Breakfast is never a serious affair. Pun intended. He always trudged out of bed embarrassingly late into the morning before he walked into their shared kitchen, taking a moment to just appreciate the back of Remus’s head sitting at their kitchen island. He’s doing better at trying not to let his mind wander to all the filthy things they could be doing at any given moment, especially when he sees Remus’s bedhead and knows that running his own hands through his best friend's hair could make it much, much messier. He eventually gave up leaning on the doorframe in what he assumed was his sexiest manner, waiting for Remus to turn around and acknowledge how gorgeous and delicious he looks, especially when Sirius is fully aware that he is a good-looking man. He must look sexy in the morning, because he knows he’s sexy like, basically, all the time.
He walks into the kitchen and rubs his eyes before placing a hand on the back of Remus’s neck and giggling at his reaction, which is practically the same every morning. It consists of a lot of yelping and ‘sirius why are your hands like fucking ice-blocks’, which checks out because their little flat has quite poor insulation. Sirius typically mans his place behind the kitchen island in front of the stove. He really is a built-in wife, he thinks. Remus would be lucky to have him. All he does is sit at home with his painting stuff, cook, and (attempt to) clean.
He watches Remus from across the counter as he waits for the kettle to boil. Just like every other morning, Remus’s eyes are half closed and he’s still sleepy, probably because he’s spent a grand total of 3 hours actually asleep. The rest of the time he spends on his thesis or his essays or doing the editorial work that his internship requires of him. Constantly, Sirius feels guilty that he doesn't stay up with him, and he doesn’t keep an eye on him and look after him. In an ideal world, sirius would be able to tuck remus into bed every night with a giant fucking forehead kiss. Actually, in an ideal world, he could finally see what happens past that moment in his dreams where Remus slowly tugs his trousers down, but one shouldn’t be that unrealistic.
Anyway, Remus’s eyes are half closed and his hair is still fluffy because he hasn’t showered just yet. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt even though their kitchen is still pretty freezing, and Sirius is pretending (pretty well, he thinks) that he can’t see the other man's nipples through his shirt, and that the sight isn’t making him slightly giddy.
When he moved in with Remus, he didn’t realise he would suffer just quite this much.
The kettle has boiled and he gets started on making Remus’s second cup of tea. He always makes the first while Sirius is still dragging himself out of bed. As he makes the tea he tries his hardest not to imagine that Remus’s eyes are raking themselves over his body, taking in the contour of Sirius's waist and the way he can feel his tracksuit bottoms sagging downwards, revealing the strip of skin on his lower back. He tells himself to stop forcing homosexual tendencies onto the friend who has never even kissed anyone (to his knowledge). When he turns back around, he tries his hardest not to flush, because it is early in the morning and Remus Lupin and his obscene hands are gripping the cup like they are genuinely the last thing tying him to this universe. In reality, Remus Lupin just has perpetually icy hands and the cup is warm. Either way, Sirius is watching the hands, in a somewhat perverse way to be honest, and imagining what they would feel like wrapped around his neck and trying very very hard not to give this away on his face.
Remus is just looking at him, like he does sometimes in the mornings, like he’s reading into his face for something that Sirius hasn’t quite figured out yet. His expression is open, placid. It brings Sirius comfort to know that he has that kind of domestic bliss with someone, that he makes them happy enough to be comfortable and open and placid. He never thought he would be able to keep someone like that. To make someone feel loved like that. He wanted Remus to feel loved - perhaps in other ways. He appreciated the other boy, and he wanted to show him desperately, in all the ways he can, with all the possible fantasies that Remus had- Sirius really needed to control his train of thought in the mornings.
As Sirius is cooking, Remus is talking about the phone call he had earlier this morning with lily.
‘And then she told me that I could never make anyone fall over with my sexiness. Which, honestly, was the worst insult I’d ever heard. She’s only making this point because James seemed to have fallen flat on his face after seeing her in the wards this morning.’
At this moment Remus makes a point to gesture wildly with his hands, making a face as he waves his palm in the air.
‘See, like, he just saw her and flopped? To the floor? And she phones me to brag about this, but it's like 6am, and I know she’s awake because she’s got a shift today, and I know he’s awake because he had a night shift in the ER last night, but honestly I didn’t care.’
The bacon is definitely burning right now, but Sirius is leaning into his hands across the kitchen counter, watching Remus talk, and he knows he should probably turn back around but really he doesn’t quite care enough. He loves nothing like he loves watching Remus talk. Burnt bacon is an integral part of their morning routine, anyway.
