Friday Night
Something from Queen is playing softly from the record player in the corner. The party that was previously happening in their common room died down over time, the alcohol and late hour coaxing people up to bed until it's just James and Sirius down there. They’re on the cerise-colored couch; Sirius laying with his head in James’ lap and James leaning against the back of the couch, hand lazily brushing through Sirius’ long black hair. The fire is still going, illuminating the two of them in a yellowy glow that only James can admire because Sirius’ eyes are closed; though James knows he’s not actually asleep. He smiles down at the boy, hands scratching the boy's scalp in a way that has Sirius humming contentedly.
You’re beautiful James wants to say.
Your star might be the brightest in the sky but you, right here, right now, are the brightest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve looked directly at the sun James thinks.
He wants to say both. He wants to say a lot of things. He says nothing.
If you asked James when he started seeing Sirius as more than just his best friend he wouldn't have an answer. There was no big shift, no moment that suddenly changed everything. It was a subtle thing, settling in his bones and heart easily. Liking Sirius romantically wasn't all that different from when James only liked him platonically. He and Sirius are as affectionate as they’ve always been but now his skin tingles in the best possible way afterward. Sirius still laughs at James’ jokes but now James just admires the sound a little more, wants to spend the rest of his life being the one that can make Sirius laugh like that. Sirius plops down onto James’ bed as if it’s his own (it pretty much is at this point) and cuddles up to James and James holds him just like he always has but now he relishes in the closeness a little more. Sirius will flit around the dorm making sure it’s perfectly clean like he always has but now James finds the act a little more endearing. Liking Sirius romantically is just like liking him platonically only with more fond smiles and butterflies occupying his stomach.
Liking Sirius is like liking the stars: easy. He’s happy to watch them and him from afar. To bask in the light they both give off.
Sometimes when James can’t sleep he sneaks off to the Astronomy Tower and spends hours looking at the stars. Talking to them. Talking to Sirius’ star. It’s in those moments that he lets all the affection he has for the wild, raven-haired boy out. It's in those moments that he tells Sirius he’s beautiful. It’s in those moments that he recalls a certain way Sirius touched him that day and how his skin felt alight after. It’s in those moments that he allows his feelings for the boy out. And talking to Sirius’ star isn’t all that different from talking to Sirius. They both know him better and more intimately than anyone else. They both shine in a way that has him smiling helplessly every time he gets to see it.
He’ll tell Sirius’ star about this moment tomorrow. For now, he’s perfectly content in the company of this Sirius.
“Who do you think would win in a fight: Freddie Mercury or Brian May?” Sirius says suddenly.
James lets out a shocked laugh. “What?”
“In a physical fight who would win?”
James thinks about it for a second before saying, “Freddie Mercury.”
Sirius opens his eyes to look at James. “Why?”
James shrugs. “Because,” he says unhelpfully. “Do you disagree?”
Sirius shrugs this time. “Maybe just to spite you.”
James tugs on his hair lightly, not enough to hurt. Sirius grins. “Arse.”
“You love me,” Sirius states, matter-of-fact.
“Yeah, I do,” James says, a smile tugging at his lips. “You and your spiteful tendencies.”
Sirius laughs. James can feel the vibrations of it on his legs and fingertips. “James?” Sirius says after a long, quiet moment.
“Hmm?” he hums in response.
“You’re right.”
James’ smile widens. “I know. I always am.”
Sirius scoffs, though the corners of his lips are upturned. “Cocky bastard.”
“You love me,” James repeats the words Sirius only spoke minutes before.
“Yes. You and your cocky tendencies.” Sirius says much like James did minutes ago. “Sadly,” he adds on.
James shoves his shoulder and then frowns when Sirius starts moving off of his lap. “Come back,” he says, voice more of a whine than he’d like to admit. He misses the warm weight of Sirius against him and it's only been five seconds.
Sirius doesn’t move very far, just stands up in front of James and the fireplace. “It’s Bowie, James, I have to dance.”
James just then realizes the song playing from the record player. Starman by David Bowie is playing now.
I leaned back on my radio
Some cat was layin’ down some rock n roll, lotta soul, he said
“I think you’ve just spent far too much time with Remus,” James quips.
“Nonsense. I spend twenty-three of the twenty-four hours in a day with you.”
“Whatever,” James grumbles, knowing Sirius is right.
