A Bird At Your Door

January third. Sirius' phone rings. Again. And again. He's just stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, when the buzzing cuts through the damp air. 

"Hello." He says, running a hand through his wet hair. "Sirius Black speaking."

"It's Remus. Remus Lupin?" said the voice down the line, rough and cracking on the last syllable. Blinking, Sirius pulls his phone away to stare at the number, and then puts it up to his ear again. "I got your number from Lily."

"Okay…"

"I-- um-- can you get me something?"

There's something painful in his voice, some sort of ache, and Sirius frowns as he paces into his bedroom. "Are you okay?" He asks. 

"Yeah, um," Remus pauses, his breaths uneven. "Sorry for calling. Everyone else has gone home for the holidays."

Rolling his eyes, Sirius wriggles into his jeans and fumbles for the nearest t-shirt. "Remus. What do you need?"

"I've run out of painkillers. I would get them myself but, I, um, I can't leave my flat. I'll leave the door open."

He winces as he digs his feet into his boot, and snatches up his car keys from the counter. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes." 

*

When he arrives at Remus' flat, the door is unlocked and he nudges it open with his elbow. Darkness drapes over the furniture, casting them as soft shadows. 

"Remus?" He calls out, shrugging off his jacket. Only silence greets him, so he wanders towards the hallway, drawn towards the golden shard of light flooding out from the gap in a door. "Remus?" He says again as he pushes it further ajar.  

Inside, a figure stirs beneath a patchwork blanket, uttering a soft reply into the quiet. The room is small, and Sirius knocks into a wooden chest of drawers as he steps inside.  

"You're here." Remus murmurs, lifting himself from the mattress, his covers wrapped around his shoulders. The curls of his hair are tousled, unruly, and his skin is flushed red, sweat clinging to his neck, his shoulder. The gleam of his eyes is dull, like glass and honey, like he doesn't quite believe Sirius is standing there. 

"Yeah," Sirius pulls the small box of ibuprofen from his bag and sets it on his bedside table, before sitting down on the side of the bed. "I come bearing medicine." 

"Thank you." Remus chews at his lip, his mouth already red and bitten. He pushes out two of the tablets and swallows them down, dry. 

"You don't look good. Don't you think you should see someone?"

"I get sick a lot. I'm fine." Remus says, rubbing his palm into his temple with furrowed brows. He's so pale, almost bloodless, and Sirius is gripped with the urge to feed him chicken soup. He glances up at Sirius from beneath dark eyelashes, laying his head against his pillow. "You don't have to stay." 

Sirius ignores this, and he stands from the bed. "You should go back to sleep."

Remus is quiet, but his eyes flutter close. Sirius slips back out into the hall. 

In the living room, he switches on one of the tall, leaning lamps, and stoops to twist the radiator higher in heat. He packs away the food that he bought from the corner shop-- porridge, chocolate, Earl Grey, oranges-- in the cupboards. His fingers dance over the books stacked on the counter, and he picks out one that he knew: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. 

For the next hour, Sirius sits on the sofa and skims through the pages. He remembers reading it when he was a child, curled up in his own wardrobe where his mother couldn't find him. He doesn't know what he's looking for in it. He avoids books as much as he can nowadays. Maybe he wants to know why it deserves to be on Remus' shelf. 

When he goes to Remus' room again, Remus is still asleep. Sirius shouldn't stay, but he does, standing there in the doorway for a moment and watching him. He’s got something clutched in his fist, so tightly that his knuckles are white. Sirius frowns and bends over him to take his hand, gently prising open his long fingers until his wrist drops loose across the mattress. 

It's the same silver chain he's seen hanging from his throat before. From it, a crescent moon charm glints, and now it sits in his palm, the edge imprinted into his life-lines, his skin. Remus rouses, and Sirius leans back as his eyes flicker open. 

"Sorry." He whispers. He really was an idiot. "I wasn’t trying to-- I didn’t want to wake you."

Remus follows his gaze, down to the necklace. "It’s my mum’s." He says, without any bite. "She loved all that stuff-- the moon and stars, I mean."

"My name is a star." Sirius smiles, and he sits back down on the side of the bed. 

"I know. The brightest one." Remus raises an eyebrow. His voice is clearer now, stronger, sharper. "You stayed."

"Should I go?"

Remus shakes his head, propping himself up on his elbows. "Probably won’t be able to get back to sleep anyway."

"I have the perfect solution for that." From his bag, Sirius draws out a tattered, green-covered book and grins. Remus opens his eyes a fraction wider to peer blearily at the gold-embossed title.

"Winnie-the-Pooh?"

"The greatest work of our time."

The corner of Remus' mouth curls in a smirk and he regards Sirius with a strange expression. "Christ, you really are unhinged, aren’t you?"

"Remus, you wound me!" Sirius clutches at his heart, "I used to read this to Regulus whenever he was sick."

"Who’s Regulus?"

Sirius pauses. "My little brother."

"I didn’t know you had a brother."

"I’m a man of mystery." Sirius forces a smile, mouth tight, and opens the book to the first page. He clears his throat. "Chapter 1: In which we are introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and some bees, and the stories begin."

Remus smiles and pulls his frayed blanket tighter around his shoulders, but he says nothing else as Sirius reads aloud in a low, melodic voice. By the time Sirius has finished the first chapter, Remus’ eyes are half-lidded.

"They all have such funny nicknames." He says, sounding half-asleep.

Sirius nods, and closes the book to tuck it back in his bag. His gaze flickers over Remus' face as he straightens. "Maybe we should call you Piglet."

"Over my dead body." Remus scowls, but his eyes are closed now. 

"You’re right," Sirius sighs, thoughtfully, "You’re more of a Eeyore."

"And you’re more of a Tigger."

Sirius' gaze flickers down, and he leans an inch closer to run a thumb over the gentle curve of the pendant’s silver edge, the metal cold against his skin. "Moony." He says.

"What?" Remus murmurs, shifting against the pillows. 

"You can be Moony." He smiles, "Cause you're always so far away in your own little world."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You walk around with your head in your books half the time. You're Moony."

"That’s a stupid nickname." Remus buries his face in the pillow, but there's a smile hidden in his voice, lovely and secret.  

"Or Grumpy." Sirius says, "Like the dwarf."

"Shut up." 

*

Sirius is building a snowman.

