Quizzes, Kisses, and Questions.
On James’ birthday, Remus shows up at their flat with a beaming Gilderoy Lockhart and a newspaper-wrapped present tied with a blue ribbon. Sirius drinks and drinks and drinks and they don’t talk, which is painful and strange and he knows Lily must notice by the way her green eyes flash between them, like she’s watching two animals circle each other.
Sometimes, Sirius thinks Remus might be looking at him across the room.
But their friends are celebrating the existence of Sirius’ favourite person in the world, loud and arrogant and kind James, who he followed to university, who has shared his Christmases and his secrets and his love unconditionally. So, Sirius wraps his arms around James and gives him the bumps and smears his face with birthday cake, because there was truly no other way he’d rather spend his time.
And if Remus does look at him, Sirius doesn't look back.
*
At the start of April, Sirius writes a letter to Regulus and this time he walks down to the post office and sends it.
A week later, it comes back, shoved into his mail slot, stamped in glaring red that reads: return to sender.
*
He stays home for days. Weeks.
Sirius doesn't know if it's something not-right within him, like a latch that won't hook onto the lock, slipping out of time with the swing of the door. He sleeps too much. He scribbles awful essays from his sofa. He misses the leather jacket that he can’t go and collect from Remus’ apartment. He misses Remus. He misses his brother.
He thinks. He thinks he's tired of getting warm on his friend's love, watching James and Lily turn themselves inside out for each other, like it'll be enough to jam him back into his frame, to shove another cork down the hatch before he blows up in the face of it all.
And it's an odd sort of ache that he can't scrape from his chest, but it has a shape and a smell and a name and laugh and it's Remus, his Moony, his friend, frowning at him, snapping at him, laughing, touching his hair, sharing his cigarettes, his chocolate, his books. All of that, and more.
Do you really like him?
Yes.
He wishes it didn't make him feel so sick, but it does. Yes. It's a horrible, awful, short excuse for a word that shouldn't be in the English Language unless it's being used by Remus on Sirius and it's an answer to: Come home with me? or Will you kiss me? or Promise you'll stay in my flat forever, while I bring you tea and jumpers and books and do wonderful things to you with my mouth?
Marlene finds him crying very quietly on the sofa, like he's a little kid again and his cousin has said something very cruel, and he's too exhausted to push it all back in.
And it's not just to do with Remus, it's everything really, it's forgetting what his old room back home smells like, it's the silence from his phone, it's the fucking loneliness of it all; but mainly, secretly, it is a lot about Remus, because he feels like an idiot and he's not used to wanting like this. He thinks maybe he didn't have space for it before, that maybe this fissure had just opened up within him one day, like a split in the earth.
It makes him feel very young. It makes him feel like he's some theatrical waif of a woman on the moors, wailing after her love and being rather useless. It is this thought that makes him stop crying, and wipe his wet face on his sleeve.
"Remus?" Marlene asks him.
"Remus." He confirms.
"Suck it up, Black." Marlene says later, softly, but her words had no bite; it's more like she's talking to a frightened animal. She sets down a mug of coffee next to him, steaming and dark. It spills just a little, dripping down one of the china cracks. "There's nothing you can do about it."
*
James rings him to tell him some long anecdote about Peter failing his driving test for the fourth time, but once he’s finished and Sirius has laughed, he is quiet. Sirius knows James is waiting for him to say something, anything, to fill the space between them. And James has seen this before, or the symptoms of it, when Sirius was disowned by his parents last summer, but Sirius still doesn’t know what he should tell him.
“I can hear you fretting down the phone.” Sirius mumbles eventually. He stares down at the opened book in his lap, his tattered and coffee-stained copy of Wuthering Heights, and swallows against the lump lodged in his throat.
"Is it Regulus?" James asks him, voice strained.
Sirius thinks about this, listening to Marlene whistling tunelessly from the kitchen.
"Yes." He says softly, "A little. And a little not."
"Can I do anything?"
"No.” He smiles, loving his best friend very, very much. “I'll be fine and dandy soon enough."
"Sirius." sighs James, sounding as stern as his mother. "Don't make me come over there."
"I promise you I'm okay." Sirius tells him, shifting against his pillows. He brushes his thumb across the pages of his novel, over the faded pencil of his own annotations. "I wouldn't lie to you, stupid."
"Are you sure?"
"I just need a break." Sirius says. "I need some time to think."
*
It’s the eleventh of April. Sirius has been worried he might start talking to the walls. It may be a natural Sirius instinct to run, but it is not a natural Sirius instinct to hibernate at home, and evade his friends. It’s the cost of wallowing in his own self-pity. A few more days, and he’s convinced he’ll be naming his toaster James and his fruitbowl Lily.
The draining pattern of waking, eating, and staring at the television is broken on the eleventh of April, when someone knocks on his door. That someone is Remus Lupin, in his knitted brown jumper and torn jeans, his eyes narrowed into a terrifying, sharp glare as he stands there in the hall.
