Chapter 2
THEY WON. Gryffindor United scored three goals against the Hufflepuff Badgers, and Sirius managed to give two assists to James’ hat-trick. Remus kept a clean sheet. It was the perfect night. They were going to the FA Cup final.
As a reward, coach Evans allowed the team to have a couple of days off. The next Premier League match was only on Sunday, so the rest was earned. Sirius sat under his orange tree, a glass of an unknown mixture of drinks prepared by the one and only James Potter in his hand. His best mate was somewhere around the house, last seen near the pool table trying to teach tricks to Pete Pettigrew, one of the base players who recently got promoted to first team and James decided he had to be his Yoda.
“How are you not freezing, Black?” The voice came from near the french doors that led into the kitchen, making Sirius jump.
Looking up, he could see Remus leaning against the iron door frame, wrapped in an incredibly thick sweater with a hideous pattern on it. Sirius didn’t even pay attention to the beat his heart skipped. He became awfully accustomed to his heart failing to work properly when Remus was around.
“It’s only Autumn,” Sirius managed to respond.
Remus groaned, but came to sit next to Sirius, anyway. “Lily’s here, by the way. So you should check James later. To see if she didn’t cut his balls off.”
Sirius laughed. “Oh God, she came to my house? He must be growing on her.”
“Or she just likes me too much,” Remus supplied.
Sirius tried to school his own expression. The logical part of his brain told him it was stupid to be jealous of Evans. He believed Remus when he said they were just good friends. It was just… he’d seen them interact. He had watched their friendship from premium seats. And it was clear that Remus and Lily loved each other very much. So he hadn’t yet been able to kill the part of his mind that said the next logical step for those two was romance. And some part of Sirius was still tainted, still felt undeserving of the things he wanted. But it was probably the fact that it was not his problem that troubled him the most. That he didn’t have a say on this. He couldn’t help but to feel bitter about the whole ordeal, though. Maybe he was just upset at how easy it would be for them if they were a thing, and how impossible if it was Sirius and Remus instead.
It occurred to Sirius that he probably should say something, because Remus kept staring at him with those water-left-in-wood eyes and eyebrows raised like he was expecting something. When Sirius failed to produce any string of words in his mind, Remus sighed, and nudged Sirius’ shoulder. “Did I tell you how me and Lily met?” He asked.
“No,” Sirius said. “You haven’t.”
“Well, we met a little after my first professional contract,” Remus said. He was talking about years before he joined Gryffindor. Sirius always assumed Lily had been involved with Remus’s transfer from Spain earlier this year. “She finished her studies in Spain. Her first internship was with Marbella FC. My home club. I grew up in Marbella, Sirius, so people around the area knew me since I was a kid. They… had thoughts about me. When I met Lily, it felt like someone was finally seeing me for me. She… she was really good to me.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, in a really small voice, averting his gaze from Remus’ face.
Remus laughed faintly. “What I’m trying to say, Sirius, is that she’s my… she’s my James.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, in a really weighty voice, looking back up at Remus and watching as the goalkeeper reached for the drink in Sirius’ hands, their fingers grazing slightly.
“Yeah,” Remus agreed. “Oh.”
And then he brought the drink to his mouth, strong hands and long fingers wrapped around the glass, lips touching the place Sirius’s lip touched. The sight almost felt holy to Sirius.
Until Remus actually tasted the mystery drink and had a coughing fit over it. “Díos mio, this thing is disgusting.”
……….
WHEN THE DAY got closer and closer to its end, Peter was passed out in Sirius’ couch, and Remus and Lily busied themselves playing a really intense match of Fifa, Sirius allowed himself to freak out a bit about the eminent final against the Slytherin Snakes. This freakout, of course, translated into reorganising his entire cutlery drawer and mug cabinet and he would have gotten to the pantry had James not stopped him.
“What the bloody hell are you doing, mate?” That was James Potter, looking thoroughly confused as to why Sirius decided redecorating his kitchen was a suitable activity while your friends had fun in the other room. “How much of the Potter Punch did you drink? Because the only side effect Pettigrew got was sleepiness. I don’t think Marie Kondo tendencies are a normal drunk reaction.”
“I’m not drunk,” Sirius grumbled, “and Potter Punch is a ridiculous name, by the way.”
“I’ll remember you said that when I’m swimming in all the profit my delicious coquetel made me,” James took a seat in one of the barstools by the island. “So what’s wrong, then? I thought you’d be pretty jolly after spending an afternoon all cosy with loverboy.”
“James, shut up,” Sirius hissed, looking over his shoulder towards the living room.
“Relax, they can’t hear us,” James said. “But you know what, I think your late night fantasies with Lupin are less far fetched than you think.”
