it's my move, fight or flight
It had been over a week since Sirius Black had spoken to Remus Lupin. In reality, 9 days wasn’t all that long, but for Sirius, who had barely gone 3 hours without talking to Remus during the school year, it was pure hell.
He was pretty sure Remus was avoiding him. Not in an angry way, but the boy walked around the school with so much heaviness that it hurt Sirius just to see him. When Sirius sat down at the breakfast table, Remus would mumble an excuse about the library and run from the Great Hall. At night, Remus would stay out until midnight, using his prefect privileges, and only come back once he thought Sirius was asleep. (Sirius was not - he waited every night for Remus to come back.) Worst of all, he refused to meet Sirius’s eye. Sirius and Remus had always been able to communicate without speaking. One look at one knew exactly what the other was thinking. But now? Remus wouldn’t even look at him. And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
Sirius always felt like Remus saw him. He saw him in a way that no one else ever had. Sirius had grown to love the person he was in Remus’s eyes. Remus was the best person Sirius knew. If Remus could see Sirius and smile, maybe he could breathe easy as well.
In a way, learning that he loved Remus didn’t change Sirius. Sirius didn’t think he could remember a time that he hadn’t loved Remus. It hadn’t changed the way he saw Remus. For Sirius, loving Remus was as certain as the sun rising every morning. And once he had noticed it, it was as easy as air. It explained so much. Why Remus merely glancing at him could’ve sustained him for a lifetime. Why sometimes the mere act of sitting next to Remus made him ache. Why in every crowd, his dark eyes searched for Remus’s hazel ones.
And 72 hours later, Remus Lupin still had not spoken to Sirius Black. Sirius stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing his hair. The party had already started downstairs but Sirius preferred to be fashionably late. And anyways, this was really James’s moment. Only James Potter could get away with throwing a half–birthday party - though, to be fair, the Gryffindors took any opportunity for a party.
As Sirius finished his hair, capped his eyeliner (gifted from Mary), and laced up his boots, he realized it was still only 15 minutes into the party. That just wouldn't do. If he was being honest, Sirius didn’t like parties all that much. They felt almost too intimate. It was only after everyone was drunk, the world a blurry mess, that he could let go. And so he needed to wait until the crowd was properly drunk before he could make his entrance. He decided to fill the time by having a smoke.
It was practically October, and as he opened the dorm window, a fall breeze wafted in. Soon he would be 17 years old - of age. He shivered, thinking of how, if he had never left, he would have officially inherited the Noble House of Black in less than a month.
Instead, he was dangling from a window, hopelessly in love with his best friend, who liked Oliver Knight, of all people. Oliver Knight. Sirius hadn’t expected him to be Remus’s type. He was a golden boy, loved by all, but Sirius had always thought him a little dull. Could he really entertain Remus? Remus, who became a werewolf once a month. Remus, who couldn’t go 2 hours without an argument. Oliver bloody Knight couldn’t do all that, could he? Sirius shivered, imagining Oliver comforting Remus after a full moon. Oliver, tucking a curl behind Remus’s face in the library. Oliver, watching Remus drool adorably on his pillow (it was oddly endearing). Oliver, watching Remus lose himself in the music at parties, fighting with Mary over records.
Suddenly, his mouth tasted like ash. Remus, who was currently downstairs. Oliver, who was with Remus. Maybe it was time Sirius headed to the party.
The common room was already packed. A steady stream of firewhiskey and muggle alcohol made its way throughout the party. James had chosen a disco theme for the party - Sirius had rolled his eyes, obviously - and the room was decked out in loud prints and streamers. The girls were dressed in purples and oranges and blues, hair let free and clad in high boots. Sirius had worn his school button down, unbuttoned most of the way and layered with necklaces he’d found in muggle London. He searched around the party for Remus, his eyes finally landing on the tall boy, standing next to the record player.
Remus looked bloody hot. He never really bothered to dress up for these parties, but it was clear Lily had attacked him. He wore a pair of long, flared jeans and a collared short-sleeve, brown and unbuttoned so Sirius could see his collar bones. He wore a leather chain that Sirius knew had been given to him by Hope, with a pearl drop at the end. It had reminded her of the moon, and being the woman she was, Hope had seen that as a reminder of Remus, rather than of his disease. Sirius knew Remus hated the moon, and anything that looked like the moon. But Sirius also knew he loved his mother more than anything else on earth. That was one of the things Sirius loved about him - he would do anything for the people he loved.
Remus smiled, and for a moment, Sirius thought it was at him. Just as soon as the thought came, Oliver Knight stepped up next to Remus, placing a kiss on his cheek. Remus ducked his head, swatting at Oliver shyly. Sirius wanted to break something. Or jump out of a window. Or push Oliver out of the window. Yeah, that option sounded the best. As a Hufflepuff stumbled over with a bottle, Sirius grabbed its neck, took a long swig and turned away. This was going to be a long night.
Two hours later, Sirius was properly drunk. The kind of drunk where you can’t remember what it feels like to be sober. As he sat on the couch, squished between Lily and Marlene, he took drinks from a refilling bottle of firewhiskey.
“She’s just so pretty, and I just want to sit all day and touch her face and listen to her voice.”
“I know, Marls, I’m sorry,” Lily said sympathetically, ever the diplomat even when drunk.
“Hey, Lils, Marls. Have you seen Remus recently?”
“Not for a while.”
Sirius stood up abruptly, craning his neck over the crowd. He really needed to get a pair of those high-heeled boots. Imagine what he could see then.
Remus was nowhere to be seen. Not by the record player, not on the dance floor. And though the figures in front of Sirius blurred together like ink spills, he was sure none of them were his Remus. Remus would shine in a paper bag. As he stumbled towards the back of the room, he spotted Oliver Knight.
Sirius lumbered over to him.
“Hey, Ollie. Sorry, is only Moony allowed to call you that? I wouldn’t want to be mean to his boyfriend,” Sirius slurred.
“You’re drunk, huh, Sirius?”
“Don’t act all holier than thou,” accused Sirius in an impressive feat of clarity. “You stole Remus.”
“From who?” Oliver arched a brow. “You?”
“You don’t deserve him, you know? You’re just a quidditch player with a pretty smile. You won’t last long. Remus deserves someone who’s more.”
"More what, Sirius?”
“More- more-”
“More like you?”
“Yes! More like me! Maybe you’re not so dumb after all Ollie-kins!” Sirius patted Oliver on the head as if he wasn’t a good 3 inches taller.
“You know, Oliver, it’s not going to be easy for you if you keep dating Remus. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got a lot of friends, and I’m not sure what they'd think when I tell them I don’t approve of you and Moony. And I don’t. Get your slobbery paws away from my Moony. You don’t deserve him.”
“You’re an asshole, Sirius. You don’t deserve Remus.”
"You’re right, Knight. I am an asshole. But if it gets you away from Remus, I don’t really give a fuck.”
Satisfied, Sirius walked up the stairs, face planted into his bed, and promptly fell asleep.