Swallowing, Sirius shoves his hands in his pockets. "What are you doing here?"
Remus pushes into the flat before he can protest. He paces towards the kitchen table, and then back towards Sirius, which Sirius would have laughed at if his stomach wasn’t in knots.
When Remus stops in front of him, he stares at him for several long seconds and then he snaps– "I’m shouting at you!"
"Oh," Sirius says dryly, edging a step backwards. "By all means then, go ahead."
"You’re being selfish." Remus says, and his voice is low, but it's rising in volume as he talks. "None of us have seen you in two weeks.” His cheeks flush, a dark red, “We've only known you're alive because of Marlene. James has been losing his mind!"
Sirius folds his arms across his chest. "Makes no bloody difference to you then, does it?"
"Of course it does! You’re my friend.” He hesitates, but his words are softer now, eyes darting across Sirius’ face. “We're friends."
"Oh, are we?" mumbles Sirius. “I feel so blessed."
"Act like it then."
“I do! You just don’t fucking appreciate it.”
The neighbours are going to be sliding some nasty notes under their door, Sirius is sure of it. He slips past Remus and into the kitchen to open the fridge. He doesn’t know why he thought this would quash the yelling, because Remus is already on his heels.
“I appreciate how much of an asshole you are.” Remus mutters from behind him.
Sirius slams a carton of orange juice down on the counter and twists to look at him. “Do me a favour and leave then, if I’m such an asshole.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Remus snaps back at him, and he’s furious, Sirius has never seen him this furious, it makes him want to step back, or wrap his arms around his waist and squeeze all the anger out of him. “You can’t just disappear when you don’t–” Remus cuts himself off, gritting his teeth. “You can’t keep disappearing.”
They both just stand there in silence, chests rising and falling in a discordant sort of rhythm, like their lungs are trying desperately to understand each other. Sirius recalls the last time Remus shouted at him in this exact spot, after he’d been ill, when the kettle had been whistling. He doesn’t know what to say, because Remus is right, he’s always fucking right, God, Sirius is selfish.
Remus’ gaze drifts over to where the juice sits, and he draws in a deep breath. "We’re doing another pub quiz tonight at the Whomping Willow.” He smiles, like he’s not sure what else to do. “They told us it’s the hardest one yet. James is convinced we’ll win."
Sirius frowns. "So?"
"You’re coming."
"No."
"Yes."
"What is this, Freaky Friday?” Sirius closes his eyes. A dull ache has begun to throb at the back of his skull and he wants to go back to sleep. “You’re supposed to be the brooding lone wolf, Moony."
“Sirius.” Remus says, “I’ve missed you."
When he opens his eyes again, Remus is still there, watching him, expression open and careful. Sirius shakes his head, but his mouth speaks for him. “I’ll be there."
*
Marlene insists on turning up to the Whomping Willow late, firstly because it's more fashionable, and secondly because she hates their quiz nights. Sirius supports prolonging the inevitable, and so doesn't mind that when they finally step through the door, the pub is already in full swing and their friends are already very drunk.
To Sirius' horror, his usual seat has been taken by none other than Gilderoy fucking Lockart. Sirius almost twists on the spot to walk out right there and then, but Marlene seizes him by the elbow with a iron-strong grip and steers him towards the table.
“Bite the bullet, Black.” She whispers in his ear. At their arrival, Remus raises his head and a smile curves at his mouth. His palms cup a glass of something clear which Sirius knows will be gin and tonic.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” He says as Sirius slips in next to James, who has paused with a mouthful of crisps to watch him intently.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Sirius replies darkly, grabbing the pen from where it had been abandoned on the table. He raises his hand to pat James’ cheek and ignores Lockhart’s blank, clean smile. Up at the bar, the barkeep is clearing his voice to read out the next question.
"Question ten.” He calls above the chatter. “In what way is the protagonist of A Streetcar Named Desire and Cassio’s jealous lover in Shakespeare’s Othello connected?"
Next to him, James and Peter burst into laughter, knocking into the table as they fell on top of each other. By the way that Lockhart casts the pair a sharp, nettled glance and flattens his lips into a rigid line, Sirius suspects that they have been cackling through all of the questions so far.
“Why are we here?” Lily asks no one in particular.
"The protagonist of A Streetcar Named Desire is Blanche." Sirius says, drumming the pen against his knuckles. "Do you know who Cassio’s lover is, Moony?"
Across the table, Remus meets his gaze. "Bianca." He frowns, a slight crease notching between his eyebrows. "I don’t know how the two are connected."
"They’re both mistreated?" Sirius mutters, eyeing Lockhart as he rests back against the booth. He breathes out, tries to concentrate on where James’ is leaning against him, on the silly grins of his friends.
Peter scratches at his cheek. "They both begin with B?"
"It’s the hardest quiz for a reason." Lockhart grunts, slinging an arm across Remus' shoulder and pulling him closer. "I’d give it up if I were you, babe."