‘So it’s six am and in order to get her to shut up, I tell her that everyone has had at least one person fall over in front of them, whether it be because they’re in love with them or not. And she’s silent for a grand total of four seconds. They were a great four seconds, sirius. I thought I had won. Then she has the nerve to say – and I quote this directly from Mrs potter-to-be – "let me know when someone other than sirius falls over in front of you.” I almost hung up the phone on her, I swear.’
This was ironic, Sirius knew, because by almost Remus meant that he thought it and decided against it because it was too mean.
‘Why would you need anyone else to fall over in front of you when you have me, babe.’
At this the tips of Remus’s ears go slightly pink before he smirks and says,
‘The bacon is burning, babe.’
‘I know.’ Sirius still has not moved.
‘Do you assume that just because I eat your burnt bacon, I prefer it burnt?’
‘Yes. Now answer the question, why would you need anyone else when you have me, babe.’
Sirius has turned mostly, now, talking as he takes the bacon out of the pan and starts with the eggs. His intent was originally to tease Remus, but now he’s scared of hearing something that he doesn’t want to hear.
‘I apologise if I would rather someone who was in love with me falling at my feet, instead of you accidentally tripping over my shoelaces that one time and collapsing into my arms like a depressed maiden in an old sixties film.’
‘I’m in love with you?’
It slips out of his mouth, almost like a question.
Sirius was distracted, okay? He was focused on trying to figure out why Lily was throwing him under the bus like that, and then he slips up and lets out the worst possible thing that he thought would just stay in his own, whiny, yearning inner monologue. The worst part was that Sirius could have covered it up, changed the emphasis on the words and pretended that he was just joking around as per usual. But he had left a gap of silence, and his voice had raised at the end of the word ‘you’ so it sounded accusatory, questioning.
He sounded almost nervous and he immediately dreaded turning around to face Remus but he was holding the frying pan already and he was turning around and he was holding the eggs so he was turning around, he guessed. He keeps his eyes trained to the pan as he puts it down carefully before turning back around quickly to grab Remus’s second cup of tea.
He thinks that maybe, then, the universe has it out for him, because he slips on a splash of milk that ended up on the floor (falling at absolutely no-one's feet) and as he’s trying to grab onto the counter in order to save himself from twice the embarrassment that was this morning, he ends up both knocking the mug directly onto himself and touching the (still hot) gas and burning the palm of his hand. The mug smashes right next to his head and his eyes fly shut in an attempt to save them from the shards of porcelain and his hand fucking hurts and he can hear Remus hurrying out of his seat but his cane wasn’t near and his hip has been aching recently so he ends up holding onto the counter as he lowers himself to the floor next to Sirius, slowly so he doesn’t end up screwing up the rest of his week.
He has still successfully avoided looking at his best friend after his slip up from before, but he guesses now is the best time and he looks up to see Remus’s warm eyes just above his own as he picks pieces of the smashed cup out of his hair.
He doesn’t look mad, so that’s good at least?
‘Remus, I think I’m dying.’
‘You’re okay.’
‘No, no I am not, I burnt my good hand.’
‘Your good hand?’
‘My drawing hand.’
‘You’re ambidextrous. Now stop talking before you end up eating a piece of porcelain and land yourself in hospital.’
‘Would you sit woefully by my bedside?’
‘Of course, sirius.’
Remus’s tone wasn’t sarcastic, and his eyes had moved to meet Sirius's.
‘Of course.’
Fuck.
***
The next couple of hours, Sirius didn’t have to think about his slipup because Remus had work, and then school, and then was going over to James and Lily’s. What did freak him out, though, was Remus’s lack of reply to his stream of text messages. He normally texted Remus the minute he had a thought that was something other than ‘needs more shading, needs less colour, where the fuck is my paint brush’, but today Sirius had sent a total of 30 messages at random times of the day and Remus had not only not replied but left him on read.
Either Remus was really, really, really busy drinking wine with lily or it was 8pm and after sitting with Sirius on the floor for too long he was late for work and in all the chaos of the morning he didn’t get to truly digest what he had said in the kitchen twelve hours ago, and now he had thought about it and was panicking.
To be fair, Sirius was also panicking.
Remus didn’t get home until a couple of hours later, but Sirius had fallen asleep on the sofa at that point and only woke up to the key turning in the lock. Remus looked up at Sirius like a deer caught in headlights as Sirius popped his head above the couch to see what was going on.
‘Uh, sorry, I just got in.’
‘Okay? Why did you ignore me all day?’
‘My phone was off.’
With that Remus gave him a once over before heading to his room and shutting the door with vigour that should be saved for bigger flats that weren’t falling apart as they speak. Sirius fell back onto the sofa, groaning. He texted Remus one more time, just to make sure that he wasn’t being completely ridiculous. Unable to bear staring at the string of messages that Remus had ignored on whatsapp, he sends one on messages instead. He can hear the ping of Remus’s phone from where he sits, sending a stab of irritation through him. Phone off my ass.
