Way Enough

POV Remus

Remus had been thrilled when James asked him if he partied.

He was getting sick to death of the stick-in-the-mud guys on his team. Sure, he had defended them to James—said that some of them were chill—but, if he was honest, it had proven way harder than expected to get any of them to actually go out.

In the end, the only person he could think of to bring to the party was his coxswain, Dorcas.

Which, honestly, was fine by him.

Dorcas had been his going-out buddy since they lived in the same dorm freshman year. She had been with him through all his many, many flings, and—more importantly—she had endured his long-standing, hopelessly pathetic crush that she was so damn tired of hearing about.

Because, sure—the regatta may have been the first time Sirius Black noticed Remus.

But Remus had noticed him years ago. Their first year at school, they took Intro to Philosophy together.

It was a huge lecture hall—one of those 300-person death traps where participation was pointless, the professor spoke in a monotone, and the only people who still paid attention past the first week were the ones too stubborn to drop the course.

Remus, however, had found himself hyper-focused on something else entirely.

Because every single class, in the far corner of the room, there was a ridiculously attractive, perpetually smug-looking boy slouched in his seat, his team-issued sweatshirt slung over his shoulders.

And Remus—like the tragic, hopeless idiot he was—had found himself staring.

Because this boy—this ridiculous, infuriatingly good-looking boy—was exactly his type.

Tall. Strong. That stupidly easy confidence that some guys just had, like they were born knowing the world would roll out a red carpet for them. Dark, windswept hair, cheekbones sharp enough to carve marble, an obnoxiously pretty mouth that always looked like it was smirking at something.

Remus had never wanted to know someone’s name more in his entire life.

And then, by some miraculous stroke of fate, the answer was handed to him on a silver fucking platter.

Because, like every other student-athlete on campus, the boy had branded himself like a goddamn walking roster page.

Hogwarts Hockey on the backpack.

The number 12 printed on his sweatpants.

And, best of all—the name BLACK written across the back of his sweatshirt.

A simple Google search was all it took. And suddenly—there he was.

Sirius Black.

Staring back at him through the screen, his roster photo slightly too professional, his stats listed neatly underneath, his cocky smirk somehow just as devastating even in a low-resolution headshot.

Remus had spent the entire semester sitting three rows behind him in their lecture hall , pretending he wasn’t entirely obsessed with him.

It had started as a simple crush—a shallow, aesthetic admiration of the gorgeous, leather-jacket-wearing, smirking-like-he-knows-a-secret hockey player who slouched in his seat every class, looking like he barely cared about anything.

But then—One day, halfway through the semester, Sirius raised his hand.

And everything changed.

The class had been discussing Jean-Paul Sartre’s idea of radical freedom and bad faith—the idea that humans are free to make their own choices but often deceive themselves into thinking they aren’t because freedom is terrifying.

Most students were either half-asleep or scrolling through their phones, waiting for class to end.

But then Sirius—who had never spoken before, who had never even pretended to take notes, who usually looked bored out of his fucking mind—leaned forward in his seat and said,

“So, if Sartre is right, does that mean that every expectation placed on us—by our families, by society, by the people who think they know us—is complete bullshit?”

The professor, taken aback, adjusted his glasses. “Well, that’s one way of putting it—”

“Because if we’re really free,” Sirius continued, his voice sharper now, more serious, “then isn’t it kind of fucked up that we still let ourselves be controlled? If we know we’re in bad faith, why don’t we just—” He gestured vaguely. “Burn it all down?”

A ripple of amused laughter went through the class. Someone muttered "Jesus Christ, Black," but Remus?

Remus wasn’t laughing.

Because for the first time, Sirius Black didn’t look smug or bored or too cool to care.

He looked genuinely frustrated.

Like he had been thinking about this for a long time—like it was personal.

And Remus?

Remus felt something in his chest lurch violently, because—Fuck.

Sirius Black was so much more than just a pretty face.

He was angry and restless and desperate for something real, something that wasn’t just a script handed to him by other people.

And Remus—who had spent his whole life trapped between who he was and who he was supposed to be—suddenly, completely understood him.

Sirius sank back into his seat, shaking his head like he hadn’t just cracked himself open in front of 300 people.

The professor cleared his throat. “Well, Black, you’re getting at the fundamental tension of Sartre’s philosophy—”

Remus barely heard the rest.

Because all he could do was watch Sirius, his fingers drumming restlessly against his desk, his jaw tight, his eyes stormy and distant, like he was already planning his own revolution.

And fuck.

Remus had been attracted to him before. But now?

Now he was completely, utterly, hopelessly gone.

And Dorcas? Dorcas had been stuck hearing about it ever since.

When Remus saw Sirius Black at the regatta—staring at him, no less—he knew he had to shoot his shot.

It wasn’t even a question.

Remus wasn’t shy anymore.

He had been, once. Back in middle school, he was awkward, quiet, a little too tall for his own good, a little too self-conscious about the scars on his body.

