for him that he’s able to love someone like I can see he does James, and that that person is James who is someone I know is a really good person, despite all of this, whilst this whole thing feels so out of character for James, to say the least, which I guess brings me back to did I ever really know that character in the first place? Or did I and then he became a different person molded by his lies and it’s my fault for not noticing?” Sirius pauses, taking a breath and picking up a chocolate chip cookie to nibble on absently, “This is getting too philosophical, I’m going to stop talking now,” Monty stares at him, and for a second Sirius thinks he’s going to break out into applause before he leans far back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head like a cat. 

“I think you’ve worked out your answer, finho,” He smiles, pushing his glasses further up his nose intelligently. Sirius frowns, yes, he did. Suddenly he’s very grateful he stayed for this conversation instead of running straight out of the door, because Monty always asks the right questions, somehow knowing what answers Sirius needs to hear out loud for himself before he can really let them sink in. Why is it that everyone seems better at this than his therapist who he pays? Sirius opens his mouth to say something else, not quite knowing what, but Effie beats him to it and he dutifully shuts up to listen because he’s open to any and all advice right now, especially a mother’s. 

“You know, if you’re feeling okay with Regulus, maybe he’s a good place to start? If you think it’s a good idea you could begin your healing process by talking to Regulus first instead of James; I don’t know much about how the two of you normally work but it may help?” Effie suggests lightly, gesturing over to Sirius, and Sirius draws his eyebrows together, not in a frown but in concentration. He’s going over every possible factor and outcome that can fit into this idea, every warning sign and positively deemed mental thumbs up of what doing this could mean for him and Regulus, and maybe even more significantly; him and James. He’s considered speaking to Regulus before, in the car on the way to Alice and Frank’s house, for example, but it seemed more like wishful thinking then, or like he hadn’t quite thought through everything else happening to him currently enough to even begin to think about the future. But he’s had plenty of time to think things through whilst being shut away in his house since then, and a second and third opinion is really all the encouragement Sirius could ask for as a final push to persuade him into doing it. Besides, it’s Sirius in control of this whole situation, no matter how helplessly out of control he’s been feeling, and if he calls Regulus up and asks to talk he can’t really say no, not after all of that. And if he does, then he’s not someone Sirius wants to talk to anyway. He looks up, surprised to find himself smiling softly as he politely asks both Effie and Fleamont if he could leave the room for a particular phone call he has to make. Of course they agree without hesitation, and he walks upstairs and into his old bedroom, mostly out of habit, and for exactly one minute lets himself bask in nostalgia as Effie and Monty have left it miraculously untouched before he draws his phone out of his trouser pocket, staring at the time automatically stamped across it as it awakens at his touch. James’ match should have ended by now, and even though he’s almost certain he and Regulus will be celebrating together right now since the Lions’ were winning by a landslide when he turned his TV off, Sirius knows it’s now or never; he’s still high off of the hope Effie managed to give him, and isn’t looking forward to when it will eventually wear off. Sirius clicks on Regulus’ contact, feels his chest tighten, and presses the call button anyway in an influx of bravery. Ringing in Sirius’ ears, and that paired with his stomach churning flashes him back to how he felt after he overturned James’ phone accidentally last week, a simple action that has led to so much shock and pain for so many people. And yet it’s not Sirius’ fault, is it? 

“Hello?” Regulus says, sounding like his breath has been taken away. No, it’s definitely not Sirius’ fault. Sirius lowers himself onto his desk chair, using the table in front of him for support to lean his forehead against his hand to stop it from repeatedly banging onto the table in front of him in panic.

“Hi, Reg,” Sirius responds, his voice coming out all odd and stilted. And he really thought he had control over this situation. 

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” Regulus urges, his tone turning worried and his words coming out loudly, like he can sense something is off and of course immediately jumps to conclusions. Sirius frowns, his lips twitching in bemusement, and he reaches for a stress ball he hasn’t picked in years just for something to keep his empty fingers busy so they can’t shake. 

“Calm down, nothing’s wrong—well. Nothing that hasn’t been wrong for the past week already. Speaking of, can James hear me right now?” He speaks smooth and steadily, a false confidence he’s falling back on whilst his real one goes and cowers in the dark depths of Sirius’ chest, refusing to rise. 

“Hold on,” Regulus mutters, followed by a lot of shuffling and hissed, incoherent whispers that Sirius listens to with narrowed eyes, and then a peaceful silence settles between them that confounds Sirius even further. “He’s gone now,” Regulus tells him, sounding slightly pissed off like it took some effort to make that happen.

“Where are you?” Sirius asks out of curiosity more than anything else, watching his stress ball pop back into shape as he releases it before picking it up again. 

“My house, why?” Regulus doesn’t seem as concerned as he does suspicious now, but Sirius knows that he won’t hang up on him, not after last week, and decides to use that to his advantage. Absently he wonders how many times James has been allowed to visit Regulus’ house over the years compared to Sirius’ whopping grand total of once. Oh God, what if James has a key? Sirius shudders, deciding he doesn’t want to know and goes for a different, safer approach instead.