"Well, you’re not him, are you?" snaps Sirius, but Lily is freezing him with a cutting look and he seals his mouth shut before his voice can rise any louder. The group falls silent and Remus' eyes are quiet and gold, teeth worrying away at his full bottom lip again.
Arm now dropping from Remus' shoulders, Lockhart stiffens and then forces another smirk. "I’m getting another drink." He says, pushing himself up from the table, and he strides off.
"They’re both European names. Right?" Remus says, suddenly, breaking through the quiet. He glances over to the bar and a swallow travels down his long throat. Lockhart is resting one elbow against the wooden counter, and beaming at the bartender with pearl white teeth. As Sirius watches, he throws his blonde head back in a loud laugh.
"Yeah," Sirius' smile tightens and he gently taps the back of Remus' hand with his index finger. "Blanche means ‘white’ in French."
"That’s it!" Remus jolts in his seat, before wrestling the pen from Sirius’ grip and bending over their scrap of paper, scribbling down something in his messy, jagged hand-writing.
James leans over to squint at the words, then shakes his head, "Blimey."
"What is it?" Lily peers over as well, quirking an eyebrow.
"Blanche is ‘white’ in French, and Bianca is ‘white’ in Spanish." Remus grins, and he's looking at Sirius, only Sirius, and fuck. His mouth stretches even wider, and he looks gorgeous, and Sirius can barely breathe. You’ve broken me, Remus Lupin. "That’s how they’re connected."
Marlene snorts. "You’re kidding me."
"He's brilliant." says Sirius, softly.
Lockhart slides back into the booth next to Remus, placing down his pint glass, and everything is broken again. Sirius ducks his head and tugs at one of the strings of his sweater.
"Remus figured it out!" Peter squeaks at Lockhart.
"Oh." Lockhart mutters, and takes a long sip of beer.
*
"Your boyfriend is a dickhead."
Cigarette halfway to his lips, Remus stills and looks up at him through long, dark eyelashes. He leans a hip back against the brick-wall, face unreadable. "What?"
It was freezing, cold bleeding through their clothes, but they had stepped outside for a smoke. They hadn't come even remotely close to winning, and James had nearly gotten them disqualified for shouting out wrong answers. Sirius wants another drink. Or maybe another three. He glances away, scuffing his boot against the tarmac.
"He’s rude, Moony." He says.
"No, he isn’t."
"He hates your friends." Sirius burrows his freezing hands into his pockets. "And all he does is complain. Or flirt with the fucking bartender."
A muscle in Remus’ jaw flickers, but he doesn’t flinch. "He can be really sweet."
"Oh, please. He calls you babe."
"What’s wrong with that?"
"You hate it."
"No, I don't." Colour rises in Remus’ cheeks, pink and faint.
A car passes on the road, headlights glaring out at them. Sirius is tilting his head, and Remus raises the cigarette to Sirius’ mouth for him to drag a long, slow breath in. The familiar smell of him, dried oranges and faded aftershave, surrounds Sirius, and he wants to drown in it, suffocate, lose himself.
Smiling, Sirius curls his fingers around Remus’ slender, warm wrist and holds it there, closer. He blows out the smoke, lets it curl out into the cold air, and searches Remus’ eyes, pressing his thumb against the other boy’s fluttering pulse.
"I know you." Sirius murmurs, and lets his wrist go, "You hate it."
Expressionless, Remus turns away, fidgeting with the worn sleeve of his jumper, and then lets the cigarette drop, grinding it beneath his shoe. Sirius wonders how it was possible for one person to lock so much inside their head. It always makes Sirius feel like an open wound, bleeding out into the universe for everyone to stare at. He wants to stop fucking wanting before it kills him. The Blacks and their melodrama, Sirius thinks, closing his eyes, typical.
Across from him, Remus raises his chin, "Let’s go inside." He says.
The whole table is laughing half an hour later as Marlene is dared to down the rest of her vodka and lemonade and spills it all over her t-shirt. Lockhart has disappeared to the bar again, but when he comes back, he bends down to whisper something in Remus' ear.
Remus frowns, and clears his throat. "We better go."
"Come on, Moony." Sirius whines, sitting up straighter. "You dragged me out here, you can't go home yet!"
"Why do you call him Moony?" Lockhart asks, pressing his lips together. "I don’t get it."
"No surprises there." Sirius mumbles under his breath, and Marlene jabs him in the ribs with a sharp elbow.
Lifting a shoulder, Remus fumbles for where his jacket has been tossed on the floor. "It’s just a joke."
The vodka has gone straight to Sirius' head, burning through his stomach, and he knew he should probably shut up. But he didn't. Narrowing his eyes, Sirius pops an olive into his mouth and chews, slowly. "Winnie-the-Pooh was involved."
Lockhart sniffs. "That’s a children’s book."
"It’s a masterpiece."
"Whatever." Lockhart plucks up his own coat and shrugs it on with a taut smile. "Remus? Let's go."