James’ faux annoyance is replaced by a smile as Sirius starts dancing. He doesn't move in a particularly rigid or graceful way; arms and hips moving in carefree, relaxed movements. But James still stares at him, transfixed. He looks at Sirius like he looks at the stars; in awe and wonder, constantly amazed by how much light they can bring. The yellow glow illuminates Sirius fully now, making him look like some higher being or entity. James wouldn’t be surprised if Sirius was God himself.
Sirius dances until the song ends, breathless from the constant movement of the past few minutes. He walks back to the couch, stumbling a little bit as he comes to stand in front of James. James reaches out and settles his hands on Sirius’ jean-covered hips, stabilizing the boy. Sirius looks down at him, cheeks flushed from the dancing or James touching him or both.
“Hi,” James whispers. Smiles.
“Hi,” Sirius says.
And there’s the familiar way his skin tingles after he and Sirius are affectionate, except this time James is still touching him.
“Your hairs a mess now,” James says, fondly staring up at the ruffled mess of Sirius’ long locks.
“Braid it for me?” Sirius asks.
James rolls his eyes but still tells Sirius to sit down on the carpeted floor. He gathers the dark hair back, running his hand through it to comb out any possible knots, and begins plaiting it. He had Lily teach him how to braid hair in third year when Sirius started growing his out. The movements come easy to him now; the crossing of the pieces of hair over each other. He ties off the braid with one of the several hair ties he keeps on his wrist for Sirius and the girls.
“All done,” he says, settling the finished braid against Sirius’ back.
Sirius turns around, still sitting on his knees on the floor. “Better?”
“It wasn’t bad before,” James says, gazing fondly at the way a few stray hairs frame Sirius’ face.
Sirius raises a brow. “No?”
“No,” James says immediately. And then a few moments later, in a much quieter voice, says, “You always look beautiful.”
Sirius’ cheeks flush and this time James knows it's because of him and not the dancing. Sirius gets up from the floor, sitting back down on the couch, sitting so close to James he’s practically in his lap. “Really?” Sirius asks, voice laced with a hint of insecurity.
James wants to hunt down whoever put that hint of insecurity there. Sirius isn't just beautiful, he’s godlike. Something meant to be worshipped and loved.
“Yes,” James says, voice every amount of earnest. “You’re beautiful.”
Sirius smiles. He reaches a hesitant, and slightly shaky, hand out; soft fingers brushing over the expanse of James’ cheek. The fingers trail down his cheek to the curve of his jaw and along it to his chin, stopping right below his lips. James is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing despite how fast his heart is beating against his ribcage. And then those fingers trail up the small amount needed and run over his lips in a feather-light touch. A shiver runs down James’ spine at the touch, a shaky exhale blowing over those fingers.
And then James is sure he’s died and gone to heaven because Sirius removes his fingers and replaces them with his lips. Sirius’ lips are soft and warm and taste like Firewhiskey and the smallest trace of the cigarette he had near the beginning of the party. Or maybe James is making it all up and using it as a reason for why kissing Sirius feels so addictive. Because it does, it really does. His heart beats impossibly faster and James is sure Sirius can feel it-has to with how close he’s gotten to James.
And then just as the kiss is about to deepen, lips on the brink of parting open for entrance, Sirius pulls away. He’s breathing in shaky inhales of the oxygen he’s lacked for the past several seconds, lips red and slightly wet from being kissed. James’ hand moves up to push back a stray strand of hair that’s fallen so close to Sirius’ eye that James is surprised Sirius hasn’t noticed yet. But the second his hand is meeting the pale skin Sirius is scrambling off and away from James, settling several feet away on the couch.
James’ brows furrow in concern. “Sirius? Are you o-”
“I-I’m not a-a,” James doesn't miss the way Sirius looks him up and down before saying the last words, “faggot.”
James feels something awful twist in his stomach. Not because Sirius isn’t gay and will never like him back but because Sirius looked at him like that. Like he was something bad. Something nasty and wrong. “You shouldn’t say that word then,” James says. The walls Sirius tore down the first day they met on the train are back up. Of all the people James thought would call him that word, Sirius was never one of them. “I’m going to bed,” he mumbles before quickly walking off.
Something from Fleetwood Mac is playing on the record player. Sirius sits on the couch alone now. A lone star in the pitch black of the night.
↣
Saturday
James and Sirius don’t speak the next day. It feels fundamentally wrong to James to not talk to Sirius. To not have him close. They’ve only known each other for five years but James feels as if he’s spent his whole life knowing Sirius and maybe his last one too if that type of thing is possible. He misses Sirius even though he’s never too far, usually just across the room. He misses Sirius talking to him elatedly at breakfast, despite having his mouth full of food. He misses Sirius whispering an idea for another prank to him in the middle of class. He misses the way their shoulders brush when they walk because they always walk a little too close to each other. He misses Sirius plopping down next to him on the couch while he’s trying to do homework, just to abandon it a few moments later to spend time with Sirius. He misses the tell-tale sound of Sirius’ curtains ruffling and then the sound of his own as Sirius climbs into his bed and cuddles up close under the blankets.