But rowing changed everything.

By high school, he had grown into himself physically, put on muscle, gotten stronger, and with that came something else—confidence.

And confidence worked for him.

So when he saw Sirius Black staring at him, wide-eyed and clearly flustered, he didn’t even hesitate before following him into the woods.

Because Remus Lupin wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity.

Especially not when it came to the beautiful boy who had been consuming his thoughts for years.

That being said, he didn’t tell Dorcas what happened. Not exactly.

Because it was clear as day that Sirius wasn’t out. And when Sirius didn’t follow him back on Instagram afterward, it became even clearer.

So, as far as Dorcas knew, the regatta had been his first time ever interacting with Sirius—a brief, wordless exchange, a missed opportunity, just another crush Remus would likely never act on.

And honestly? That was for the best.

Because if Sirius Black wasn’t ready, then Remus wasn’t going to push it.

…But that didn’t mean he was going to quit either.

So when James invited him to a hockey party, Remus knew—without a doubt—that he was getting another shot.

And this time he wasn’t going to waste it.

As far as Dorcas knew, this was his first real opportunity.

As far as Remus was concerned? This was his second chance.

The first thing Dorcas wanted to do when they got to the party was grab a drink.

Remus had no objections, so the two of them made their way into the packed kitchen, where an entire island had been transformed into what looked like a fully stocked open bar.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Jesus. Hockey guys go hard."

Dorcas just grinned, already reaching for the vodka and cranberry juice. "You love it."

Remus snorted but didn’t deny it, turning toward the counter to fix his own drink.

But then—

"Oh my god, Marlene! Where have you been?"

Remus glanced up at the name, immediately perking up.

Marlene lived in his dorm, and she was one of his best friends, so naturally, he turned too, smiling as she spun around.

And that’s when he saw him.

Sirius.

Standing slightly behind Marlene, looking annoyed at being interrupted—until his eyes landed on Remus.

Remus watched it happen in real time—the way Sirius' expression shifted from mild irritation to absolute shock, his eyes blown wide, his entire face turning a beautiful shade of red.

Fuck. That was cute.

Marlene beamed, completely oblivious. “Sirius, these are Remus and Dorcas—my soulmates.” Sirius opened his mouth, probably to introduce himself, but—

“We’ve actually met,” Remus cut in smoothly.

Marlene blinked, looking between them in surprise. Sirius, however, kept his eyes locked on Remus, his expression begging him not to say anything.

Remus smirked slightly but let him off the hook.

"Yeah," he said, voice casual, easy, like this was totally normal. "We had Intro to Philosophy together."

Sirius’ eyebrows furrowed. His lips parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face.

A pause.

Then—"Yeah," he said slowly, nodding once, still watching Remus carefully. "I guess we did."

Remus didn’t miss the skepticism in his voice.

Before either of them could say anything else, Dorcas suddenly gasped. "Oh fuck, Mar—I forgot to tell you something insane—"

Marlene’s attention snapped to Dorcas immediately, and within seconds, she was being dragged out of the kitchen.

“Nice to meet you, Sirius,” Dorcas added in a rush, barely even looking back.

And just like that—

Sirius and Remus were alone.

Still standing there.

Still staring at each other.

The silence between them was charged, thick with something neither of them was acknowledging.

Remus could see the tension in Sirius’ shoulders, the way he was rolling his lips together, like he was debating whether to say something.

But Remus beat him to it.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and held it up.

"I’m going out to the deck for a smoke," he said easily. Then, after a beat, "Want one?"

Sirius hesitated for half a second before nodding.

Remus smirked. "Lead the way, then."

Sirius hesitated in the doorway, eyes flicking back toward the party, clearly debating something.

Remus leaned against the railing, watching him with mild amusement. “What, having second thoughts about stepping outside with me?”

Sirius scowled, like the mere suggestion annoyed him. “No. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I should probably check on Regulus.”

Remus hummed, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling through his nose. “I think Reg is busy.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes immediately, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Busy with what?”

Remus shrugged, feigning complete indifference. “Dunno. Some guy led him upstairs a few minutes ago.”

Sirius’ entire demeanor shifted, his back going rigid, his jaw clenching. “What guy?”

Remus took another long, deliberate inhale before exhaling smoothly. Making the conscious decision not to disclose that James was the guy he saw. He already made the mental note to grill him about it later though. 

“No one you know.”

Sirius’ eyes darkened, his brows furrowing deeply, but Remus could tell he was debating whether or not to storm back inside.

So before he could decide, Remus stepped forward, brushing past him just enough that their shoulders bumped slightly, and murmured—

“He’s fine, Sirius.” Then, smirking slightly, “But if you wanna keep worrying about your little brother’s love life instead of coming out for a smoke with me, by all means.”

Sirius rolled his eyes so hard he could have seen his brain but, after a beat, followed him outside anyway.

The cool night air hit them immediately as they stepped onto the deck, the distant thrum of the party fading behind them.