"Right." nods Remus, but he's not looking at Sirius now as he rises from the booth, and Sirius has to sit on his hands so that he doesn't reach up to pull him back down. "Um. I'll see you all later."
And James is wrapping an arm around him, singing some drunken song in his ear, but Sirius just watched them leave, watches Remus pass out of the pub door. He grits his teeth, trying to push down the sudden pain blazing through his lungs. He's not yours, he thinks, but he doesn't know it's directed at Lockhart or himself. Sirius sort of felt like he belonged to Remus, really. Christ, he's getting pathetic.
Maybe it shows too much on his face, because underneath the table, Lily's small hand finds his, and squeezes.
*
Things return to a strained normal for a few weeks before they collapse again. Sirius, who suffered withdrawal symptoms from the time missed with James, spent most evenings lounging on James and Lily’s lumpy sofa and playing elaborate card games. For the first time in two years, he starts reading, really reading, every book he can see, from different bookshelves and shops.
He and Remus smile at each other in the corridors outside of their lectures, Remus shoves the occasional takeaway cups of steaming coffee into his hand, but Sirius doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t poke at his side, doesn’t tug on his favourite tawny curl, the one that can never be tamed, doesn’t warm his freezing palms on his hot skin.
Still, they go to the library. The first couple of days, Lockhart sits with them, though he does very little but grin and wink at passing students and talk about how easy he found his class. And Sirius cannot stop thinking about the string, frayed and worn, stretching out between Sirius and Remus, the string neither of them would look at, and if any of this is really worth it not snapping.
On Saturday afternoon, Remus walks through the library doors Lockhart-less. Sirius resumes his scowling at an old textbook, and Remus begins to scribble notes with his familiar yellow pencils. After twenty minutes of quiet, Sirius tears his gaze from a sentence he will never understand and watches Remus instead. He leans forwards across the desk to ask, "Where’s Lockhart?"
"His name is Gilderoy, Sirius.” Remus replies, but his pencil has stilled on his paper. He looks up at Sirius, unblinking. “And he’s not here. We had an argument."
"Really?” Sirius tilts his head, dampening the glee in his voice. “About what?"
"It’s not important."
"Well, I’m sure he’s distraught."
"I don’t think I’m the kind of person to get distraught over." Remus laughs under his breath, frowning absently back down at his work. "I don’t think anyone thinks about me at all, actually, when I’m not there."
"I always think about you." Sirius says, because it’s the first thing that slips onto his tongue and because he hates how Remus is quiet and tired and slouched in his seat, but now Remus is staring at him like he’s spoken in a language that he doesn’t understand.
"No, you don’t." Remus tells him, but his eyes are so wide, it’s like he’s looking right through him.
"I do.” Sirius swallows. “I think about how you’re taking your toast this morning. How many sugars you’ll put in your tea. Your bloody ugly jumpers. Whether your socks will actually match for once, what old book you’ll be reading and how many door frames you’ll walk into because you refuse to look up. I think about you whistling Careless Whisper even though you roll your eyes at George Michael, and I think about the moon you wear around your neck, and what innocent cat you’ll try to pet on your walk to class, even though they all despise you."
Sirius hesitates, heat rushing up his neck, but fuck, it’s all spilling out of his mouth now. "And I think about what you sound like when you yell at me. When you’re really, really angry and you use my full name."
Remus doesn’t speak. He doesn’t do anything at all, just sits there, rigid as stone, with his fingers curling into his palm, knuckles white against the table and his face ashen. But then he’s standing, chair scraping back, and he’s shoving his yellow pencils and his books into his bag. Sirius scrambles to his feet, reaching for his arm, to touch him for the first time in a month, but he steps out of reach.
"I have to go." Remus mutters, and now he won’t look at him at all as he fastens his satchel closed.
"Moony--" Sirius begins, shoulders slumping, a cold panic thrumming down the length of his spine, but Remus shakes his head.
"Later, okay?" He says, and he catches Sirius’ eyes once more before he’s hurrying out of the library.
*
“Why did I say it?” Sirius asks Lily that evening, knees drawn up to his chest as he sits at the end of her bed. They are both waiting for James to come back from his seminar, wrapped in blankets and devouring an old box of chocolates Sirius had rooted out from a kitchen cupboard.
“I don’t know.” Lily scrapes her red hair back from her face and ties it there with a thick band, frowning at the wall. The radiator has been twisted up high, and her face is a little pink but still bright and awake. “He just left?”
“I frightened him.” Sirius sighs, and lies down against the duvet to close his eyes against the throbbing light of the room. He thinks about Remus, the slight tremble of his mouth, his fumbling fingers. “I must have sounded insane, throwing all of that at him. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
"You weren’t thinking.” Lily says, gently. "It’s just who you are, Sirius. You love everyone with everything you've got, you always have."
Sirius presses his lips together. "It's too much."
"Not for the right people."
“Not for you?” He wriggles onto his front to look at her.