Personally, he thinks it looks a little like James-- who Sirius is waiting for to come out his lecture on cranial nerves-- with his lumpy head and stick arms. It's been snowing for the past four days. It soaks through Sirius' black gloves and catches in his dark hair, and he catches the cold flakes of it on his tongue when he tips his head back to the pale sky. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of that taste, straight from the heavens, air and ice. 

The snowman is almost shaped to perfection when a flood of students begins to pour out of the lecture hall through the doors. His chin snaps up, but none of them are James; there is however, a familiar head of curls amongst the crowd. 

Alone, Remus is making his way down the steps, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf, his gaze trained on the icy ground. He's slow, slower than his classmates, who hurry ahead with their arms crossed against the cold. Grinning, Sirius turns to scrabble at the deep sheet of snow at his feet. 

"Heads up, Moony!" 

Remus turns just as a ball of freezing snow arcs towards him and smacks into his shoulder. 

For a moment, he just stands there, blinking, but then his bag slips from his hand. Sirius takes a few long steps back, boots crunching against the frosted grass, before Remus is striding towards him across the white-carpeted courtyard. A low noise of alarm sounds in Sirius' throat as he scrambles away, but he runs too late, and Remus has grasped hold of his arm.  

"Have mercy!" Sirius cries, and in the struggle, they both slip on the ice, plummeting into a snow drift. 

For a moment, everything is white. Sirius pants, lying there on his back as the cold and damp seeps through his jacket. When he opens his eyes, Remus is there, staring down at him with those bright eyes of his. His gloved fingers have not loosened their grip of Sirius' wrist. 

"Fancy seeing you here." He says, when Remus doesn't speak. 

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."

Then he is gone, but Sirius lies there for a long time, until James finally appears, staring up at the grey sky and thinking about Remus' hand on his wrist. 

*

"What are you doing today?"

Remus doesn't look at Sirius as he falls into stride with him on the pavement, but he lets his shoulder rise and fall in a slouched shrug. "Nothing." 

The snow has settled, beginning to melt down the drains and into the grass, but the clouds are still pressing down on them as they walk past the neat rows of shops. Sirius pulls Remus a little closer by his arm and doesn't let go. "This morning I had a very elaborate dream about getting food from the market. I feel like it's a cosmic sign, don't you?"

"Do you really believe in cosmic signs?"

Sirius scrunches his nose and tugs Remus' silly green woolen winter hat further down his forehead, over his eyes. "No, but I do believe in predestination, so really it's futile to resist."

"Don’t I have any free will?" Remus says, glancing over at him as he readjusts his hat. 

"Absolutely none." Sirius replies, shaking his head with vigor. "Didn’t you hear? Nietzsche is strongly against it."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Isn't it pronounced Nietzsche?"

"No one knows how it's pronounced, Moony. Don't be silly." Sirius smiles, squeezing at his elbow, "We're going to the market."

The market is still strung up with warm, golden lights from Christmas, and there are vendors clamoring from every red-draped stall, the steam from their stoves rising into the arctic air. Sirius orders chicken pad thai from a smiling young woman. When he turns around, Remus has evaporated into the bustling crowd. Minutes later, he returns, clutching a chocolate-smothered crêpe like it's his newborn child. 

"Moony?" Sirius says, when they have taken a seat on one of the damp benches in the square. He twists a yellow noodle around his fork, gazing down at his takeaway box. "Are you going to get sick again?"

"No." Remus replies, flatly. "I plan on never falling ill again in my life."

It's started to rain, drizzling and cold, but neither of them move. Sirius sniffs and frowns at him, shoving a pierced piece of chicken into his mouth. "I don't feel like you're taking me seriously. I feel mocked."

Remus rolls his eyes and takes another large bite of his crepe, chocolate smearing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out to catch it, and Sirius' gaze catches on his mouth, brain stuttering. Shit.  

"Does it happen a lot?" Sirius asks once his heart has stopped galumphing around in his chest. "It seems like it does."

"Yes." Remus swallows and gazes out across the market. "It does."

"Oh." 

For a long time, or around two minutes, Remus is silent, and to Sirius felt like an hour. He blinks up at the horizon, a drop of rain splattering across his cheek. Then Remus is twisting his head to look at Sirius and he's saying, "I had meningitis last year. Nearly dropped out."

Sirius freezes, his throat tightening. "Okay." He replies, his voice very soft, but it doesn't sound quite like enough. He's thinking of Marlene, of what she had told him: I heard he got sick. He pauses to rub at the sudden sting in his chest, and then offers Remus a tentative forkful of his noodles. 

A smile twitches at the corners of Remus' wonderful mouth and he shakes his head. "It's fine, Sirius. I'm better now. My immune system is just ruined, so I get sick more easily." 

The trickle of rain is growing heavier, dashing at the cobblestones as the market vendors hurry to rescue their stools from the damp. Sirius tugs up the hood of his jacket, and says, "That's why I never saw you around last year."

"You wouldn't have noticed me." 

"I noticed you this year, didn't I?" 

"No, you didn't. Not really." Remus raises a clever eyebrow. "Too busy with your own head up your arse."

He really doesn't have a fucking clue. Sirius frowns. "You’re mean, Moony."

"I think you like it when I’m mean to you." Remus replies, mildly.

Drawing in a sharp, indignant breath, Sirius opens his mouth to argue, but before he can even get a word out, Remus is shoving his crepe between Sirius' teeth. He grumbles a low, irritated noise around the thick mouthful of sweet pancake and rich chocolate. 

All the same, he thinks, maybe, Remus is right. 

*

For Lily’s birthday, they have a takeaway and play cards at her and James’ apartment. And for once, when Sirius sees Remus standing in the room, in deep conversation with James, he doesn't feel like running a mile. It makes for a good change. 

Instead, he aims for Remus like a target and stops to listen to what they're saying, some debate about the ethical choices of doctors that has James practically foaming at the mouth with excitement. And he watches Remus, carefully, watches his mouth as he talks, the way it curves and twists and is trapped now and then by his teeth.  

When James bounces away to grab another spring roll from the heaving table of food, Sirius leans into Remus' side and whispers in his ear, "You're far too rude to me to be interested in ethics."

Remus smiles, his hand gentle at the small of his back. "You don't count."

"I count the most." Sirius frowns and steals Remus' drink from his hand to take a long sip. It’s something fizzy and sweet, champagne probably, which he knows will give him hiccups. "I'm very important."

"Are you?" 

"Yes." He narrows his eyes, and James is walking back over, his mouth stuffed full with prawn crackers. "I am."

