A Bird At Your Door

A shiver trembles through Sirius, racing up his spine, and he blames the crisp air. Remus leans closer, and his lips are parting-- and Sirius shrieks as a chunk of wet, numbing snow is rubbed into his cheek. He squirms beneath him, twisting his head away, but Remus only presses him harder into the glacial ground. When Remus sits back, Sirius glowers darkly, using his freed arm to wipe his face with his sleeve. He can't quite remember how to breathe, and Remus is still over him, their legs tangled and bent at odd angles. "You were a lot nicer to me when you were sick." Sirius says. "I was weak." Remus smiles, and the warmth from his body fades as he gets to his feet. "Don't get used to it." Of pub quizzes, old films, Chinese takeaways, broken arms, and impassioned discussions of literature: Remus is confusing, and Sirius is just trying to figure him out.

"So I will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door."- Moon Song, Phoebe Bridgers.