“Never.” Lily grins, her nose scrunching, and there’s the click of the front door opening, the jangle of keys, and James' low voice calling from the front room. The storming of his footsteps down the hall is followed by his head poking around the side of the door, his black hair sticking up at odd ends.
“My own little welcoming party.” James beams as he waltzes in and pats Sirius' head with a firm hand. He kicks off his shoes and drops his bag to the floor. “The two people I cherish the most in this world!”
“Don’t let Peter hear you say that.” Sirius mutters, and tries to bite at his fingers like a dog.
Scowling at him, James edges away from his teeth and flops back into the bed next to Lily to press a kiss to her cheek. “How are you, my dear Evans?”
“Wonderful.” Lily says, winding her arms around his neck and tugging him closer. Sirius smiles.
*
Remus isn't speaking to him.
There's no way to be certain, but Sirius is convinced. He calls, but it goes to voicemail. He doesn't see him between classes, or at the bar, or anywhere else where their worlds collide. He knows Remus has seen Lily, and Marlene, and even Peter. Sirius lies awake, staring at his dark window, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
It becomes May, and Remus shows up at his apartment. Sirius is spreading a thick layer of blackberry jam on a crumpet, and Marlene is at the kitchen table, reading an old magazine, when Remus knocks. Marlene calls for him to enter, and he does.
“Hello.” Remus says, and his head twists between the still Sirius and the sitting Marlene.
“Morning, Remus.” Marlene murmurs, taking a careful sip of tea and blinking at him over the rim with flat blue eyes. Remus meets her gaze with a soft smile, arm raising to rub the back of his neck.
Meanwhile, Sirius is narrowing his eyes. "Decided I'm worth your time again, have you?”
“Would you look at the time?” Marlene says brightly, leaping up from her seat, “I’m late! Oh dear, I must dash.” She seizes her long coat from the back of her chair, and strides for the open door, but as she brushes past Sirius, he hears her distinctly hiss– “Don’t be a prick.”
“Bye, Marlene.” Remus replies, but he is now looking at Sirius, very coolly. “Who knows, maybe Sirius will have removed the stick from his ass by the time you get home.”
Marlene raises an eyebrow. “Doubtful.” She grins, cheerfully, and disappears into the hall.
“I’m returning your jacket.” Remus pauses to slip it onto a hook of the coat rack. Even though Sirius had missed it greatly, had dreams even about wearing it, he bristles silently where he stands. The door slams as Remus kicks it shut with the heel of his shoe, and then tilts his head. “But I’m guessing you’d rather argue.”
Sirius turns away, pacing into the living room. "How's your boyfriend?"
"He's not--" Remus begins as he follows him, but then he stutters to a stop and fixes Sirius with a cutting stare. "What does that matter?"
"I'm just asking. Is that a crime?"
Remus cast him a blazing, scorching glance, his jaw clenching. "Don't be so fucking jealous, Sirius. It’s ridiculous."
"I'm not jealous.” His mouth curls around the world, and he raises his chin. “Who is it that I'm jealous of, Gilderoy fucking Lockhart and his abnormally large head?"
"Please. You’re throwing a hissy-fit because I paid attention to someone who isn't you."
Sirius flinches. Why do they keep ending up in this back and forth, yelling across a room? He wishes that he didn’t like the heat rising in Remus’ cheeks, the tight clenching of his arms where his shirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. It makes it a lot harder to concentrate on his point, which is already flimsy.
"I don't care what you do or who you do it with, Remus. I’m just tired of you being mad at me all the time. I’m tired of you ignoring me.”
“Last month I had to practically drag you out of your room!”
“I wasn’t seeing anyone.” He grits his teeth, and he knows that he sounds hurt and it's a bit embarrassing. “You’ve seen everyone but me."
"You're being a child."
"You're being an idiot."
"Shut up." As Remus steps closer to him, Sirius mirrors, retreating, knowing he shouldn’t be too near, unsure of what he might do.
"It’s my flat! I’ll say what I want." Sirius snaps at him.
"Call me an idiot again." Remus says, his voice lower than he’s ever heard it, so quiet that Sirius almost thinks he misheard. "Go on. Do it."
Staring, Sirius has fallen very silent. He stands there, numb, and wishes he never started shouting in the first place, wishes Remus would stop looking at him like that. The air feels thicker and heavier and the worn string that hums between them is really on its last thread.
"Go on, Sirius." Remus is so close that their noses could touch, and there's a hard, rough edge to his words. He's watching every flicker of Sirius' face, every tremble, like he's hunting, like he's waiting. As he inches further back, Sirius can feel the stiff wooden shelves of his bookcase jutting into his spine. "Open your mouth, and say it."
Sirius' gaze flickers down from his gorgeous, furious eyes to settle on his mouth. "I thought you wanted me to shut up."
A muscle flickers in Remus' cheek. His fingers curl into the loose shape of Sirius' shirt, and he kisses him hard enough that his head rocks back against the wall.
A low, shaking gasp jolts from Sirius as their mouths crash together, before Remus is swallowing down the sound, devouring him whole. Remus' thumb digs under the line of his jaw, and his grip slips upwards to wind in the thick hair at Sirius' neck.