Sirius frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno,” James shrugged. “He just… he looks at you a lot, you now.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sirius said, but still felt lightheaded over the observation. The last thing Sirius wanted was to make a fool out of himself. But to have James say that out loud… He thought about how it is when he and Remus are together. He felt close to the goalkeeper, and infatuated or not, there was a connection. Remus felt right to be around, felt good to talk to, and Sirius suspected, hoped, the Spanish felt the same way about him. Could the lingering eyes and soft spoken words mean what Sirius yearned them to mean? When Sirius accepted his feelings for Remus, he also accepted that his chances of it ever being reciprocated were, well, impossible. And he was okay with that. He loved being Remus’ friend too. “And this isn’t about Remus.”
James raised his eyebrows. “What’s it about, then?”
Looking at James' expression now, Sirius thought back to when he moved into the Potter’s house, at sixteen. How being at their house felt like his lungs working for the first time in his life. He thought about how the whole time under his parents roof there wasn’t a single moment of peace. He thought back to when his life was nothing but screaming and throwing things and being mean and having mean things be done to him, and how he used to feel like a trapped animal, ready for slaughter, and how that feeling still lingered sometimes. He thought about his inheritance, not money or riches, but the natural knack for cruelty and lack of self-worth he had to battle against every day to prove no no no I am not like them. And then, about Regulus. Refusing to leave with him. Not answering when he called. When they were kids, Reg wanted to be a biologist. He had a knack for science since forever and he was so, so clever.
Now, he had been promoted to the Slytherin first team during preseason. It’s the Black legacy, their father would say, to be the greatest at football, to bring world cups and club titles and fame and fortune to the family. Orion Black was one of the greatests. His sons would be to, no matter what dreams of their own they had to crush to make it happen. The thing was, that even if Sirius hated that house, and hated his parents, he really did love football. And was bloody good at it, as well. So, for years, Walburga and Orion Black would try to ignore their distaste for their eldest son in the hopes of Sirius’ Black name becoming legendary amongst Slytherin history and amongst England, even though the wine glasses thrown in his direction during fancy and sterile dinners proved that Sirius was just too agraveting for them to be able to ignore. So Sirius, of course, made other plans. Working hard, signing for Gryffindor behind their backs, running away because he would rather be dead than to let his parents turn football into something he would come to hate. Because he really did love football. And Regulus never did.
“I was just thinking about the FA final,” Sirius finally said, with a shrug.
“Hm.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, you can’t make me talk about it, James.”
“Not planning on it."
“Ugh, fine, Potter!” Sirius threw his arms up in exasperation. “Have it your way! It’s just… I think he hates me. Reggie, I mean. And okay, it’s not going to be pleasant having Orion and Walburga in the stadium but I’m so scared to see Regulus after all this time and to confirm that, yes, he actually really hates me.”
James sighed. “I don’t think he hates you, mate. And it’s not like you didn’t try to help him. You did your part. You were both kids. And you know you’ll always have a place for him next to you. It’s up to him to take it or not.”
“I know you’re right, Jamie.” Sirius leaned against the counter. “It’s just fucked up.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat filled the kitchen, making Sirius and James turn around to face a quite dishevelled Lily Evans. “I won,” she said, overly proud.
Sirius felt himself grow cold. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Lily answered, walking towards the refrigerador and grabbing a can of tonic water. “Don’t fret about it, Black. Family sucks and whatever. You can sulk for however long you want, you just have to get it out of your head for ninety minutes and play the best game of your life, because, Sirius, I am a sore loser. And if you’re going to be scared of something, be scared of me if we don’t win that trophy.” She cracked the can open and took a sip. “Oh, and I think it is best if we stay the night, too. I’m not sober enough to drive the car back and Rem it’s not the best at left-handed traffic.”
And just like that, Lily stalked out of the kitchen.
“Sirius?” James asked, mouth still hanging open.
“Hm?” Sirius offered, because he didn’t really know what else to say.
“I think… I think I’ve dreamt her.”
Sirius chuckled, heading out of the kitchen as well. “Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare, mate?”
……….
THEY DECIDED the best way to end the night was to order Nando’s. As long as Marlene, the club’s nutritionist, never knew about it, they could indulge in some fried and chickeney comfort food for one night. After their stomachs were full, Sirius pointed Lily in the direction of the guest rooms. James failed miserably to move Peter’s corpse from the couch, and after giving up, went to his own room (because, yes, they had rooms in each other's houses) and passed out in bed. Now, the only people awake in the house were him and Remus. There were cups and plates and greasy napkins everywhere, so Sirius started to frantically collect all the mess because he didn’t do very well with mess.
“Hey, hey, slow down, Sirius,” Remus said, taking a few of the things from Sirius’ hands. “I’ll help you, vida.”
“You can just go to sleep, if you want,” Sirius supplied.
“And leave the joy of doing the dishes to you? Don’t think so,” Remus answered, moving toward the double bowl sink. “I don’t sleep easy.”
“Oh, me neither,” Sirius smiled. “I guess that’s one of the reasons football works for me. I usually get so knackered after training and matches that it’s enough to beat the insomnia. On free days, though…”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Remus agreed, rolling up his sleeves and turning the faucet on. “Sleeping after training is the best.”