*

Wiping off his mud-streaked boots on the steps, Sirius gazes up at the hall. For once, he's early to his class and he's frozen to the fucking bone. He forgot his gloves and the skin of his hands has been bleached a numb white. Sirius tries to shake the ache out as he hurries inside the building.

When he's inside, he catches a glimpse of Remus, standing outside one of the seminar rooms. Sirius grins as he watches him. Students mill around Remus, the chattering of their voices rising through the passage, but he's there, leaning one hip against the wall as he turns the pages of his book. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. He's chewing at his lip, teeth worrying. 

Silent, Sirius presses behind him and slips his hands beneath the hem of his brown knitted jumper, pressing his freezing palms to the hot skin of Remus' flat stomach. Remus jolts, nearly dropping his book, and twists his head back. 

"Sirius? What the hell are you doing?" He hisses.

"You're so warm, Moony." Sirius sighs. He swallows as he feels the gentle fluttering of Remus' chest beneath his fingers, the smooth, tensing stretch of his abdomen. "I must absorb it."

"You fucking leech." He says, but he doesn't try to move away. Sirius rests his forehead against the back of his neck, and breathes him in. Oh God. Sirius flushes. He wants to lick his neck. He wants to bite him. What is he, a dog?

"Haven't you got a class to get to?" Remus asks him.

“No.” He frowns, “What’s your seminar on, anyway?”

“The Canterbury Tales.” 

Humming, Sirius ignores the pang of jealousy and shifts closer, his thumb circling the dip of his waist under his shirt. "Interesting." 

"Sirius." Remus says, his voice suddenly tightening. "Um. Everyone's going in." 

Sirius raises his gaze to see that the rest of the crowd were beginning to filter through the doorway, leaving them alone in the corridor. He sighs and pulls away, pushing out his bottom lip, but Remus is already bolting from him like he's an electric wire. 

He doesn't even glance back as he slips into the classroom, and Sirius just stands there, his hands starting to come back to life. 

*

"I'm going out." Marlene announces as she steps out from her room. She's scraping her blonde hair back from her face and clipping it behind her head with a black grip. "Might not be back for a while."

Sprawled across the sofa, Sirius raises his head above the cushions to narrow his eyes at her, "Are you dressed up?"

She stares back at him, arms folding across her chest. "No." 

"You're wearing a skirt. You never wear skirts."

"Shut up, Black."

He sits up so quickly that all the blood rushes to his head, but he blinks through the blackness swarming at the edges of his vision and jabs an accusing finger in the air. "You're going on a date!"

Marlene rolls her eyes and stalks across the living room to pluck her bag from the kitchen table. "There's no need to get hysterical about it."

"Who is it?"

"A girl. You don't know her." 

Sirius juts out his bottom lip, but Marlene is tossing her head and opening the front door, her keys clutched between her fingers as she gives him a strange little salute goodbye.

"Stay out of trouble!"

The door clicks shut behind her and he listens to the stomp of her footsteps down the hall. Sirius breathes out a long sigh, tipping his chin back to glare at the ceiling. 

They're drilling into the road outside, something about cracks in the tarmac. After a few minutes of attempting to ignore the heavy whirring outside his window, Sirius scrabbles underneath him for where his phone is digging into his hip. He scrolls for Remus' number, saved as Moony with as many hearts he could cram into the character count, and calls him. 

"Come over." Sirius says as soon as he hears the intake of Remus' breath from the other end.

"Why?"

"I'm bored. I might die from it. You are my only cure, my last hope, my shining miracle."

Remus' laugh crackles down the line. "You're always bored. You have the brain of a three year old."

"Moony. Come over."

"Fine. When?"

Sirius cranes his neck to squint at the crooked clock on the back wall. "I expect you in twenty minutes, minimum." 

"Twenty minutes?" Remus huffs, and Sirius smiles at the sullen drag in his voice. "What if I had other plans?"

"Then you shouldn't have double-booked yourself, Remus." He croons, yanking his blanket tighter around his shoulders.  "That's not on me, that's on you."

"Understandable." mutters Remus, "I'll see you at 5:36 on the dot."

"Lovely."

At 5:37 pm, there’s a loud knocking at his front door. Remus doesn’t wait for Sirius to invite him in before stepping inside, unwinding his scarf from his throat and throwing it on the back of one of the chairs. He raises his brows at where Sirius lies prone across the sofa, and his pale face is worn just a little with exhaustion, but his eyes are bright. 

"Moony!" Sirius waves a hand in the direction of the kitchen counter. "Pass me the remote."

"If you dragged me over here just for that, I'm going to strangle you." Remus says, politely, and throws the remote at his head. Sirius narrowly dodges the missile before it can hit his cheek, then stretches to fumble for where it lands on the carpet. 

"I'm in training," Sirius grins as he switches on the television. "Over the holidays, I intend to never once move from this spot."

Remus kicks off his boots and places them neatly by the shoe rack. Sirius rolls his eyes in a very pointed manner, but wriggles to make room for him on the sofa as he wanders closer. 

"Aren't you going home for Easter?" Remus asks. 

"No."

Flopping down next to him, Remus is looking at him as if he expects further explanation, but all Sirius does is settle his legs over his lap. He’s warm, and he smells like chocolate. Remus pinches at his thigh as he says– "You didn't go home for Christmas either."

In retaliation, Sirius shoves his toes into Remus’ side, but he knows he has to answer. He sighs. "It would be very pointless, considering there's nothing to go back to." 

Remus catches his ankle in a tight grip before he can inflict any more damage, but he’s staring more intently now. "Nothing?"

"My parents disowned me last August.” Sirius winces, because suddenly his mind is fixed on Regulus again, and the horrible, drowning feeling is back in his chest. "Before second year started."

"Really?" Remus’ shoulders slump, and his lips are parted, like he’d been half way to saying something else before stuttering around the words.

Sirius lowers his head, because he doesn’t want to meet the deep pull of his eyes. "We had conflicting interests." He grins, even if it doesn't feel very convincing. "My parents are very religious, they always hated that I didn’t believe in God like they did. And when mother walked in on me and-- um-- a guy, she lost her shit.”

"Oh." Remus says, unreadable, and he releases his hold on Sirius’ leg to settle back in his seat. "So you don't talk to them?”

"Never."

“At all?”

“I don’t want to.” replies Sirius, his voice a little sharper than he likes. He thinks about the dozen letters crammed into his desk drawer in his room, all addressed to his little brother and all unsent. He thinks about his mother’s coldness creeping down the phone. 