Remus leaned against the railing, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lighting it with practiced ease. He offered Sirius the lighter, watching as Sirius took it, his fingers steady but his jaw tight.

Sirius lit his own cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, eyes flickering up toward the dark sky.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“So,” Remus finally said, voice low, breaking the silence. “You remember that philosophy class, huh?”

Sirius huffed, side-eyeing him. “Not particularly.”

Remus smirked, taking another drag. “Shame. I do.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Let me guess—you actually did the readings.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Remus said smoothly. “I had better things to do.”

Sirius let out a sharp ha, shaking his head. “So why do you remember it, then?”

Remus let his eyes drag over Sirius, taking his time, before shrugging. “You asked a good question once.”

Sirius stilled slightly, brows furrowing. “…What question?”

Remus tapped his cigarette, letting the ash fall over the railing. “You wanted to know why people don’t just burn it all down.”

Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose.

Remus didn’t look away.

“You wanted to know why we let people tell us who we are,” Remus continued, voice lower now, more serious. “Why we pretend we don’t have choices when we do.”

Sirius’ grip on his cigarette tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You can be whoever the fuck you want, Sirius.” Remus exhaled, watching the smoke curl between them. “Fuck your family. Fuck your team. Fuck every expectation anyone has ever placed on you.”

Sirius took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a steady breath, his posture carefully casual, like he was trying way too hard to act like this wasn’t a big deal.

Remus, however, wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Sure” Sirius started, rolling his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “I was actually getting somewhere with that girl, Marlene,  before you and that girl showed up.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. “Oh, were you?”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah. She was into me.”

Remus snorted and took a drag of his own cigarette before exhaling, his head tilting to the side in amusement. “You mean Dorcas’ girlfriend?”

Sirius froze mid-inhale, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to face Remus. “...What?”

Remus grinned, leaning back against the railing. “Yeah. Marlene’s her girlfriend. They’ve been together for, like, two years.”

Sirius blinked, clearly re-evaluating everything.

“I mean, hey,” Remus continued, grinning now, “if you think she was into you, then by all means—shoot your shot. Maybe they’re looking for a third.”

Sirius made a face, shoving his shoulder against Remus’ like a petulant child. “Fuck off.”

Remus laughed, letting the contact linger for a beat longer than necessary before he flicked his cigarette ash over the railing.

“Good to know your gaydar is broken everywhere,” he mused. Then, with a slow, knowing glance at Sirius, he added, “Not just for yourself.”

Sirius inhaled sharply, his whole body going tense, but Remus just lifted the cigarette back to his lips, smirking like he hadn’t just read Sirius Black for filth in five words or less.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until—

Sirius huffed, looking away, but Remus didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink.

“…I fucking hate you,” Sirius muttered.

Remus exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

Sirius didn’t argue.

“You don’t have to be anything for anyone,” Remus added. “You can just be… you.”

Sirius finally turned his head, locking eyes with Remus—and fuck, his gaze was sharp, raw, guarded, but there was something else there too.

Something aching.

“You say that like it’s easy,” Sirius muttered.

Remus hummed. “Didn’t say it was easy.” He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “But neither did you.”

Sirius swallowed. Hard.

Remus flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, stepping just a little closer, just enough that their elbows almost brushed against each other.

Then, quietly—

“What are you so afraid of?”

Sirius didn’t answer.

He just stared at him, his lips parting slightly, his breath uneven, his walls still up but shaking—

Remus just held his gaze, his expression softer now, giving him the space to answer or not answer—to decide what he wanted.

Because he wouldn’t push.

But he wanted Sirius to know—

That if he ever wanted to burn it all down…

Remus would be right there with him.

Sirius exhaled hard, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. He was staring at the ground now, brows drawn together, jaw tight—like he was wrestling with something inside himself.

Remus didn’t push.

Didn’t say anything.

Just let the silence sit between them, waiting.

Finally—softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—Sirius muttered,

“I don’t understand anything about myself.”

Remus’ chest tightened, but he stayed quiet, letting him continue.

“I don’t know what I’m afraid of, or how I feel—or what I want.” Sirius exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “Everything just feels like… like I’m supposed to be something I don’t even understand.”

He finally looked up, his gaze flickering to Remus, something raw and uncertain in his eyes.

“…Right now,” Sirius said, voice quieter now, more deliberate, “I just know that I like talking to you.”

Remus swallowed, his fingers curling slightly at his sides.

Something warm settled deep in his chest, something dangerous, aching, heavy with knowing.

So he nodded, stepping half an inch closer, just enough that their arms brushed slightly.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” Remus said, voice steady, sure. Then—softer, more careful—“And I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

Sirius’ lips parted slightly, his breath catching, his eyes wide like he hadn’t expected that answer.

Like he hadn’t expected someone to just… be there.

But Remus meant it.

Because Sirius Black might not know who he was yet—

But Remus already did.