Way Enough

After exchanging those texts with Remus, Sirius barely had time to register what the hell he was doing before he was already grabbing his coat and stepping out the door.

It was like the part of his brain responsible for logical decisions had decided to take a fucking vacation.

Because this was a bad idea.

Objectively.

And yet—

Fifteen minutes later, he was already approaching the trail by the lake. The air was cold, crisp, his breath misting in front of him as his boots crunched against the dirt path.

The scene in front of him looked like something straight out of a postcard—snow-dusted trees, the lake still and shimmering under the moonlight—

And then—

“Boo.”

"JESUS CHRIST—”

Sirius jumped back so violently that he nearly tripped over his own feet, his heart slamming against his ribs as Remus emerged from the shadows like some kind of demonic cryptid.

Remus was already grinning. “Wow. You’re easy.”

Sirius scowled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"Oh, I’m sorry,” Remus said, voice laced with mock innocence, “It’s almost like I wanted to meet in a Hallmark Christmas movie location, but you insisted that was too gay and chose horror movie instead.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, immediately trying to re-masculate himself. “It’s not too bad, actually. I needed some fresh air anyway.”

And then—just to prove his point—he started walking at a ridiculous pace, shoulders squared, chin high, like he had something to prove to the damn trees.

Remus blinked, then huffed out a laugh, jogging a few steps to catch up. “Oh, okay—are we going for an actual hike? Because I already had practice today, and this is an indecent pace for a ‘nice stroll.’”

Sirius didn’t slow down. He kept his eyes straight ahead, fists shoved in his jacket pockets, his whole body tense—like if he stopped moving, if he stopped deflecting, if he stopped running—even just for a second—something inside him would catch up.

Remus sighed, shaking his head. “You know, for a guy who wanted to meet in a ‘totally not gay’ way, you sure seem nervous.”

Sirius scoffed. “I’m not nervous.”

Remus hummed, unconvinced. “Right. You always walk like you’re being chased by a demon?”

Sirius didn’t respond.

Remus studied him for a beat, then, with a smirk, bumped their shoulders together. “Relax, Black. I don’t bite.”

Sirius tensed at the touch, glancing at him sideways. “You’re annoying.”

“I’ve been told,” Remus said, unbothered. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, tilting his head. “You know, you’re much chattier over text.”

Sirius gritted his teeth. “I talk plenty.”

“Mm,” Remus drawled. “If you say so.”

They walked a little farther in silence, the air still thick with something Sirius didn’t want to name.

Then—

"You look good tonight," Remus said casually, watching him from the corner of his eye.

Sirius nearly tripped over a tree root.

His face burned. "What?"

Remus just smirked. "I said you look good tonight, really pretty." He shrugged. "But you know that, don’t you?"

Sirius huffed, looking away. "You're full of shit."

Remus grinned, shoving him lightly again. "So modest."

Sirius’ pulse pounded in his throat. He liked this, he realized—the easy banter, the way Remus was looking at him, the way his voice dipped just slightly into something dangerous—

He liked it.

And he hated that he liked it.

So he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, squared his shoulders, and changed the subject.

“How was practice today?”

“You know, it was pretty weird.” Remus started, voice frusteratingly casual, “I think Regulus has a crush on your buddy James.”

Sirius let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me something I dont know.” 

Remus raised an eyebrow, questioning. 

Sirius kept walking, faster now, like he could outrun the weight pressing against his ribs. But then, without thinking, without meaning to, without even realizing it—

He kept going.

“You know, I think one of the only reasons Reg was so good at hockey was so guys would look at him,” Sirius muttered, voice distant. “He never talked much, not really. But if he was undeniably good, if he was the best, they’d have no choice but to notice him.”

Remus stayed silent, watching Sirius carefully, waiting.

Sirius swallowed hard, forcing out a laugh. “Guess it worked. Even James still talks about him.”

Remus hummed, thoughtful. “And what about you?”

Sirius tensed. “What about me?”

Remus shrugged. “You talk about him a lot too.”

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I spent years trying to get out of his shadow. Regulus was—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, shaking his head like he could shake the thought away.