Chewing at his lip, Remus just frowns at him, then tears his gaze away to blink at the television, "What are we watching?"

"Something appalling." Sirius shifts closer to him, leaning against his shoulder, and switches the channel to The Bachelor. 

Sirius wakes up an hour later. He’s fallen asleep, of course he bloody has. There’s just something about Remus, the hot press of his arm, his breathing, his gaze that flicker over him like a balefire, that has Sirius sinking into his side, curling up like a dog. Flushed, rising up from the drowsy blackness, Sirius’ eyes flit open. The show must have ended, because all he can hear is the sigh of Remus’ chest, and the droning of the road works outside. 

He doesn’t want to sit up, not just yet, and he realises that Remus’ fingers are in his hair, carding through the dark locks, his knuckles brushing against the top of his ear. A swooping, burning jolt heaves at his stomach, and Sirius buries his face further into Remus’ woolen jumper. He wants to fall back asleep. His eyes flutter closed again with a small hum from his mouth.

"Are you awake?" Remus asks him, voice low and tired.

Sirius smiles, a little glad to be hidden. "No."

"You just subjected me to the worst hour of my life." Remus mutters, and Sirius stiffens, only for a moment. "You have a lot of nerve to put on the worst show in the world and then fall asleep and miss the entire thing."

Laughing, Sirius twists so that his head is in Remus’ lap and stares up at him, the unimpressed quirk of his eyebrow. His necklace has slipped free from under the collar of his sweater, the silver crescent swinging as he leans over Sirius. "Not a fan of The Bachelor, Moony?"

"All the contestants look the exact same. I think they cloned them."

"People fear that which they don’t understand."

Remus is looking down at him, smiling, and he strokes his thumb over Sirius’ left eyebrow. "I bow to your superior intellect."

Sirius stills and he is suddenly very worried that he’s going to pass out. The blood has drained from his head and it is heading south, heat rushing down to pool at his navel. Shit. Thank God for the fucking blankets. 

When a minute passes and Sirius is still lying there in a painful silence, Remus squints down at him, and he’s biting at his lip, again. It’s a persistent habit. 

"You’ve gone all quiet." Remus says, eventually.

"Ha." Sirius squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of very unappealing things, like his dead grandma and James’ old football socks, but Remus’ hand is in his hair again, and he wants to shrink into the sofa. "Shouldn’t you be celebrating?"

“It really is a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, you’re right.” murmurs Remus, but he’s still watching him closely. “Are you okay?”

Sirius grits his teeth. "Peachy."

*

An unregistered number keeps calling him.

At first, Sirius thinks it must be a scam, so he ignores it, but on the third day, and sixth call, he picks up as he walks between classes with Remus at his side. He had been saying something before the first ring from his pocket, something he’ll probably never remember, but he cuts himself off.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, and answers the call.

“Sirius?” says the urgent voice from the other end, and Sirius nearly trips over his own feet as he crashes into a first year. She casts him a nasty look and hurries off, but he’s stood still in the middle of the path. Remus has stopped next to him and watches him, eyes suddenly sharp. 

“Reg.” Sirius can barely get it out. “Shit. Is that you?”

“Obviously.”

“How the hell– how are you calling me?”

“Found a payphone.” Regulus sighs, “I’ve been telling mother I had a godforsaken book club so I could walk to the nearest village and call you. Took you long enough to pick up, I’m freezing!”

“Shit.” Sirius says again, because it’s a good summary of how he feels. He glances up at Remus, twisting his mouth into a tight smile and then turns away to speak, his voice lower. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It is.” Regulus says, quickly, and the words shake as if he’s afraid Sirius will hang up, but Sirius is gripping his phone so hard he’s afraid it might snap. “I had to find a way to talk to you.”

“You didn’t hear Mother. She was furious.”

“You can’t leave me here alone.” Regulus’ voice climbs louder, higher, and Sirius fists a hand in his hair. He wants to kick something, but settles for digging his nails into the back of his neck. “She’s just upset, I think she misses you.”

“I don’t have any choice.” Sirius hisses down the phone. “Listen, Reggie. We both know you’d be blamed if they found out. It’s for your own good.”

There’s crackling silence, and then a cutting, trembling breath, and then his brother snarls, “You’re a coward, Sirius.”

The line goes dead. It hums in his ear, hissing at him as he stands there, lips still parted with the reply he didn’t get to give. He swears, out loud, and throws his phone at the pavement. It goes skidding along gravel. There’s a touch at his elbow, a palm sliding up his arm, and he knows it's Remus, but he doesn’t want to look at him yet, so he squeezes his eyes shut against the afternoon light.

“Sirius?” Remus says, near his ear, quiet. “Do you want to skip your class?”

Sirius’ eyes snap back open and he turns to him. “Remus Lupin, you can’t possibly be offering to skive off your lecture with me.”

“I might be.”

“You really are an enigma.”

“I have to keep you on your toes.” Remus smiles, but it looks a little sad. He bends to pick up his phone from the tarmac and places it gently in Sirius’ open hand. A crack is now splintered down the middle of the screen. “Or one day you’ll bore of me.”

“I would never find you boring, Moony.” Sirius says, and he means it. 

They walk until they find a stretch of damp grass, even though winter is still creeping through the air and there are children shrieking over by a swing. Sirius folds his legs beneath him when they sit down, biting back the urge to throw his phone again, this time in a pond or a river or a gutter, and watch it sink to the very bottom. Instead, he shivers and frowns at nothing and tries not to think.

Remus fiddles with the sleeve of his jumper. “Was that your brother?”

“Yes.” Sirius stares out at the stark lines of trees. “I’ve been forbidden to talk to him by my mother and he didn’t take it well.” He sighs, “It’s probably better like this. If he hates me, he won’t try to call me again.”

“I’m sure he couldn’t hate you.” 

“You don’t even know him.” Sirius snaps back at him, fixing him with a hard stare, chest tight, so tight, he has to take a breath before he goes on. “How would you know what he feels?”

Remus doesn’t flinch, he just watches Sirius in that way that makes him feel like he’s a storm or a powder-keg, a few sparks from splitting. “He’s your brother.” He says.

“That doesn’t mean shit.” Palms pressed to his eyes, Sirius bows his head, knowing he shouldn’t be raising his voice, not at Remus. He swallows down the blazing anger settling on his tongue, pulse flitting at his neck like a trapped bird. “Blood isn’t thicker than water in the Black family. It’s only a matter of time before he starts believing everything my mother tells him about me, and he’ll never see me again.”