Suspended in that first second of shock, Sirius thinks this is Remus. Remus is kissing me. He doesn't know where to slot himself, where to touch, where he could possibly, ever start. So, Sirius tilts his chin up to meet the low dip of Remus' head, the heat of his touch, his goddamn tongue, the bite of his lips, inescapable.
On the tips of his toes, Sirius' arms slide to rest on Remus' shoulders, dragging him closer, closer, their hips flush as the arm around his waist tightens its hold. Remus' mouth is seeking him out like he's hungry for something sweet, like he's going to eat him alive, and Sirius is reeling with the taste of him.
When Sirius pants out soft noises against his burning lips, Remus presses him further into the bookshelf and the thing shakes beneath the weight of their bodies. Books fall around them, pages fluttering, tumbling to the floor, and Sirius doesn't care. He only cares about how Remus yanks his head back by his black hair to press dark, punishing kisses to his throat. His hands, still cold from being outside, are under Sirius' shirt, trailing up from his navel to the dip of his chest.
The only thing Sirius can think of is this. He wants to heave every sound from him, wants every inch of his skin, and he knows, knows it when Remus seizes at his wrist to hold him still when he squirms, that he would give Remus anything.
"Fuck." Remus murmurs, just underneath his ear, teeth scraping at the soft space of skin. He draws back from Sirius, pupils blown wide across his yellow irises, mouth red and bitten. His fingers loosen their grip on his waist, stuttering there. "Fuck. Sorry."
An apology. Sirius swallows and glances down, towards his bare feet, but he's trembling, all over, shivering up his spine. He places a hand to Remus' chest and pushes him back a few steps, before slipping out from under him.
"You have a boyfriend." He says, and he knows how he sounds, how it cuts out of him like a curse. He stoops to pick up one of the fallen books from the carpet.
But he can feel Remus' eyes burning into his back, and when he twists to look at him, Remus' lips are parted, eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s about to say something, something very important.
A loud rapping of knuckles against wood snaps the something in two: a knock at the door.
Their heads swivel to the noise, and Sirius takes a deep breath, catching himself, waking up just a little. He strides for the door as the knocking grows even quicker and yanks it open.
James stands there, hand still poised to tap again, but he lets his arm fall back to his side. His brown eyes dart from Sirius to where Remus stands behind him, quick and sharp.
"Uh, hi Remus. Sirius." James begins, blinking. "I was going to force you to get lunch with me and Lily at Madam Puddifoots.”
“Great.” Sirius forces a smile, and sets the book still in his hand on the counter. “I'll put on shoes.”
James’ gaze flickers over to Remus and he raises an eyebrow and says the one thing Sirius had been hoping he wouldn’t. “You should come.”
*
If he hadn’t been so angry, Sirius would have found it hilarious that half an hour after Remus had pressed him against his own bookshelf and kissed him within an inch of his life, he and Remus were now stiffly sitting across the table from each other at Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop with Lily and James.
Remus had not met his eye again since they had left the flat, and Sirius was really, very glad, although he wished James would stop casting them both such suspicious glances. After they’ve ordered, Lily starts a long story about a gruesome dissection of a pig's heart gone wrong, which puts everyone but her off their food.
Sighing, Sirius pushes a spoon around his mug of heavily-sugared tea and watches Remus shred his cheese sandwich into smaller and smaller pieces with fidgeting fingers.
"No Gilderoy today?" Lily asks, suddenly, sifting her fork through her salad and frowning down at the slices of pickle. Sirius fights the urge to bury his head in his hands. Or turn over the fucking table.
"No." Remus says, very carefully, and for once, he actually looks up. He swallows and fixes his gaze solely on Lily. "I broke up with him, actually."
For a moment, Sirius thinks it's a joke, which is stupid, because it's not very funny and nobody is laughing, but then he realises that Remus is sitting there, blinking miserably at them, and that he'd actually said it.
"What?" Lily's head snaps to stare at him and she leans further across the table with wide, green eyes. "When?"
He cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Twelve days ago."
"Bloody hell." James grins, but he's casting sidelong glances at Sirius again, whose solid, stony silence is beginning to become more and more noticeable. "You do keep things to yourself, don't you?"
"I guess." Remus mumbles, and he offers a shaken smile back. Instead of saying anything, Sirius raises his cup to his mouth and takes a long, slow sip.
*
His phone rings. His phone is always ringing. It’s an unknown number, but when Sirius puts his phone to his ear, holding it awkwardly between his head and his neck as he struggles to butter his toast, the voice that speaks is very known.
"It's Regulus."
Sirius inhales sharply, and sets down the knife. He is silent for a few seconds, trying to think of what to say, all the words he had wanted to spill, all the things he would have said. Instead, he asks– "Phonebox again?"
"No, um." Regulus pauses, his swallow audible. "I'm calling you from my own phone."