Then—

“I remember one time,” Sirius said, voice quieter now, more strained, like the words were slipping out before he could stop them. “Our dad caught him dabbing the tiniest bit of our mom’s lipstick onto his cheeks.” His breath hitched slightly. “Just enough to make them look a little pinker. Just enough to make himself seen.”

Remus' chest tightened.

Sirius let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “And our dad wiped it off so hard, his cheeks almost bled.” His jaw clenched. “Told him if he ever tried that shit again, he’d make sure he had something real to cover up.”

Remus inhaled slowly, steady, like he was carefully choosing his next words.

But before he could speak, Sirius scoffed, shaking his head like he could shake off the weight of it all.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, voice hard again, slipping back into the role he knew best. “He quit. Gave up the only thing that made him worth a damn. Now he’s just…” He exhaled sharply, his lips curling. “Pathetic.”

Remus, shook his heas. “That doesn’t make him pathetic.”

“Ok fine, it make him stupid. He’s always been like that. Stupid. Trying to gain the attention of straight guys...” He exhaled sharply, his expression darkening. “He’s gonna get himself hurt.”

Remus tilted his head. “I mean, James doesn’t seem like the type to—”

“He’s lucky James is nice,” Sirius cut in. His voice was clipped, hard, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “Most guys like us wouldn’t be.”

Remus’ entire demeanor shifted.

He stopped walking.

“…Us?”

Sirius hesitated.

His breath curled white in front of him, his pulse pounding against his throat.

“…Straight guys. Athletes. I don’t know,” he muttered, voice hollow, eyes fixed on the ground. “It’s just a different world.”

Remus stayed quiet for a second before challenging.

“Oh, cause you're so straight?”

Sirius exhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing further, like he was trying to shrink into himself. “I just… I feel lucky I’m not like him.”

“…Like him how?” Remus’ voice was soft now, but there was an edge beneath it. “Brave enough to be true to himself?”

Sirius’ head snapped up. “Come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I think I’m gonna go.”

The words slammed into Sirius’ chest like a punch.

His stomach dropped.

Remus’ expression was unreadable, but his hands were curled into fists, his jaw tight.

“You need to figure yourself out,” Remus continued, voice low, controlled. “Because I have too much self-respect to pretend I don’t notice when a guy doesn’t want to be seen with me.”

“Wait—” Sirius reached out instinctively, but Remus just took a step back.

“No, I don’t even know why I came…” Remus ran a hand through his hair, voice suddenly tight, sharp with something Sirius didn’t want to name. “Maybe I thought alone, you’d be different.”

Sirius scoffed, stepping back like he’d been burned. “Well, that was your first fucking mistake.”

Remus stilled. “Excuse me?”

“You’re acting like this is my fault,” Sirius snapped, his voice rising. “Like I led you here, like I promised you something.” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “I told you not to expect anything from me. You made an assumption. You were wrong.”

Remus let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Right. My mistake.”

Sirius exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. “Christ, you’re acting like—”

“Like what?” Remus cut in. “Like I thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely full of shit?”

Sirius’ eyes flashed. “Well, you were wrong.”

Remus’ face hardened. “Maybe I was.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Sirius’ breath came fast, his hands shaking where they were shoved deep into his coat pockets.

Remus took a step back.

Then another.

He let out a slow, measured breath, schooling his expression into something neutral.

“Maybe I made it all up in my head,” he said quietly. “Maybe you really are just… this.”

Sirius' stomach twisted.

And for the first time since he had arrived, Sirius felt the cold.

The wind bit at his exposed skin, seeped into his bones, wrapped around him like a noose.

Because he knew.

He had fucked up.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sirius didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Because he wasn’t sure if he could.

And then—

Remus turned on his heel—

And walked away.

Leaving Sirius standing there, alone, in the dark, cold, shaking, and absolutely fucking terrified.

But the worst part, was that in that moment all he could think about was his dad.

…

Sirius, Age 15

The locker room still smelled like sweat and blood and cheap fucking detergent.

Sirius sat on the bench, his skates still laced tight, his hair damp with sweat. His body ached from the game—the lingering sting of a hard check, the dull throb in his wrist from blocking a slapshot—but none of it compared to the slow-building pressure in his chest as he heard his father’s voice echoing through the hallway.

