Poursuite
Remus could hardly believe his luck. He had stumbled into a job, a friendship, and a winter getaway to a ski resort. That’s how things were with James Potter, though: once you met him, he made you feel as if you’d been friends forever.
James had interviewed Remus for the small business that he ran with his until-now-elusive-friend Sirius. Neither of them needed the money, of course, but the investment enabled them to have “a bit of fun” and as they were expanding, they needed to take on an extra set of hands. A café that also sold books and records wasn’t the most original idea, but it wasn’t the least original idea either. Besides, Remus liked all of those things, and he was happy to be able to earn a fairly generous salary by working there.
James had taken Remus through all of his training and those training sessions had bled into cups of coffee that bled into dinner and drinks, and soon they had formed a fast but solid friendship. They talked about Remus’s academic pursuits (Why, why, why had he chosen to major in philosophy?) and about James’s intense crush on a girl he knew from uni, Lily Evans. The redhead had popped by the café on multiple occasions for her caffeine fix and Remus could see the appeal. Lily was curvy and bright and friendly—except for when it came to James, whom she regarded with something akin to disdain.
When James invited Remus on holiday with his family, he’d responded in the affirmative without a moment’s hesitation. Now that he was here, though, he was feeling a bit out of his element. He mused over the earlier portion of the afternoon as he walked back and forth about the room, emptying worn cotton t-shirts and soft woolen jumpers from his suitcase to the drawers. This resort was insanely posh, and if the brothers Black were any indication, so was the clientele.
James was wealthy too, of course, but he was one of the nouveau riche—or he would be, if James Potter could ever be considered anything as basic as ostentatious. He was subtle about his family’s wealth, wearing scuffed trainers or a favorite, worn pair of trousers rather than anything conspicuously name brand. In fact, had he not told Remus his background, Remus would have thought that James was a working class bloke just like he was.
Sirius and his brother Regulus had shocked Remus—they both had the plummy accent and clipped vowels of the upper class, although there was something about Sirius’s manner that had put Remus instantly at ease (unlike his brother, who sort of scared the shit out of Remus).
In fact, Remus found Sirius intriguing in general. He was… enchanting… there was no other word for it. He wore Doc Martens (just like Remus) and what he lacked in height (he couldn’t have been taller than 5’9” without the combat boots) he made up for in personality. He was gregarious and captivating, long black hair and smooth ivory skin flushed pink by the cold and softly twinkling grey eyes. Remus could get lost in those eyes—would happily do so, actually.
And what was that comment about wearing gold? Was that some sort of joke? Did he know that Remus was gay? Remus felt himself redden at the thought of James divulging this information to Sirius about their newest colleague. He sighed heavily, blowing the mess of sandy curls out of his face. He needed to relax.
Remus grabbed his headphones and a book and went down to sit out near one of the fire pits. James had gone skiing immediately, wanting to test out the powder (Remus did not ski with much enthusiasm), so he figured he had some time to himself before they planned for the next day.
The sky was quickly turning a dusky shade of violet but the fire and the fairy lights put off enough light that Remus was still able to read his book. He could see his breath as he exhaled and shifted closer to the fire’s warmth, lost in the pages and pleased to have the area to himself.
He sensed rather than heard someone approach, and as he shifted his eyes from the shadowy page, he saw black boots with bright yellow laces, straight leg jeans, and hands huddled into the pockets of a leather jacket (never mind that it was bloody freezing outside). A beanie was topping the thick black hair that spilled over Sirius Black’s shoulders, and he smirked at Remus when their eyes finally met. Remus realized he had not been subtle in his perusal and his eyes widened.
Sirius gestured to the headphones and Remus slid them off of his head.
“Sorry—couldn’t hear you,” he said.
“I noticed,” Sirius smiled. “I asked who you were listening to, that’s all.”
“Oh, er… David Bowie,” Remus said with a slight shrug.
Sirius’s eyes lit up.
“No, really? He’s one of my favorites—bloody magic, that one.”
Remus felt incredibly stupid—he didn’t want to say how much he liked Bowie as well. It felt pretty obvious, considering that he was listening to “Moonage Daydream” so intently he hadn’t noticed Sirius approach. He settled for nodding, his cheeks burning.
“May I sit next to you?” Sirius asked.
“Oh, of course,” Remus said.
Sirius removed his hat and flipped his hair to one side. Remus found himself lost in thoughts of twining his fingers into that hair, of pulling his head back, kissing the exquisite column of his alabaster neck…
Stop this, he thought. He probably just wants to get to know you better since you’ll be working together.
“There’s a band playing here Saturday night,” Sirius said.
“Oh?” Remus replied, somewhat lamely.
“Mm-hmm,” Sirius intoned, nodding. “They’re supposed to be quite good—I was going to go.”