James isn’t sure he believes in soulmates but he is sure that that day on the train when he met Sirius something inside of him clicked into place, settling contentedly into the space of his heart, and has remained that way every day he’s known the boy. But now James can feel the way it aches; the way it shifts slightly so it’s not settled where it’s always been. And the realization terrifies James.
Because even through the sting of hurt about how Sirius looked at him as he said that one word, James is desperately hoping for things to go back to normal. He’d forgive or apologize to Sirius in an instant if it meant that piece would shift back into place. But the thought that terrifies him worse is that Sirius may not be willing to forgive or apologize or anything. Because-because he looked at James like that. Like he was bad. He said that word and looked at him like that and James is scared Sirius is never going to talk to him again.
And James doesn’t know who he is without Sirius actively in his life. Doesn’t want to. No, they’ve always been James and Sirius and Sirius and James; in this life and the last. James may have gone most of his life without that piece having clicked into place but he doesn’t know if he can go the rest of it with it not.
James sleeps on the side Sirius usually occupies, burying his face in the pillow because it smells like Sirius. He doesn't sleep much though, just holds himself like he would usually hold Sirius and cries a little until finally, his heavy eyes fall shut with exhaustion.
↣
Sunday
James gets back from the Astronomy Tower late into the night. He stumbles blindly to his bed before plopping down on it and settling under the blanket, on the side Sirius usually occupies. They didn’t talk today either; both Remus and Peter asking him if the two had gotten into a fight-to which James replied ‘no’ because to get into a fight you would actually have to talk and they haven't been doing that.
So James went to the other thing he talks to when he can’t talk to Sirius; the stars. Sirius’ star was a little harder to find that night but once James had managed to spot it he contentedly talked to it for the next few hours. He hated the thought that maybe that one shining speck of light was the only Sirius he would ever talk to again. He felt progressively emptier at the lack of Sirius’ voice and laughter and touch. And while it had only been barely two days it felt like forever.
He missed him terribly and thought as much as he forced himself to try and sleep. He was just on the cusp of it, the familiar scent of Sirius on his pillow lulling him onto the edge, when the sound of his curtains opening take him off of that edge in seconds. He hadn’t heard anyone’s curtains opening like he usually did before they came and opened his, because of being on the edge of sleep or simply not listening hard enough or caring too. Sirius is usually the only one to come crawl into his bed late at night; Peter occasionally, Remus almost never. And since Sirius hasn’t talked to him in two days the prospect that it could be him has him wide awake.
“James?” Sirius says, voice soft and slightly hesitant.
James is moving over to his side of the bed on instinct. Sirius is still for a moment before shuffling forward and laying down on the bed.
“Hi,” James says, voice a whisper. He wants to open his arms like he usually does so Sirius can settle against him but he knows that’s not what this is. He feels the piece nudge a little closer to its usual residence.
“Hi,” Sirius whispers back.
“It’s late,” James notes, “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?” he asks, concern flowing through his tone.
Very early on into James’ years at Hogwarts, he realized that Sirius was prone to nightmares, and later on that they were about his parents-who James was horrified to find out were nothing like his sweet, loving ones. That’s why Sirius started sleeping in James’ bed. James, without fail, would wake up every time Sirius had a nightmare-Sirius was rather verbal through them-and coax him into consciousness, holding him as, more times than not, the boy cried. So eventually Sirius stopped bothering with sleeping in his own bed and just slept in James’; Sirius was less prone to have a nightmare if he was next to or holding on to someone.
“No, I didn’t have a nightmare,” Sirius says. “Where were you?”
“The Astronomy Tower.”
“Oh.”
“I left the map,” James says. “So you could’ve looked.”
“Oh,” Sirius says again.
The silence that follows is tense and awkward, nothing like the usual comfortable silence they have, but James supposes, given the circumstance, that it’s well-founded.
“Do you want to get under the blanket?” James asks after a long moment.
“Okay,” Sirius says, shifting around a little until he’s under the blanket.
“Do you want to talk? Or did you just want to sleep?” James asks after another moment.
“Talk,” Sirius says quickly.