“I saw you on TV,” He replies casually, knowing perfectly well that Regulus will not accept this news with the elegance he seems to convince everyone else he carries. Not Sirius.

“What?” Regulus blurts out, unable to contain himself, and Sirius grins, imagining the pure panic creasing his face right now. 

“At the football match, they couldn’t keep the cameras off you!” Sirius exclaims brightly, as if this is amazing news and there is no reason for Regulus’ quiet outrage Sirius can practically feel radiating through the phone. 

“Why would they do that?” Regulus whispers to himself, and Sirius doesn’t reply, just waits in amusement for whatever is bound to follow, “Sirius, nobody in sports culture even knows who I am, so why would they do that? If they know about me and James—”

“Relax, they always show shots of the trophy wives in the VIP box, anyway,” Sirius muses, rolling his eyes at how uptight his brother can be sometimes. A pause, and then.

“Did you just call me a trophy wife?” Regulus asks, clearly affronted. Sirius chuckles, unable to help himself.

“I mean you did seem to fit right in…” Sirius trails off suggestively, laughing some more when Regulus starts cursing him out in French. Through this, he hears the hum of Effie’s voice drift up through the floorboards, presumably talking to Monty downstairs somewhere, and he remembers with a heavy sigh the reason he called in the first place. “OK, stop, stop, shut up Regulus I’m trying to speak! Thank you. Right, so there is a reason I called you. I want to talk about you and James, please,” Sirius’ breath turns bated, and he squeezes his stress ball very tightly instead of squeezing his eyes shut in prayer like he’s so often tempted to do.

“I’m not leaving him,” Regulus responds suddenly without missing a beat, tone deadly serious, “I don’t care what you say, I won’t,” Sirius screws up his face into a frown, going over the interaction in his head and trying to figure out how the hell Regulus got from Sirius’ words to that. 

“Yes, I gathered that. And that’s not what I was about to say, so can you stop jumping to conclusions!” He snaps irritatedly with a huff; his limits have been tested recently and he only dreads what catastrophic event the universe must be preparing him for.

“Okay, I’m sorry, Jesus,” Regulus mutters defensively, and Sirius smirks as he sees an opening.

“Another long-haired baddie, but not me unfortunately, Regulus,” He sighs sadly, as if a solemn mistake has been made, his face breaking into a wicked grin when Regulus groans loudly.

“Enough, just please get on with whatever you have to say; anything’s better than this,” Regulus pleads frustratedly, and Sirius savours the feeling of laughing one more time before his smile has to fade. 

“Alright, sorry,” He relents, shaking his head affectionately and reaching for his stress ball because he has a sneaking suspicion he’s going to need it for this conversation. Regulus is right, he’s put this off long enough. He pauses for a moment more, letting the humour drain out of the atmosphere before he speaks again. “So, I think I’ll start by saying I don’t really mind that you and James are dating, as in yeah, it bothers me a little bit because you’re my little brother and the idea of you dating anyone upsets me, but…” Sirius blows out a long, reluctant breath, “if it had to be anyone, then I’m glad it’s James,” He finishes shortly. 

“Thank you for saying that, Sirius, I appreciate it,” Regulus says, his voice soft in a way that makes Sirius’ head fall back and contemplate his whole existence because what was he doing all week moping about when this could’ve been so easy? Sighing gravely, out of earshot from Regulus, he reminds himself to go to Effie for life advice more often in the future.

“I do mind quite a lot that you both felt you had to lie to me about it, though. That’s not something easy to get over. And I don’t think I have, or will for a while, but I’m going to try so I won’t have to spend the rest of my life friend and brotherless,” Regulus remains silent, apparently sensing that he’s not quite finished yet. “I’ve realised that I’m a lot less bothered about this thing when it comes to you rather than James because you don’t tell me shit in the first place, whilst I thought James told me everything, you know? Also because we’ve survived much worse stuff than boy-drama in the past so this doesn’t really feel like a big deal to our relationship, but I’ve never had a serious argument with James once so this feels pretty bloody catastrophic, to say the least. All this to say, I’ve spent the week mourning the person I thought I knew so I’d have space in my life to get to know the real one, and I think I do now. I still need some more time with James, though, before I have space in my life for the real him because I’m not ready to let go of the childhood memories and stuff that fill it yet.” Sirius concludes, gripping his stress ball tightly in his white-knuckled fist as he anticipates Regulus’ reply to his exposure of his most inner thoughts from the past few days presented like a list of plain facts instead of his roaring emotions trapped inside his body like a rabid animal in a cage. 

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Regulus remarks, sounding somewhat surprised, and Sirius just chuckles drily.