The high grate of the swings thrums, back and forth, back and forth, and Remus still isn’t saying anything, so Sirius raises his head from out of his hands to look at him. He’s frowning out at nothing, picking at a loose thread of his frayed jeans.

“Does he love you, Sirius?” Remus asks, finally. 

“Yes.” Sirius says, because he does believe that, at least. 

“Then don’t give up on him yet.”

Sirius falls back to lie down across the grass, and the endless sweep of white stretches above him, marked only by the slow rising of a slivered moon. “He’s right.” He mutters, “I am a coward.”

Remus exhales a small, unreadable sound, and suddenly all Sirius can see is his face, his wry smile as he leans over Sirius and tells him– “You are braver than you believe, smarter than you seem, and stronger than you think.” 

“Remus.” Sirius blinks up at him and then tilts his head. “That’s plagiarism.”

“Hm?”

“I could report you to the university board, you know.”

“Why would you do that?” Remus replied, studying his bitten nails blithely.

“You can’t take credit for Winnie-the-Pooh’s words.” Grinning, Sirius shoves his hand into his chest. A stuttering, mindless, warmth trembled up his spine, settling in the skin of his cheeks. “He’s just an innocent bear.”

Remus regains his balance and narrows his eyes. “I think he stole it from me, actually.”

“Slander.” Sirius props himself up on his elbows, and he knows the grass will stain his t-shirt. “I should challenge you to a duel. Someone find me a gauntlet to throw at this young ruffian’s feet!"

“You couldn’t take me.” Remus says, and his gaze is suddenly very dark and very golden for a flashing, fleeting moment, but then he gets to his feet. “Come on. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

*

On a rainy Tuesday, Sirius walks in on Marlene kissing a girl on their sofa.

“Good heavens!” He exclaims as he drops his keys on the counter, and the jangle of them has the pair jolting into upright positions. Marlene’s hair is a mess, her blue eyes narrowed at him with fury. “How indecent.”

“Bugger off.” Marlene snaps at him as he walks closer, which only makes Sirius want to laugh at her. For fear of losing a limb, he doesn’t. The girl who Marlene had been kissing peeks her head over the sofa and offers him a sly grin. Her dark dreads bounce as she rises with an outstretched hand. 

“I’m Dorcas.” She says, brightly. Sirius shakes it with two eager pumps, and then winks at Marlene. “Dorcas Meadowes.”

“Wonderful.” Sirius smiles, leaning his hip against the kitchen table. “Sirius Black, though I’m sure Marlene has told you all about me. Her best friend, her confidant, the best flatmate she will ever have.” 

Silent, Marlene sticks her middle finger up at him and pulls a snickering Dorcas back down onto the sofa.

*

“Fuck!”

Sirius yelps and jerks away from James as his gangly elbow catches the side of his beer glass, but it’s too late: his trousers are drenched, cold and soaking and sticky. Barely shoving his laughter back down, James fumbles for napkins to mop up the mess. 

It is a Saturday night, and they have stormed a small backstreet restaurant for greasy pizza and excessive alcohol. Lily had an essay due and Marlene had offered vague excuses not to come, but Sirius had known by the glint of her eyes that she planned to see Dorcas instead. It doesn’t seem to matter much, as James is drinking enough for two people besides, and his limbs are growing more and more wild by the second. 

The beer is still dripping down the edge of the table, and Sirius scrambles from the spill before it can inflict any more damage. Remus is rolling his eyes as Sirius squirms closer, but he’s flushed with gin and tonic, mouth wet and pink, and Sirius is giddy with it. 

"These are my only clean jeans!" Sirius glares at James, who hasn't stopped grinning, ear to ear. "What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?"

"Nothing?" Remus murmurs under his breath, and Sirius is near breaking his neck when he swivels to look at him, heat flaring up his spine. 

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, Moony?" He says, narrowing his eyes, but Remus is unfluttered and takes another long, slow sip of his drink. 

"Or you could do your laundry." pipes up Peter from the corner, where he had been watching them. 

"That's enough from you, Judas." Sirius flicks his paper straw at Peter’s head. “This is a disaster! It’s a travesty!”

“For the love of God–” Remus sighs and snatches at the napkins to blot at the dark spot staining across his thigh with the crumpled tissue. Throat constricting, Sirius jolts, his shoulder nearly smacking Remus in the chin, but Remus seizes hold of his knee and holds his twitching leg firmly in place.

“Moony,” Sirius says, weakly. “It’s fine, really.”

“Oh, now it’s fine.” Remus mutters absently, without looking up. “Really, Sirius, you could complain for fucking England.”

Across the table, Sirius catches James’ eye, only to find he is already watching the two of them, a smile crooked at the corner of his lips, but he has other problems to deal with. Not now not now not now– 

“Bathroom!” Sirius barks, lurching away from the press of Remus’ hand, the clench of his fingers on his knee. Why did this keep happening? He stands, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs, like it wants to break free, and he takes a few steps backwards as his friends all stare at him. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He flees. 

When the four of them are stumbling home at eleven that same night, Sirius laughs at Peter and James struggling to hold each other up as they walk. His chest is more quiet now, floating on calmer seas, but his mouth runs dry when Remus falls into step with him. He’s slow, slower than the rest of them, and they fall behind the two dark shadows of their friends up ahead.

“Think you’ll be able to rescue your jeans?” Remus asks, softly.

“After a long bath and a good sleep, they’ll be in fighting shape in no time.”

Remus smiles and ducks his head as they pass under the pale gleam of the moon, and Sirius' veins are bursting with a strange fire and suddenly doesn’t want Remus to ever stop talking, so he says– “You didn’t go home for Christmas, Moony.” 

“What?”

“You said you were going to stay, but you never said why.”

“Oh.” Remus replies, quiet. “Haven’t, um, got much back home either.”

“What about your parents?”

For just a moment, Remus’ face is very still, but a muscle twitches in his jaw. He rubs his thumb across his cheek and looks at Sirius, carefully. “My mum died three years ago.” He says. 

“Shit.” Sirius stares back at him, and all at once, he feels sick. He stutters to a halt on the pavement, words feeling lost on his tongue. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

“Don’t.” Remus smiles tightly, but he stops as well. “Honestly, don’t. I don’t mind you asking. You told me about Regulus, and I… I’ve wanted to tell you.”

Sirius presses his lips together, but he nods. “What about your dad?”