Sirius
r u mad at me cos of wht i said this morn
Remus
yeah
Sirius
ohk
***
It’s three am, and Sirius has just woken up from his second nap on the sofa to Remus’s bedroom door creaking back shut. Fuck. He just wants to speak to him, to figure out why his confession has actually upset him. He doesn’t understand why his being in love with Remus would upset him- in actuality, even if Remus didn’t like him back, he thought the other boy would just be happy about the further confirmation that Sirius was his. Remus had always been possessive. Maybe it was a result of the reliance that Sirius had on him, the breakdowns that Remus had held him through, the cuts that Remus had stitched up. Even James, sometimes, triggered Remus’s jealousy. He would be sitting with the two of them and collapse into James’ lap, as he normally did, and look up and yet again catch Remus’s eyes, watching him bite his lip and confuse Sirius with his stares.
Having just missed Remus outside of his room again, Sirius got up in order to get some water and also potentially cry on the kitchen floor. Who's to say? As he got up, however, he felt something wet on his outer arm. Blood. Great. One of his cuts was surprisingly deep, and he hadn’t noticed until after Remus had left for work that morning that he was bleeding through his hoodie. He didn’t really know what to do in these situations, despite constantly cleaning up Reggie after he got into fights when they were younger. He looked for the medkit that they normally kept in the top cupboard, but as he was reaching through their pots and pans to find it at the back (did you really expect them to have any form of organisation) Sirius had accidentally knocked one of the pots onto their kitchen floor. If remus hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he surely wasn’t asleep now.
Sirius proceeded to sink to the floor, rather despairingly.
He wondered if it was one of his dead relatives cursing him today, someone who was willing him to ruin everything at once. His fucking hand, his fucking arm which was sure to now have a scar, his relationship with his best friend. He guessed that it would hit him, eventually, that he gave up his secret for no particular reason. He didn’t ask Remus out on a beautiful date, buy him something pretty, tell him on the balcony of a fancy restaurant that was overlooking the sunset while he was in the most dashing suit he could possibly find, his hair tied back in the way that drove the girls mad. No, he told Remus while they were both freezing their arses off in their cold, shared kitchen in their pyjamas while he was burning the breakfast he had cooked for the other boy. As he sunk to the floor he put his hands to his eyes to cover up his tears, and the salt stung the burn that was currently on his fingertips. He hissed and immediately covered his mouth - he knew how loud he could be.
‘I’m already awake, dumbass.’
Sirius looked up and then immediately took his gaze back, scared of Remus's facial expression, his actual annoyance.
‘Oh.’
‘Why are you on the floor?’
Sirius said nothing, still not looking at Remus, turning to his side slightly so that Remus could see the blood that had made its way through the gauze he had put on his right bicep.
‘I’ll clean it up. Just, please, get off the floor.’
‘Why?’
Sirius meant ‘why’ as in why are you mad at me? Why am I scared to look at you and see all the love that used to be in your face gone? Instead, Remus lowered himself to the floor for the second time that day and got the first aid kit out from the other drawer. Sirius immediately felt guilty. He knew what he was asking of Remus when he got him to sit on the floor like that, he knew it was never important enough to make him struggle like that.
‘Shit, moons, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘I’m already sitting down now, sirius. Take your shirt off.’
‘At least buy me a drink first.’
‘...’
Remus was looking in the first aid kit box, and Sirius waited for the equally flirty response. Even Remus’s mocking (which was light teasing at best and pure cruelty at worst) would be better than this silence.
‘Moons?’
‘I just want to go to bed, Sirius. Can we get this over with?’
Slowly, Sirius lifted his shirt over his head, grimacing slightly as it rubbed over his hand. The kitchen was cold and he could feel the goosebumps forming on his arms as Remus slowly unravelled the gauze from his arm, his touch feather-soft. Said touch was definitely not sending a warmth pooling at the base of Sirius's stomach. It certainly wasn’t making Sirius's heart rate quicken. He absolutely wasn’t counting his blessings.
Remus got the needle out, Sirius needed stitches presumably, and he promptly looked away so he didn’t have to watch the needle digging into his skin.
‘I’m sorry.’
Remus muttered this over and over as he pulled the needle through his skin, and suddenly the tears Sirius had been forcing down made their way into his eyes, crawling down his cheeks. Remus tied the knot off, and Sirius could feel his gaze move up to his own face even though he was turned away. He was constantly hyperaware of Remus's movement, Remus's expression, Remus's looks.