"But mother--"
"I've left, Sirius." says Regulus, before he can continue, before his voice can shake anymore, and Sirius’ heart is thumping in his chest, and he wonders for a second if he heard him correctly.
"You've…?"
"I'm eighteen now." Regulus tells him, and Sirius knows that, he’d spent the day of his brother’s birthday curled up underneath his duvet pretending the world outside didn’t exist, but holy shit, this is happening, and Sirius is breathless. "I can go anywhere I want. I don't know where, but they can't stop me."
"No."
"No?"
"You do know where you can go." Sirius smiles. "You can come here."
*
"Sirius?"
Sirius strides to push his front door open wider to find Remus Lupin, hovering hesitantly in his hall, wrapped up in a coat and the same green scarf that Sirius had bought him for his birthday. It's very distracting, and Sirius kind of wants to yank it off him, and maybe then the rest of his useless clothes, just to see what he would do, but he doesn't.
"You came." He says, softly.
"You asked me to." Remus replies, and even though they haven't spoken for a week, even though there's something not quite right, Sirius grins, because it's Remus fucking Lupin and he will always miss him. No matter how close or far he is.
Sirius draws in a deep breath and then tells him-- "Regulus ran away."
"What?"
"My brother! He phoned me and he told me he'd left home and he's staying with a friend right now but I told him to come here next month." Sirius paces back towards his kitchen, and Remus follows him, shrugging off his coat, unwinding his scarf. "I don't know how we'll work it out but I have money from my Uncle's will and he can get a job until he goes to university." He turns back, his mouth widening even further into a splitting grin. "He left, Moony, he left!"
"Christ." Remus smiles at him, his eyes brighter than the sun, and settles down into one of the chairs. "That's fucking great."
"I know."
There's a second where they just stare at eachother, and fucking hell, Sirius wants to kiss him, wants to pull him up from the chair and rip off all his clothes. He braces himself against the kitchen counter and instead, busies himself hunting for biscuits in the dusty cabinets behind his head.
When he twists back around with jammy dodgers clutched in his hand, Remus is gazing down at his kitchen table, his deft fingers skimming over the cover of a half-opened book. "Anna Karenina?"
Sirius pauses. "Yes. I can't believe I've never read it before. I hate Anna with a burning passion, but it's amazing."
"You hate her?"
"She just keeps making bad decisions." Sirius says, and decides to take a biscuit for himself. "She's just-- immature."
"She's very flawed." Remus murmurs, and for some reason he just won't look away as Sirius licks crumbs from his fingers. "But there's nothing wrong with that. I wouldn't trust anyone who was perfect."
You are, Sirius thinks, though his judgement might be clouded.
Despite the fact that the last time they had been alone in a room together, they had sworn and shouted and crossed some very important boundaries, Remus doesn't leave. Briefly, Sirius wonders if they should try talking about it, this thing, this hungry chasm gaping between them, but he can't ruin it all, not now he had Moony here, laughing and talking like nothing had happened.
It's growing late in the evening when Remus rises to his feet. Sirius gazes up at him from his sofa, his heart dropping.
“I have a meeting with my supervisor tomorrow at six.” He picks up his scarf from where it's draped across the back of his chair, chewing at his lip. “I should get back.”
“It’s late, Moony.” Sirius says, quietly. “Just stay here. I’m closer to campus anyway.”
“I–” Remus hesitates, his dark gaze flickering across his face, but he doesn't move towards the door. "Really?”
“I promise I don’t talk in my sleep.” Sirius smiles, spreading his arms wide in mock defense. “And my bed is a wide and expansive space.”
This is true, and it’s not like they haven’t slept in the same bed before, and Sirius isn’t drunk this time, so he prays he will not lose his fucking mind again and do something idiotic. It’s not likely, but if he’s going to repair this friendship, he needs to pretend that he’s not half in love with Remus Lupin. He needs to learn how to just be around him.
Finally, Remus looks away, his brows furrowing, but all he replies when he opens his mouth is-- “Okay.”
*
Sirius only sleeps for two hours before he wakes again. He frowns up at the ceiling, trying to count sand, sheep, anything, but his thoughts roar even louder; Regulus, his mother, his old house, his friends, but mostly, Remus, Remus, Remus. After a while, he gives up on drifting back into dreams, and instead listens to Remus' breathing, the soft shuttering of it. He thinks that maybe, Remus is faking sleep as well.
"Moony." He murmurs into the rustling quiet, prodding a finger into his cheek, but Remus' chest only rises and falls like it does before. Sirius bites down his own tongue. "Moony." He says again.
This time, a low hum pushes out from Remus' mouth, and though his eyes stay closed, Sirius knows he's awake. He nudges him again, in the shoulder and then at his waist, before his arm is caught, strong, warm fingers pressing into his tendons, his pulse. Remus' skin is burning hot as he pushes Sirius back, and Sirius wishes he could see his face in the blackness that shrouds their bodies.
"Hello." Sirius whispers through his grin. "Good dreams?"