“Yes well I’ve had a lot of time to think,” He reasons slightly self-deprecatingly, and Regulus hums instead of replying, and a lesser person might view this as rude, but Sirius knows he’s just sifting through his thoughts carefully until he finds the right words to explain them. Sirius doesn’t really need to hear them though, as he’s already said nearly everything he needed to say for now and not received outright rejection or humiliation, which he classes as a win considering he’s talking to Regulus, the king of negativity and sarcasm, and decides to deliver his last proposal for the day before the last dregs of his confidence dissipate. “So, with all of that in mind—” He begins hesitantly before Regulus cuts him off, prompting a small wave of relief to ripple through him that he chooses to ignore.

“Wait a second,” Regulus tells him, and Sirius is either about to disagree or ask why, he hasn’t decided which one yet, when Regulus’ voice blares out like a foghorn despite where he’s obviously moved the phone away from his ear, startling him, “James get the fuck out of the hallway or I swear to God I’ll lock myself in here for the rest of the night!” A moment of silence, and then, “Sorry, carry on,” Regulus says perfectly calmly, the phone having moved back towards him again, and Sirius blinks, decides he doesn’t want to know exactly what Regulus was threatening there, and moves on with an awkward clear of his throat.

“Right–uh, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up soon? Maybe somewhere we normally go to like the Three Broomsticks? I think it’s the next logical step for me, in my healing plan,” Sirius suggests lightly, eyebrows twitching when Regulus repeats ‘healing plan’ like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard under his breath before replying properly.

“You know I’ll have to tell James, right?” Regulus says slowly, at a normal volume, and Sirius winces at the thought of this but knows it’s unfortunately non-negotiable if he wants his little brother to agree, and he really, really does. 

“Yes, I know,” Sirius mutters bitterly, because even if he’s accepting it that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when I’m free, then,” Regulus says slightly apprehensively, as if he can’t quite believe his ears, and Sirius almost rolls his eyes at what little faith his brother has in him before Regulus adds something else that disproves that theory entirely, “I like your song, by the way. It’s good,” Sirius beams at his bedroom wall, knowing that Regulus can probably predict his exact expression of pride right now, and is probably immediately regretting everything he said coincidentally too. 

“So I’ve been told,” Sirius quips happily to a weary sigh on the other end of the line; yep, definitely regretting. 

“C'est à propos de Remus, n'est-ce pas? Tu es tellement en mal d'amour,” Regulus teases with a laugh that Sirius suspects is more at him rather than with him. Sirius is about to tell Regulus to shut up and then insult him creatively in a way that he’s planning to improvise when something hits him like a ton of bricks and he can’t not ask. 

“How long did it take for you to trust him?” Sirius blurts out, and Regulus stops laughing. 

“Who, Remus?” Regulus asks, sounding confused. 

“No, James,” Sirius corrects, his nervous system betraying him and making his voice come out all anxious and shaky. 

“Ah,” Regulus says, almost knowingly, followed by an exceptionally blunt, “A long fucking time,” Sirius nods, taking this in. He registers vaguely that a normal person would not view this as an actual answer, but a joke, and probably laugh it off, but Sirius and Regulus have never quite been normal; their parents made sure of that. The air grows slightly awkward after that, and Sirius clears his throat again in an attempt to fix it because it was really his fault for asking in the first place.

“Alright, well I have to go because it’s getting dark and I need to ride home,” This is true, actually, as Sirius eyes the soft blue of twilight settling above the clouds from his bedroom window, knowing that soon it will be pitch-black and too dangerous to ride home in.

“Where are you?” Regulus asks, puzzled after clearly assuming he was at his house. Always jumping to conclusions.

“The Potters’,” Sirius answers plainly. This has always been a strange subject for them, and one they walk around carefully so as to not set off any landmines dug up from the past accidentally. 

“Right,” Regulus’ tone comes out weirdly, as if he doesn’t know how he should sound and attempts to go for about three different things at once just in case. “Are you wearing your Apple Watch?” He says suddenly, voice clearing again into something warning like if Sirius’ next answer is ‘no’ he’ll start shouting. 

“Yes, Mum,” Sirius huffs, shaking his head to himself in exasperation. Regulus scoffs.

“It keeps you safe! You know I googled it and twenty percent of motorcycle riders—”

“Aw, you’ve been researching,”

“—considering your stupid fucking driving, I think—”

“At least I can drive on a motorway without getting scared!” Sirius exclaims defensively, and Regulus actually pauses his rambling about motorcycle statistics to gasp loudly, and Sirius can practically picture him pressing an offended hand to his chest.

“Do not bring my driving into this!” Regulus demands, his voice climbing involuntarily, and they both explode into laughter, Sirius clutching his stomach and his stress ball so hard it pops all over his hand, stunning him into silence momentarily before launching him into even further hysterics. 

For once, he’s going to put his family first over his friends, and Sirius is strangely excited for it. He thinks Regulus is excited for it, too. Even if they would both rather die than tell each other that because they’re still brothers, after all. After everything that’s happened in the past seven minutes, seven days, seven or seventeen years, they’re still brothers. And that’s exciting, to Sirius and Regulus, it really is.