“Ah,” Remus said, certain that at this point Sirius must think he was completely incapable of uttering anything other than monosyllabic words.
“James isn’t really into Bowie—he’s into more of the poppy shit,” Sirius said, twisting his beautiful features into a scowl. “And Reg—listens to bloody chamber music. If it’s not orchestral, he isn’t interested.”
Remus laughed at the absolute displeasure that Sirius exhibited. There were merits to each genre of music, but there was something about rock and alternative that just spoke to Remus, and he was pleased to hear that Sirius agreed.
Sirius seemed to take heart from Remus’s laugh and he laughed as well.
“What do you think?” Sirius asked.
“About what?”
“Would you like to go with me?” Sirius knitted his brows together, looking somewhat unsure of himself.
Heaven help him, Remus was going to die right there and then.
“Yes, if you’re sure…” he said slowly.
“Great. It’s all settled then. I’ll meet you here before the concert—starts at 8. See you later, Remus,” Sirius stood and nodded at Remus, walking away with a grace that clearly came from years of good breeding and leaving Remus gaping after him.
How on earth had he gotten so lucky? And how was he going to get over his infatuation enough that he could do more than stammer out one word answers?
*****
The next two days passed in a series of activities. James and Remus spent some time swimming in the resort’s massive pool, lounging about near the fireplace and chatting over games of chess, or occasionally spending time with Sirius on the ski slopes. That was easier—Remus preferred not to ski, but he had learned and it was much easier to be around Sirius when they were all smothered in layers of ski gear. Sirius snowboarded—of course he did—and more than once, Remus was certain that James had caught him out staring at the black-clad figure drifting easily down the slopes.
Regulus did not join them, which was just as well. Remus wasn’t certain how the two were brothers. When Sirius mentioned him, he always did so fondly and implied that “Reggie” (as he referred to Regulus) was serious and quiet but also hilarious and kindhearted and sensitive once one broke through his tough exterior. Remus supposed he would have to trust that assessment at face value, as Regulus had holed himself up in his suite for much of the trip.
*****
Finally, Saturday night approached, and Remus found himself uncharacteristically conscientious as he picked out his clothes. Why hadn’t he thought to pack something… cooler?
“Why don’t you just wear what you’d normally wear?” James called from where he was sprawled out on the sofa in Remus’s suite.
“James, it’s… different,” Remus fussed.
“Wait a tic,” James sat up fluidly. “Remus… do you like him?”
“What? No!” Remus said, far too quickly.
James grinned—a shit-eating grin that brightened his whole face and caused his snappy hazel-brown eyes to crinkle at the corners.
“You do! I KNEW IT!” James punched the air triumphantly before dissolving into a pile of giggles and rejected clothing.
Remus buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, go on then,” he muttered through his palms.
“I think it’s brilliant.”
“You do?” Remus asked hopefully.
James nodded enthusiastically.
“You’re not his usual type—you’re nearly as broody as he is, but you listen to good music and that’s a win right there!”
Remus felt his heart lift slightly at that.
“I’ll be honest,” James furrowed his brow, “I can’t recall him ever asking anyone else out before… usually girls just come to him.”
“Oh my goodness, he’s not even gay? James, come on!” Remus moaned.
James held up his hands placatingly. “We never really talked about it—Sirius is always pretty noncommittal with his relationships. Someone asks him out and he goes, but there haven’t been many around long enough for me to care about.”
Remus gaped at him.
“I realize that sounds horrible, like Sirius is some sort of posh playboy or something, but he’s really not Remus, I swear to you,” James promised, and Remus believed him, because that’s just the kind of effect James Potter had. “And wear this one.”
James tossed him a worn grandad shirt in olive and navy plaid that complemented the deep brown of his corduroy trousers. His hair was impossible, but he didn’t have much hope that it mattered anyway. James waved at him cheekily as they parted ways in the hall and he went to meet Sirius.
Sirius was there already, of course. He wore a red and black plaid flannel under his leather jacket, and the vibrant color did interesting things for the subtle peach undertones of his complexion. He smiled when he saw Remus, a perfect dimple indenting his left cheek and causing Remus’s heart to kick into double time.
“Remus,” Sirius said, by way of greeting.
“Hiya,” Remus said. “You look… you ready?”
Sirius looked bemused but decided to ignore Remus’s fumble and nodded, beckoning him forward. They walked down the sloping, winding hillside to the center of the little chalet village within the resort, the imposing face of Mont Blanc towering beyond. The fairy lights strung up about the village cast the night sky into a hazy shade of purple, and the softly falling snowflakes seemed to disappear before they reached the lit landscape below.