Sirius felt Remus wipe away the tears from his face, and he knew that if it was anyone else, he would’ve been mocked for his ridiculousness. Why was he crying over a few stitches? Remus was gentle, always gentle, too gentle with him. He didn't deserve it.
‘Remus, why are you sorry?’
‘It was hurting you. The stitches.’
‘Remus.’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it hurt you. What I said.’ At this, Remus rolled his eyes. His hand was still around Sirius's arm, loosely holding just above his wrist. Sirius could feel every skin cell Remus touched in the ugly lights of their kitchen.
‘You don’t understand why, do you.’
Sirius shook his head. Neither of them were yet to face each other, instead they were now side by side on the floor, knees up and shoulders pressed against each other as they leant against the cupboard.
‘I told you I loved you, Sirius, and nothing happened.’
At this, Sirius was a bit surprised. He wasn’t expecting that, if anything. He would’ve remembered that. He would’ve. This was the biggest want he had in his life, the thing he lost sleep mulling over. Do I tell him? And here was Remus, telling him that he had already tried, already attempted to pull them together, and Sirius was the one who rejected Remus?
‘I don’t remember.’
At this, Remus lets out a harsh laugh.
‘Of course you fucking don’t. We were sitting on the sofa. Your head was in my lap. The alarm went off for me to get to the library for my shift, but I just didn’t want to leave. It was the way you looked at me- I don't know. You were looking at me the way you did when you were content, happy.’
‘I always look at you like that.’
‘No, sirius. No you don’t. Anyway, I didn’t want to leave but I had to, and as I was disentangling my fingers from your hair you pulled my hand in and kissed it. I think you were a little bit drunk, to be honest. As I was walking out of the door, I turned around and said, “I love you, sirius.” You didn’t even look up.’
‘What?’
‘You said, “love you too!” in that tone you use when you’re talking to fucking, I don’t know, Harry.’
‘Is that it?’
Sirius turned to face Remus now, their knees knocking together. Remus was staring at his own hands, which had settled in his lap.
‘Remus? How the fuck was I supposed to know what you meant?’
He took Remus’s hands in his, pulled his face up.
‘How the fuck was I supposed to know?’
At this, Remus moved his hands back into his own lap, but did nothing to move his gaze away from Sirius’s lips.
'I thought you were saying it like Jamie says it.'
‘I thought you didn’t love me.’
Sirius, quite simply, could not take it anymore.
At this, he said nothing, but brought their foreheads together and looked into Remus’s eyes. He just wanted to feel the other boys touch. He reached over and stroked the curls on the side of Remus’s head. He just wanted to feel him, all of him, now that he felt like he could.
Suddenly, Remus was moving. He grabbed the side of the kitchen counter and stood up, and Sirius felt the absence of another face next to his. Remus offered his hand and Sirius took it, and they stood, looking at each other, holding hands. Awkwardly.
‘Sorry. Hip.’
‘Of course. Don’t worry.’
Sirius counted the freckles above Remus’s lip. They trailed all the way down, to the points on his collarbones which poked through his pyjama shirt. Sirius wanted to lick them. The freckles, the collarbones. He traced them all the way back to Remus’s smile, which was growing as he shuffled forward. When he was standing over him, Sirius could look up and see the face that he had loved for a long, long time.
‘You’re too tall. Too far away.’
At that, Remus picked Sirius up by the waist and placed him on the counter, arms by either side of his legs, face just next to his. ‘Perfect.’
Remus closed his eyes and Sirius dug his fingers firmly into his curls, pulled him in. As soon as their lips touched, Remus moved like a man possessed. A man in desperation. He ran his hands through Sirius’s hair, down his torso, over the small of his back. Sirius was shivering at the contact, moaning into Remus’s mouth as one of his hands travelled further and further down and the other one planted itself around his neck. Sirius broke their kiss to trace his own tongue down Remus’s neck as remus’s fingers traced the waistband of his underwear.
Sirius bit. He wanted to leave his marks, all teeth, all over him.
And every time he landed on fresh skin, Remus let out a sound like he was trying his best to control himself.
He whimpered.
Sirius didn’t think he could live his life without that sound, now that he knew what it was like, the kind of sound that he would want to listen to forever, and it was coming from the person who he had wanted more than life. He pulled Remus back into a kiss, all teeth and tongue and heavy breathing, breaking it every other second to whisper,
‘My moony,’ pant, ‘ i love you,’ pant, ‘i love you,’ pant, ‘i love you,’
And with every ‘yours’ that Remus let out, Sirius lost himself more and more; realised that there was never going to be anywhere else he wanted to be, ever again.