He didn’t need to turn around to know Orion Black was pissed.

Sirius knew that tone. Knew the way his father’s footsteps always landed a little harder when he was disappointed.

Knew the way his stomach always twisted when he had to face him after a game that wasn’t perfect.

Still, he didn’t expect the first words out of his father’s mouth to be—

“Regulus would have been better.”

Sirius’ fingers tightened around the laces of his skates.

Orion stepped in front of him, arms crossed, expression cold. “He wouldn’t have missed those shots. Wouldn’t have taken so damn long to get his head in the game.”

Sirius gritted his teeth. “Regulus quit.”

Orion scoffed. “Yeah. Because he’s a pansy.” His lip curled in disgust. “And what’s your excuse?”

Sirius forced himself to stay still. Forced himself not to react.

He should have been used to this by now.

The endless comparisons. The way his father always spoke about Regulus with resentment, even though the younger son had always been his favorie. 

But now?

Now, Sirius wasn’t just competing with his teammates.

He was competing with a ghost.

“I did fine,” Sirius muttered. “Coach said—”

“I don’t give a shit what Coach said,” Orion snapped. “I give a shit about results. And right now, you’re just as soft as your brother.”

Sirius didnt even have time to respond, all their dad would talk about was Regulus. Obsessing over the perfect son he had lost.

“I should’ve known,” Orion muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve never let your mother push that fucking violin on him. That’s when it started. All that time around those… types. Soft, delicate, weak.” His voice dropped into something like disgust. “And now? Now I have to listen to people whisper about my own son like he’s some kind of joke.”

Sirius swallowed hard, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“But at least he was good,” Orion continued. “At least before he ruined himself, he had something to offer. You?” His gaze flicked over Sirius, sharp and assessing. “You don’t even have that.”

Sirius felt something ugly curl in his stomach.

“I’m not like him,” he said quickly. “I’m not—”

Orion cut him off with a sharp look. “You better not be.I can only handle one disappointment for a son.”

Sirius stayed silent.

Orion exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We let you have your stupid rock and roll obsession. Let you run around in that damn leather jacket even though it makes you look like a goddamn queer.”

Sirius flinched, but Orion didn’t notice.

Or if he did, he didn’t care.

Sirius forced himself to nod, even as something inside him twisted painfully.

“You slip? Even once? And you won’t be my son.”

The words landed like a slap, but Sirius just nodded again, keeping his face blank.

This was how it always went.

He took it.

And then he locked it all away.

But that night, when he sat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way his father said it—

Like being Regulus was the worst thing in the world.

Like that was the biggest failure he could imagine.

And Sirius?

Sirius couldn’t afford to fail.

So he had to be everything Regulus wasn’t.

And he had to never, ever slip.

…

 Sirius stood there for a long time.

The wind howled through the trees, biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. His hands were still clenched into fists in his pockets, his jaw still locked tight, his whole body still stiff with something he didn’t want to name.

Because it wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t frustration.

It wasn’t even regret.

It was something worse.

Something like fear.

Because Remus had looked at him—really looked at him—and Sirius knew, knew, that for a split second, Remus had seen everything.

And worse, Sirius had wanted to let him.

He had wanted to take a step closer instead of pulling away.

He had wanted to tell him the truth.

The truth that he wasn’t lucky to not be like Regulus—he was fucking jealous. That he wasn’t avoiding coffee shops because of what other people would think—he was avoiding them because of what it would mean to him. That every part of him wanted to turn around right now, chase Remus down, and just—

No.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath.

It was a momentary lapse in judgment. That was all.

A mistake.

Like all the other ones.

Like the way he liked the way Remus looked at him. Like the way his stomach flipped when Remus called him pretty. Like the way he had rushed out of his apartment the second he got that text—not even stopping to think, not even hesitating.

None of it mattered.

He just slipped.

Just for a second.

And Sirius Black doesn’t slip.

Not ever.

So he forced himself to breathe.

Forced himself to move, turning on his heel, walking back toward campus like nothing had happened.

And if his heart was pounding too hard?

If his throat felt too tight?

If his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the cold?

Then that was just another thing to lock away.