“He’s there, he just–” Swallowing, Remus tugs at the brown hair coiling at his nape and the streetlight is spilling across his face again, casting the sharp angles in gold. “He remarried."

"Oh." 

“He spends his Christmases with her now.” Remus says, “And we don’t exactly get along. I’m a nasty reminder of mum, I think.”

“He’s still your dad.” Sirius has to fasten a muzzle on his voice, knowing how fierce he sounds, how tight his throat feels, and he glares out at the darkness, the inky shadows and distant city lights. “You should be able to go home.”

“I’m fine, Sirius.” Remus mumbles. “It’s okay, really.”

Sirius huffs. “No, it’s not.” 

“No,” Raising his chin, Remus smiles slightly, “I suppose it’s not.”

Up ahead, James is hooting something into the night, something slurred and unintelligible, and Sirius grabs Remus’ hand and squeezes as tightly as he can bear. They keep walking. 

*

“What are you going to do about Remus?” James asks Sirius on Sunday afternoon. 

“What?” Sirius glances up at him from where he sits at the kitchen table at James, who is there with his hip propped against the counter as he fries bacon on the stove. It's one of the only things James can make without burning his flat to the ground, and the air is thick with the smell of grease. “What do you mean?”

“When are you going to tell him that you love him?”

“Love?” Sirius stares, leaning back in his seat. There was that awful pinch again, stirring deep inside his chest where he was too afraid to look. “Remus? Love Remus?”

James just stands there, nonplussed, spatula in hand. “Yes.”

“I do not love Remus Lupin.” Sirius says, his voice rising a little higher than he would have liked. Suddenly, he's very glad that Lily has disappeared to the library to work. “He’s only just stopped hating me.”

“Fine, fine.” James snorts, and the bacon sizzles as he jabs at it. “When are you going to stop being a coward and kiss him, then?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I thought we’d just established–”

“James!”

“Okay!" He throws his hands up in defeat, and then swears under his breath as he knocks over the bottle of oil on the counter. He twists on his heel to look at Sirius, his dark eyes narrowed from behind his steamed glasses. "But you do like him, don’t you?”

Sirius pauses, licking at his dry lips. “In a very friendly, platonic way?”

“Stop being difficult or I’ll thump you.”

There was always very little point in evading James. 

“What’s with the third degree?” groans Sirius, dropping his head into his arms. “Yes, I’m obsessed with him. It’s very unhealthy and very dangerous. I want to shag him six ways to Sunday and then feed him toast. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Why, yes.” James says, very smugly, as he begins to scrape the bacon onto a plate. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“I do have eyes.”

“Big talk from someone who is close to legally blind.” Sirius mumbles under his breath, chewing at his thumb nail. 

“Don’t take your anguish out on me, Black, or I’ll set Lily on you.” James grins, and he wiggles his spatula at him, a thinly veiled threat. “Are you going to tell him or not?”

“Not.” Sirius says, unsmiling. “I’m too fragile for the humiliation.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sighing, James slaps a hand at his slumped shoulder. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at me like he’s Remus and I’m Sirius.” As always, Sirius' gaze flits over to the window, and the walls seem to shrink a little, closing in on him. “That’s it.”

*

The tenth of March. Sirius loves the tenth of March for two reasons. Firstly, it’s Remus Lupin’s birthday. Secondly, Sirius gets a very good excuse to hug Remus Lupin within an inch of his life.

It’s the first thing he does when Remus opens the door to his flat. Sirius wraps his arms tightly around his waist and pulls him in close, and smiles at Remus’ small noise of surprise. Almost reflexively, Remus’ fingers go to hair and he murmurs something low in Sirius’ ear that makes him shiver.

“Are you trying to crush my ribs?”

“Yes.” Sirius says, but he drags himself away. He glances over Remus’ shoulder at his open living room to see that a few of their friends had already arrived. “It’s the new birthday tradition, didn’t you hear?”

“I must be a bit behind.” 

“If you two are done–” Marlene clears her throat from behind Sirius, where she still stands in the hallway, tapping an impatient foot. The look on her face is nothing short of smug as she regards Sirius. “You’re not the only one who wants to wish Remus happy birthday, Black. Stop being so damn possessive.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at her, flushing red. “Shut up, Mckinnon.” He mumbles.

“Hello, Marlene.” Remus says, raising an eyebrow as he steps aside to let Sirius enter. James and Lily wave at Sirius from where they sit, jumbled together on an arm-chair, legs thrown over arms and dark and red hair tangled. As a couple, they really are sickening, even if Sirius loves them very much. 

Shaking his head, Sirius goes to the kitchen to place his neatly-wrapped present– a bar of chocolate and a green scarf that had made him think of Remus the moment he saw it– down on the table. By the time he’s made himself a drink, a strong vodka and cranberry, Remus has disappeared to talk to James and Lily.

On the other side of the room, Peter and Marlene hover near a man with smoothed blonde hair and an upturned nose, who Sirius has never seen before. He wanders over just in time to hear said man tell a very strange joke about Ulysses he doesn’t understand at all. Peter and Marlene seemed to realise that they were supposed to laugh, and both titter rather weakly, wide-eyed. 

“Alright?” Sirius asks, raising his glass and offering this blonde stranger a polite smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sirius.”

“Gilderoy Lockhart.” The man smiles, and his teeth have been bleached so white they are almost blinding. “You may have heard of me. I’m the president of the Literary society.”

“Ah.” says Sirius, although he has no idea who he is. “I suppose you must take English Literature too. Is that how you know Moony?”

“Moony?” Lockhart is staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. 

“Remus.” Sirius corrects, hastily. 

“Yes.” Lockhart blinks, and then the wide beam is glued back onto his lips as he nods. “I sit next to Remus in our lectures. He's quite lovely, isn't he?" 

It’s as if Sirius’ heart stops beating for a moment. He raises his head to look at Lockhart, frowning, but he has no idea what to say, how to respond. Luckily, Marlene glances at him with her wide, blue, knowing eyes, and cuts into the conversion for him. 

“Remus is always talking about how much he loves his course.” She says.

“Oh, it's a piece of cake, honestly.” Lockhart waves a dismissive hand, his laugh airy. “The professor practically begged me to apply for his internship next year."

“Wonderful.” mumbles Sirius, because he can’t just stand there in miserable silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Peter quietly excuse himself from the conversation to scurry off towards the kitchen. Rat. 