Sirius stared at Remus’ forearms. “We can just put them in the dishwasher.”
“Oh, that I refuse,” Remus said, “I don’t trust dishwashers. They’re too modern.”
“And of course, your old soul is deeply offended by them?”
“Sí, exactamente,” Remus grinned.
Sirius suddenly felt very giddy. He was awfully aware of how late it was, of how quiet the house was apart from the sound of them. He was awfully aware of Remus’ forearms on display, his hands under running water, of how warm the kitchen was getting. He cleared his throat, busying himself with putting plates and glasses where they belonged. He heard the silence that came as a consequence of the faucet being turned off.
“Well,” Remus said, wiping his hands on his sweater, pointing at the kitchen island with his chin, at the half empty bottle of wine. “We shouldn’t let that go to waste, right?”
Sirius wanted to hide under the table until Remus and his honeyed accent went away, but he nodded and poured the rest of the wine for the both of them anyway. He sat on the spinny barstool and Remus leaned against the island next to him. Remus started talking about the season, about how London was lovely, about how he disliked the cold and how he never had time to read books anymore. Sirius listened quietly, divided in being enthralled by what the goalkeeper was saying and being annoyingly distracted by how Remus kept leaning closer, his right hand dangerously close to Sirius’ knee. But there was a piece of curly hair falling over Remus’ eyes that was impossibly distracting and made Sirius want to run his fingers through it. And impossibly, that was exactly what Sirius did.
There are a few moments in life when your presence in a room is barely more than a plane on autopilot, and you want something so naturally, so intrinsically, that your body just goes for it, disregarding completely what the left side of your brain thinks. This, for Sirius, was one of those moments.
As soon as his fingers touched the soft chestnut curls of Remus’ hair, his system shut down. He just froze. Remus grabbed his wrist. The only thing going through Sirius’ mind was fuck fuck fuck. He began drawing up an excuse for his careless touch, something that would convince Remus the gesture was completely appropriate between two very platonic mates. He opened his mouth to say something, to explain.
He couldn’t say anything, though, because the next thing he knew was that Remus’ lips were on his. Remus somehow had stepped into the space between Sirius’s knees, holding his jaw, and pushing their mouths together. But after a few seconds of Sirius stupidly not kissing back (he was simply to shocked to react, thank you very much), Remus pulled away, looking bashfully regretful.
“What,” Sirius said, very eloquently.
“Díos, I am so sorry,” Remus mumbled, “I thought… I just thought…”
“What,” Sirius repeated, feeling like maybe he did drink too much of the Potter Punch and was now hallucinating.
“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Remus said, miserably, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll… I’ll just go.”
Remus made to get out of Sirius’ reach and the only thing Sirius could think now was no! So he said, “No!” He grabbed a handful of Remus’ sweater, keeping him close close close. “Don’t go. I wasn’t ready. Just… kiss me again.”
Remus raised his eyebrows, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” Sirius nodded enthusiastically. “Please please please, kiss me again.”
Remus smiled, and of course, obliged. He kissed Sirius again, and Sirius kissed back, tasting the sweet wine on the goalkeeper’ tongue, running his hands through his soft curls, feeling the hard edges of Remus’ body pressed against him. He felt Remus move his hands from Sirius’ jaw to his wait, under Sirius’ shirt, and he shivered. Was this a dream?
“I’m still not sure I know what’s going on,” Sirius said, sighing as Remus broke the kiss to press his lips ons Sirius’ nose, cheeks, jaw.
Remus’ breathy laugh hit Sirius’ neck. “I’m doing something I wanted to do since I got here.”
“Excuse me?” Sirius leaned back to look at Remus properly.
“I wanted you since I first looked at you.” Remus said against Sirius’ skin. “Was it not obvious?”
“No!” Sirius whispered-shouted, but sighed as Remus’ lips found his mouth again. “I’ve wanted you too.”
“I know,” Remus chuckled, pressing his lips to Sirius’ collarbone. “Did you think you were being, ah, what’s the word? Subtle?”
“Hm, is it ridiculous for me to say yes?”
“Maybe a little,” Remus agreed.
Sirius giggled, feeling awfully feverish. “I… wasn’t even sure that you… I thought you liked girls.”
“I like girls,” Remus admitted. “I like you the best, though.”
“You like me?” Sirius beamed.
“Honestly, vida, I thought you were smart.” Remus smiled. “Yes, I like you. Like you the most, sí?”
So, not only this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination, but the man Sirius had been pining over was really in front of him, with his hands on him, saying yes I like you with that silky voice that should be classified as a weapon. It felt like winning the lottery. It felt like more than he deserved. He was so settled in the notion that having his feelings reciprocated was impossible that he forgot impossible things seemed to happen all the time.
“Okay,” Sirius nodded, feeling happier than he had felt in a long time. “I like you too.”
“Lucky me,” Remus said, and Sirius kissed him again.