Sirius and Remus chatted on the way to the concert, and Remus was pleased that between focusing on not losing his footing and not being confronted with the sheer loveliness of Sirius’s face, he was able to string together coherent and (he hoped) interesting sentences. He even made Sirius laugh a few times, and honestly, if he could bottle up that sound and keep it forever he would. Sirius laughed with his whole body—he threw his head back and closed his eyes and clapped his hands together with sheer amusement. And Remus had made him laugh like that. He bit his lip, trying not to grin too broadly.
During the concert, they each had a pint and listened to the band—some sort of Queen wannabe act, but they were pretty good (though no one could ever touch the vocal powerhouse that was Freddie Mercury). Remus was pleased to see that Sirius was not one of those people who flailed about madly at concerts and made him feel as though he should be doing more all of the time. He stood beside Remus, tapping his toes and bobbing his head, occasionally moving his hips in tune to the beat, and Remus was content to tap his own Conversed foot alongside him.
Occasionally they would brush arms or Sirius would graze his fingertips along Remus’s leg as he lifted his hand to swoop the hair out of his face, and Remus was certain he would burst into flames each time, even though it had been unintentional (Right???). The frisson between them felt real enough. Sirius would catch Remus’s eye and his pupils would dilate. Remus had never seen eyes like Sirius’s—he’d noticed them that very first day. He wasn’t keen on lighter eyes, but there was something about the way that Sirius’s eyes were comprised of blues and greens and greys but still seemed dark and endless as a night sky that made Remus feel like he could find his future in those eyes.
Holy fuck, what was wrong with him?
“Need to go to the loo,” he whispered into Sirius’s ear, and Sirius nodded back, shivering slightly at the proximity.
Remus splashed cold water on his face and adjusted his trousers, trying his damnedest not to think about Sirius shivering at the feel of his breath, of what it felt like to be so close to him, to smell the elegant scent of him—something at once aquatic and earthy, something that made Remus wish he could just grab Sirius and vanish somewhere private and far, far from everyone else.
He made his way out to Sirius as the band was finishing their last song for the night and applauded along with the rest of the crowd.
“What do you want to do now?” Sirius asked, turning towards Remus expectantly.
“Er… would you like to take a walk?” Remus asked.
“Yes, let’s.”
They grabbed one of the thick woolen blankets that were placed with the wooden chairs surrounding all of the fire pits as they passed through. They wandered along in amicable silence until they found a little snowdrift off the beaten track, far enough away that they could see the stars.
“Let’s stop here,” Sirius suggested, tossing the blanket to the ground and bending to spread it so that they both could sit.
Remus sat alongside Sirius, who pointed to the night sky above.
“Look, you can see the stars here.”
“God, there are so many of them,” Remus murmured.
Sirius laid back, stretching out his legs, and Remus eased back beside him. His heart was hammering and he kept his hands jammed into his pockets to resist the temptation of trying to hold one of Sirius’s elegant hands—hands that were adorned, Remus had noticed, with delicate gold rings.
“Looking at the stars always makes me feel so insignificant,” Sirius said.
“That’s a rather gloomy thought,” Remus said.
“It can be, but I don’t mean it to be,” Sirius pondered. “More that… when you think about how many people have existed, have lain on this planet and gazed up at the stars and lived their lives, loved and lost and created and all of it… it feels very significant, almost intentional, that we are here now, in this moment, together… doesn’t it?”
Sirius’s eyes were trained on the velvet expanse above them, and Remus was unable to look away. He spoke with posh drawling vowels and an almost whispered sharpness to the tenor of his voice, wrapping Remus in the soothing tones of it.
Remus nodded, realized Sirius wouldn’t see, and then croaked, “Yeah, it does.”
“My brother and I were named after stars,” Sirius said softly.
Of fucking course they were. Remus could not think of anything more apt—Sirius was bright and consuming and beautiful.
“I’ve always been partial to the moon, myself,” Remus said, looking at the waxing silvery orb above them.
“That makes sense,” Sirius said.
“Oh?”
“The moon is mysterious and so are you.”
Remus’s stomach flipped. “Mysterious” was certainly better than the awkward idiocy he felt that he had been projecting.
“Am I?” he could barely speak above a whisper.
“Mm-hmm,” Sirius said, turning to lay on his side facing Remus, resting his head on his tucked arm. “I think I shall call you Moony, now. Yes, I quite like that,” he mused.
“Moony?” Remus tried.
“Yes, Moony—you are mysterious and lovely, a brightness among the stars,” Sirius said, smiling softly before rolling back over onto his back.
Remus could barely control his breathing. Sirius had just called him “lovely”—there was no way he was misreading the tension between them (Right? Surely not.).
“I like it,” Remus said truthfully. I like you, he thought, wishing upon every star he could see that Sirius felt the same way.