“What do you study?” Lockhart asks Marlene when he realises he’s not getting much else out of Sirius, who is starting to wish he never walked over here. 

“Media.” She answers, and Sirius can tell that she is trying very hard not to let her face show what she was feeling. Her mouth is twitching and she’s hiding her face behind her glass as she replies. 

Pausing, Lockhart lifts his brows in weighted silence, then looks at Sirius again. “And you?”

“Economics.”

“I wouldn’t ask him any questions.” Marlene snorts, elbowing Sirius in the side, who doesn’t want to look at her, or anyone, really. “Sirius doesn’t know the first thing about the economy.”

Sirius frowns, and says, rather stiffly. “It’s boring.”

“I can imagine.” Lockhart sniffs, slicking back a stray strand of his straight hair from his forehead. Biting down on his grimace, Sirius glances at Remus and watches him laugh at something James has said. He downs the rest of his drink. 

Drinking far too much is beginning to become a nasty habit for Sirius. He has another glass, and another, and why is he always in this spinning room? It's better though, when he watches Remus and Lockhart smile and talk about books and sit far too close to each other on the sofa. Instead of wanting to challenge Lockhart to a fight, Sirius laughs with James about Peter cheating at a board-game, and lets Marlene paint his nails an electric blue colour that clashes horribly with everything else in the room. 

He's not sure how many hours pass before Sirius is leaning back in an armchair, nearly asleep. The music is no longer ringing through the apartment and he cannot hear the chatter of conversation, but none of that matters. 

“Sirius Orion Black.” It's Remus, crouching in front of him as his hand lifts to stroke down the line of his jaw. “Are you a little tired?”

“Course not, Moony.” Sirius doesn’t lift his head from the chair, but he sinks into the soft touch and offers an encouraging thumbs-up. “It’s your birthday. I’m bursting with excitement.”

“Not my birthday anymore.” Remus murmurs, and he's grinning now, the kind of smile that only comes out in secret. “It’s two in the morning. Everyone has gone home.”

Sirius frowns, blinking around at the living room, but everything is a blurring, shifting shape. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t you remember? James tried to carry you out but you kept kicking him in the shins.”

“Embarrassing." He mutters, heat rushing to his face. "Shit. Sorry, can't believe I fell asleep."

“Come on.” Remus slips an arm beneath him and tugs him up from his seat by his waist. “You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

As he's pulled to his feet, Sirius' head spins, buckling, and he rests his forehead against Remus' shoulder to steady himself as Remus guides him down the hall. The mattress is soft and downy and Sirius struggles to kick off his shoes before he flops onto the patchwork duvet; Remus stoops in front of him to unlace his boots with strong, gentle fingers, and Sirius watches him, his bending head and the blue veins running up his arms. 

When Remus stands and turns to leave, Sirius' hand darts out to fasten around his wrist. 

“No.” He says. 

Remus stills, gaze flickering down to where he grips. “What?”

“You can’t sleep on the sofa. It’s your birthday.” Sirius curls into the blanket as he releases him. “Sleep here.”

“You’re here.”

Eyes flickering back open, Sirius smiles up at him. “Are you scared of me?” 

Is he? Somehow, Sirius can't imagine Remus being scared of anything. But the bed dips, slanting as Remus pulls the duvet up over his own chest and slips in next to him. There's a rattle as Remus fumbles to switch off the lamp, and the yellow glow of the room fades into blackness. Silver light threads through the gap in the curtains, spinning across the floorboards.

At first, Sirius is worried he's too drunk to sleep, worried that in all of his dreams, he'd be falling through clouds and drowning and missing steps, but it's warm and he can smell Remus on the sheets, his shampoo on the pillow. Only a few sleepy minutes have passed when Remus stirs next to him. 

"I've been thinking about metaphors." Remus breathes into the dark as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Sirius opens his eyes to look at him. "Sounds dangerous." 

Remus doesn't smile. He says: "I feel like I'm an apple."

"You don't look like an apple." Sirius replies, because it feels like the sensible thing to say. He wonders if Remus is as drunk as he is. 

"I feel like you think you're going to find something at my core, some sort of thrilling secret, and suddenly I won't be a boring fruit anymore." Remus sighs, a long sound. "But I know you're going to bite down and find out that I'm just an apple."

"It wouldn’t matter." Sirius says, even though he has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. “You’d still be my apple.”

His head is spinning, and Remus is right there, the warmth of him spreading out across the mattress, and Sirius is staring at the side of his face. He presses a soft kiss just underneath the stark line of Remus' jaw, and Remus' eyes snap open. He doesn't speak, doesn't say a word, and Sirius is brushing his mouth against his throat, tasting him on his tongue, soap and something sweet, like sweat. 

"Sirius." Remus murmurs, voice strained, on the very edge of something beautiful, his hand ghosting over Sirius’ hair. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." And it is nothing, it’s nothing but them, there, in the room. He sucks, bites at the smooth skin above his collarbone, the stretch between his shoulder and his neck, until Remus gasps a little, his pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Remus falls silent again when he pulls back, his face nothing but shadow. 

Sirius buries his face in his chest, his hand curling in Remus' loose shirt. He feels light, like air, like cloud, floating into nothing, and he laughs as he drags a nail down from behind Remus’ ear to the swallow of his throat, until he feels him shiver. 

Underneath the weight of the duvet, their legs hook and tangle, and Sirius suddenly has a strange thought, a need to crawl into Remus' bones, to soak him up, to be so close that he can't breathe. 

"Sirius." Remus says again, but Sirius is drifting off, into a hot darkness, and he doesn't want to answer this time. 

*

When Sirius wakes, his head is caved in two. At least, that's what the pounding against his skull feels like. Mouth parched dry, he jolts up from the soft slump of the pillow. Something heavy is across his waist, something distinctly arm-like. He glances down at where Remus lies, face painted soft with sleep, his arm thrown across Sirius’ hip.

Sirius settles back, brows furrowing as a hot, burning needle pierces at his temple, his gaze flickering over Remus’ tousled hair, the cast of his eyelashes, his brown freckles, the– the dark, purpling bruise staining the pale skin of his neck. It hits him like a punch to the chest, the memory of last night, and he struggles to draw in a breath.

Heart pounding, Sirius wriggles out from underneath Remus’ arm and pushes himself from the side of the bed. Once on his feet, he sways slightly with the strange rhythm of the room as it buckles around him, but manages to edge towards the door and slips out into the hallway.