James wonders if Sirius felt it too. That shift. Wonders if the silence felt as large and suffocating for Sirius as it did for him. Wonders if Sirus missed him as much as he missed Sirius.
“I missed you,” is what his brain comes up with. He’s not sure he’d have been able to say anything but that; his very bones aching from being distant from Sirius, even just for two days.
“I missed you too,” Sirius says, shifting the smallest inch closer.
“I’m sorry,” James finds himself saying. Sirius is back close again and James doesn’t want him to ever not be again and he’ll apologize until his vocal cords only know how to form the words ‘I’m sorry’ if that’s what it takes.
James can’t see Sirius very well in the darkness of the night but he can tell his brows are furrowed. “Why are you sorry?”
“I-We kissed. And-and I shouldn’t have b-”
“I kissed you, James. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sirius says, voice taking on that firm tone that he reserves for when someone is saying something ‘ridiculous’.
“I-I know. But I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry,” James says in a croaky, stuttering mess of words. “Please don’t hate me.”
Sirius grabs James’ face into his cold hands. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend, James.”
James sighs out a relieved breath. “Oh.”
“Not talking to you has been terrible. It felt like a part of me, a piece, like-”
“Shifted?” James supplies. Reveling in the fact that he wasn’t alone in feeling the way he did, though he does feel bad that Sirius felt the same way too because the last two days have been horrible.
“Yeah,” Sirius agrees. He’s quiet for a long moment before saying, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”
“Don’t be. I kissed you back,” James reminds.
“Why?” Sirius asks, voice quieter than it has been the whole night.
And, in a whisper barely audible, James says the truth, “Because I wanted to.”
“Do…you still want to?”
“What?” James asks, startled by the question. “You’re not into guys so of course I’d respect that,” he’s quick to add. He doesn’t want Sirius to pull away from him again. Doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“I’m scared-” Sirius starts.
James panics at the words. He’s never once made Sirius scared before and the fact that he has now makes a guilty pit settle in his stomach. He would never do anything to hurt Sirius. Would never do anything Sirius didn’t want him to do. “I-I’m sorry.” He’s moving away from Sirius’ hands in seconds. “I wouldn’t ever-Please don’t be scared of me. I’m so-”
“James,” Sirius says, effectively shutting James up because he’s using that tone again. “I’m not scared of you. I…I’m scared of me.”
James’ brows furrow but his body and mind relax slightly. “What? Why?”
Sirius releases a shaky breath. James wonders if he might be about to cry. “Because I wanted to kiss you. Because I want to kiss boys in general. And I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to be the Heir to the Black family name. I’m s-supposed to get married off by my parents to some stuck-up Pureblood girl and have children. And I don’t want any of that. N-not with a girl. B-but the idea of doing that with a guy,” his voice cracks, “seems okay-nice.”
“Oh, Sirius,” James says, reaching blindly to wipe the tears he knows dawn Sirius’ cheeks. “There’s a lot of things people aren't supposed to do but loving who they do isn’t one of them. You are not just the Heir to the Black family name and you are so much more than the son that’s supposed to continue on their family line. You are a person with feelings and emotions who deserves to be treated as such. And it's okay to want all of that with a guy. It’s okay to only like guys like that. It’s okay to love who you want, Sirius.” James hopes his tone conveys how much he means every word he says.
It all becomes clear why Sirius reacted the way he did the night they kissed. He was scared. Scared of the fact that he felt that way about boys. Scared to admit to himself that he liked boys. Scared because kissing James made it all too real. Scared because his parents are pisses of shit who only care about upholding their reputation and making sure their family line continues and all the pressure is on him to do so.
James wants to hug him. To hold him close and reassure him as much as he needs that his feelings are okay and valid. Wants to make it so Sirius would never have had to feel like loving who he does is wrong. He doesn't though; just grabs Sirius’ hand and squeezes, pressing a soft, and hopefully comforting, kiss on the back of his hand.
Sirius shifts closer after that, curling up into James’ arms, crying into the shirt that covers his chest. James holds him tightly, running a hand through the dark curls and scratching lightly at the scalp in the way that Sirius likes. He does hold Sirius close and reassure him that his feelings are valid and okay like he wanted to.
It takes Sirius some time to calm down, tears stopping just to start again a few moments later. And James just holds him, not an ounce of the tiredness he had felt earlier creeping back in like it usually does when he has the warm, comforting weight of Sirius against and on him. No, James would hold and comfort Sirius all night if he needed to and not once feel an ounce of tiredness.
Once Sirius does fully calm down he’s silent for such a long time that James has half a mind to think he fell asleep. But then Sirius shifts a little and says, “Your shirts all wet,” and he says it in a grumble like he’s actually annoyed by it.