He stands there, barefoot, still in his tight jeans and rumpled t-shirt, his stomach seething. The urge to hit something is almost unbearable, but Sirius settles for striding into the living room to jam his boots onto his feet as roughly as he can, fingers shaking as he ties the laces. 

Sirius doesn’t realise until he gets home that he’s left his leather jacket on Remus’ sofa.  

*

When Sirius does something wrong, he runs. 

He’s not sure where he picked up the habit, maybe from the sting of his mother’s slap she caught up with him after he’d sworn at one of his vicious aunts, or the humming within his bones that made him fidget and pace. Running is a honed practise. He could do it in his sleep, and often, he does.

That’s how he manages to avoid seeing Remus for nine days. Before, he wouldn’t think it possible, because Remus has weaved his way into his breathing, his eating, his walking, and it’s not the sort of thread you can just yank at without everything unravelling. 

Sirius misses him, but it’s not as if Remus tries to call him. His phone is silent for days, and Sirius is convinced that if there was anything more to say about what he had done on the night of Remus’ birthday, he would have heard it. Leave him alone, he tells himself when he can’t stop staring at where Vanity Fair sits on his night stand, if there’s one thing we know about Remus John Lupin, it is that he needs his space.

The time comes when the avoidable becomes the unavoidable, because Lily insists that they all go to the Whomping Willow on Tuesday night. 

By the time he and Marlene arrive at the pub, Lily and James have already occupied a table at the far back. Through the throng of people, Sirius catches sight of their group ordering at the bar, but a glimpse of Remus' head has Sirius steering himself towards the table, gritting his teeth. 

Hats and coats and scarves are strewn across the chairs, but it's a thick, black book that catches his eye. Even though Sirius knows who it must belong to, he pauses, still standing, brushing a thumb over its cover. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. 

“I never see you reading.” says a voice from behind him.

Sirius bites down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood, but he can't walk away, so he turns to look at Remus. On instinct, foolish impulse, his gaze flutters down to his neck, but it has been too many days since that night, and the skin is clear and smooth. 

“I know.” He replies.

“I thought you loved books.” Remus slips into one of the chairs and pulls the novel closer towards him, his shoulders tensed. There’s something flickering, tight around his mouth, and it's nothing like a smile. 

“Whenever I look at a book, I think about how stupid I was to ever listen to what my mother had to say about Literature.” Sirius says, and also he sinks into a seat, because he really doesn’t want to be left standing there and his knees are weak at the cold set of Remus' face. He grins, but it trembles at his lips, unsure of itself. “I really don’t like Keynes.”

Impassive, Remus stares at him for a second more, and then glances away again, back towards the bar where the rest of their friends waited for their drinks. 

“Moony–” Sirius starts, stuttering over the name as his heart clenches in his chest, squeezed small, but a man is suddenly standing by their table. 

"It was on the house." The man drawls as he places a sparkling pint of dark beer in front of Remus, a drawn out smirk exposing white teeth. "I'm good friends with the bartender, you know."

Gilderoy Lockhart. Settling back in his chair, Sirius drags his glare from the polished brown Oxfords to the iron pressed trim of his shirt collar to his intricately tamed blonde hair. 

"Remus doesn't like beer." He says bluntly. 

"It's fine." Remus flings at Sirius across the table, his eyes flashing, and Sirius' throat constricts as his friend smiles up at Lockhart, the taut stretch of his jaw softening. "Thank you."  

Lockhart winks, and lowers himself into the seat closest to Remus, his arm draping over his shoulders. "Trust me, babe. It'll grow on you." 

Babe. Babe? Sirius squints at him. "What exactly are you doing here?" 

"I invited him." Remus says, like it's a challenge, his fingers rigid as they curl around the spine of his book.

"Why?"

For a second, Remus really does look like he's going to hit Sirius around the face, but before he can open his mouth, Lily is flopping down next to them, nursing a tall glass of lemonade.

"There you are." She raises an eyebrow at Sirius, flicking her shining red hair back from her neck. "I've missed you screeching at my boyfriend at odd hours of the day. Where have you been?"

"Nowhere." Sirius shifts.

"Don't mind Sirius." Remus murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "He likes to hide, don't you?"

As Sirius' stare hardens, as heavy as stone, James and Peter appear, pushing their way through the crowd with drinks balanced in their hands. And Sirius desperately does not want to be here, frowning at the arm thrown across Remus’ shoulder, struggling to meet Remus’ narrowed yellow eyes, sicksicksick to his fucking stomach. 

"Sirius!" James crows once he sees him sitting there, and he drops down into his lap with a blinding grin. "Darling!"

He wants air, freezing wind on his face, a rooftop, a window, an open sky. Sirius shakes his head and shoves at James’ back so that he falls against the table with a loud cry of indignance. 

"I need to get a drink." He announces, but even as he rises to his feet, there's the loud scraping of a chair as Remus stands too. 

"I'll help you." Remus says. 

Part of Sirius wants to snap back at Remus, say something scathing, something that will really sting, but he crushes it down, because he knows it would be his mother’s voice, snarling from him like a dog. Instead, he twists on his heel and strides for the bar, pushing past groups of people until he reaches the beer taps and tired bartenders. By the time Remus emerges next to him, Sirius has asked for whiskey and coke with ice and is leaning his hip on the counter. 

“I don’t need your assistance with carrying one glass.” Sirius says, stiffly. “I’m not stupid.”

"What's wrong with you?" mutters Remus under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard over the babble of the pub. Dark, faded circles shadow his eyes, but he is trained on Sirius, searching his face as if it holds a secret. 

“I’ve got a few guesses, but I’m sure you’re eager to tell me yourself.”

"You're being rude to Gil." 

Sirius curls his lip, tapping his thumb against the wooden top of the bar to stop his hands from shaking. "I'm just asking questions."

Remus grits his teeth. “Rude questions.” 

"Do you really like him?" Sirius asks, glancing back at where Lockhart sits with their friends, smoothing back a loose blonde lock from his forehead. The whiskey and coke is slid across to Sirius and he rifles in his pocket for his card. He doesn’t want to know the answer, he wishes he never asked, his breath straining in his chest. 

"Yes." Remus says, "He’s nice.” He pauses, chewing at his lip. “He asked me on a date, actually."

"Oh. Great.” Sirius begins, but the words are short and blank and he thinks he might just throw up as he steps back from Remus and his drink and the bar. “Sorry, I– I saw someone I know." 

Blindly, Sirius turns to press through the crowd, not caring where he was going as long as it was anywhere but here.