James can’t help but laugh a little bit because of this. Can’t help but find it cute. “Yeah?” James teases.
“Yes,” Sirius grumbles.
“I can change it if you-”
“No,” Sirius says before James can even finish his sentence. He clings onto him tighter, shifting up a little so he can burrow his face in the soft place where James’ neck and shoulder meet.
James smiles, holds onto Sirius a little tighter too. “Okay.”
Sirius’ breathing evens out a few minutes later. James’ does too soon after.
↣
The Next Morning
James wakes up early the next morning and feels more well-rested than he has in a while despite the fact that he couldn’t have slept for more than a few hours. Sirius is still cuddled up against him, though his face has moved back to its original position on James’ sternum. James smiles softly down at his still sleeping figure, watching the rise and fall of his body with each inhale and exhale he takes. He pushes the hair that’s fallen across Sirius’ face back, carding his fingers through the tangle of curls afterward.
Sirius doesn't wake up for a while longer but when he does James immediately knows. Can feel the contented sigh he lets out against James’ chest. Can feel the vibration of the soft hum he does when he takes notice of James’ fingers in his hair.
“Morning,” James says.
“Morning,” Sirius replies, voice still thick from sleep.
“Sleep alright?” James asks.
“Mhmm,” Sirius hums out in reply.
“Seems like you weren’t too bothered by my wet shirt,” James teases.
Sirius grumbles against his chest, moving back up to nuzzle his face in James’ neck. James smiles like an idiot.
Sirius is quiet for such a long time after that that James thinks he’s fallen back asleep, flinching just a little when he hears Sirius say, “James?”
“Yeah?”
“Can-If I tell you something will you promise not to hate me?” Sirius asks, voice small and slightly scared. James realizes that Sirius had probably spent the silence trying to find the courage to ask and tell James whatever it is that he wanted to.
“Of course,” James says, every amount of earnest. “You can tell me anything. You could tell me you killed someone and I still wouldn’t hate you. You’re my favorite person.”
“Okay,” Sirius says. And then he’s quiet for another long while. James is content to wait, knowing that whatever it is Sirius wants to tell him must be hard to admit if it’s taking this long for him to build up the courage to do so. “I wasn’t just scared because I only like boys or because I have to be the Heir to my family.”
“Oh?” James says because Sirius is silent again for a while after that.
“I-I was scared because,” Sirius takes a big, shaky inhale. James runs his hand up and down Sirius’ back in what he hopes is a comforting motion. “Because I wanted to kiss you. Really wanted to. A-and not just then, all the time.”
“What?” James says, voice nothing but a shocked breath. Does that mean that Sirius likes him, too? James never even allowed himself to think that that was a possibility.
Sirius clutches him tighter like he’s scared that James will run away. James would never of course. Would be content if Sirius just absorbed him up whole and carried him around with him forever. “P-please don’t hate. I-I dont want to lose you. Please,” Sirius croaks out.
“You-you like me? Like, like-like me?” James asks. He needs to hear Sirius say it. Needs to know for sure that Sirius does.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m so s-”
“Shut up,” James says a little more firm than needed. James feels Sirius tense but keep quiet. “Dont-don't apologize. I-I like you too, Sirius. So much.”
Sirius shifts up until his face hovers above James’. His eyes wide and filled with hope. “You do?”
James nods his head. “Yes. Of course I do.”
Sirius smiles wide, all teeth and stretched lips. Beautiful beautiful beautiful James thinks. “Can I kiss you?” Sirius asks, voice breathy and light.
“Yes, please,” James responds immediately.
This time they let themselves get lost in the kiss, in each other. And it’s all so good James is almost scared that it’s all a dream. But Sirius feels oh too real so James knows it isn’t. Knows he couldn’t dream up something as amazing as this here, right now. It's a long process before they fully pull away, stopping for breath occasionally just to continue pecking at each other's lips and start kissing all over again. By the time they both finally pull away, they’re breathless.
And even though James’ lungs are most definitely upset about being neglected the oxygen they need, James has never been happier. It’s in that moment that he knows he’s done for. Knows that he’s in love with Sirius Black. He’ll tell him one day, preferably after he actually takes Sirius out and makes him his boyfriend, but for now, he’s content to just stay in his four-poster bed with Sirius, catching his breath and holding him close.
The ache he had felt in previous days is gone, replaced by the overflowing love he feels for the boy. James will gladly carry the weight of it. Now, tomorrow, forever.