"Do you fucking remember me telling you that I have to wake up at six?" Remus asks. It's not really a question, more of a line bit out through gritted teeth.
"Vividly." Sirius raises an eyebrow, but it's the wrong thing to say.
For a moment they struggle, wrestling like they're teenagers again, but now both of Sirius' wrists are pinned above his head by one of Remus' hands, twisted in his tight grip. Sirius is thinking of snow as he glimpses the glint of his eyes in the dark. When he pulls at the grasp, it only stiffens, and there's that swooping, dropping rush within Sirius' gut, tugging at his stomach, his naval, like a hook to bait.
"I'm going to kill you." Remus hisses, voice cracking on the last word, a few soft curls falling low across his forehead.
Sirius stares up at him, breathless. Fuck. The tremble of his exhale sneaks into his reply before he can hold it back. "Go ahead."
Careful, Remus' eyes burn down the length of his body, and then slowly flicker back up. He holds Sirius' gaze, and leans forwards, pressing the solid weight of his knee between his legs, like he's testing hot waters, like he's waiting to see if Sirius will break beneath him.
And he might. Whimpering, Sirius flushes, heat rising up through his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that Remus felt the hardness of him through his briefs, that he heard the small noise from his throat.
"Quiet." Remus murmurs, lowering his head to press a kiss to Sirius' mouth, just as his free hand slips beneath the waistband of Sirius' boxers.
Gasping, Sirius' hips cant upwards as a warm palm curls around his cock and he knocks his head back against the pillow. Remus spits into his hand and smooths his thumb over the blunt head, fingers sliding down his length, and then up in slow, heavy strokes. Sirius stares up at him, and he can’t believe this is happening, that Remus is over him like this, pinning his wrists and stroking his cock with a tight, merciless palm.
Remus’ eyes are like gold, like the sun, and they are fixed on Sirius’ face as he squeezes tighter, as Sirius writhes and ruts into his touch. The slide of his grip is slick and fast, and Sirius wraps a leg around his waist to draw him closer, desperate for more, chasing the burn rising in his gut.
"Moony," Sirius gasps, twisting his face away into the pillow as he struggles against the hand still clenching at his arms. "Fuck--"
When he comes, it’s all over Remus’ palm, messy and shaking as he kisses along Remus’ neck, biting down on the familiar, warm skin. He's panting, and Remus finally releases him, his irises blown dark and wide. Remus buries his face in Sirius’ shoulder, and grinds his hips forwards against his thigh, while Sirius touches every inch of him he can reach, his spine, his navel, his collarbone.
Shirt riding up to his waist as Remus drives against him, Sirius whispers in his ear, soft, small words, his name mostly, over and over, like a ritual prayer. It takes Remus two more thrusts before he spills over Sirius’ stomach with a low, choked moan.
Sirius' leg is still angled around Remus' hip, his forehead pressed against his shoulder, breathing him in, the scent of sex, and sweat, and laundry, and aftershave. The warm ghost of Remus' fingerprints on his wrist still aches, and Sirius thinks of the red skin, the sharp sting of his nails.
He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so badly it hurts, but when he raises his chin, Remus' eyes are closed and he's slumped back against the pillows.
When he wakes up, morning light spilling through his blinds, Remus is gone.
*
Sirius is flat on his back and blinking at the ceiling.
He catches his breath and tries to remember how he got here. He'd been leaving his godawful discussion class about industrialization, and he'd glanced up just in time to catch a glimpse of Remus Lupin standing by the old vending machine, talking to none other than Gilderoy fucking Lockhart.
That was when he missed the first step on the staircase to the second floor, and fell.
Well, Sirius thought grimly, this is embarrassing.
He tries to lift himself up onto his elbows, but a sharp, throbbing ache pulses down his lower arm and he winces, gritting his teeth. He’s thanking God no one was around to see it happen, when a pair of black lace-up shoes appear in front of him. He raises his head to see that Remus is now standing over him, eyes comically wide.
“Afternoon.” Sirius says, shifting onto his knees, his face flushing hot. He was suddenly very aware of the last time he had seen Remus, two days ago, in his bed. He can feel bruises forming as he moves, joints twinging, and bites his lip. “Don't mind me. Just, you know, taking a nap.”
“On the floor.” Remus replies, blithely, raising an eyebrow. “Did you fall?”
“Are you asking me if I, an agile twenty year old man, fell down the stairs?” asks Sirius. "Does that seem likely?"
Rolling his gorgeous eyes, Remus leans closer to slip a hand under Sirius' arm and yank him to his feet. Although he finds his footing, Sirius cries out, flinching away as another piercing stab of hot pain jolts through him.
"What?" Remus says, voice gripped with a quiet panic, and he presses a palm to his shoulder to steady him. He brushes a thumb by his jaw, studying his face, and Sirius' heart stammers in his chest like a trapped bird. "Are you hurt?"
"Can't. Move. Wrist." Sirius grinds out through gritted teeth, tipping his head back. "There is a slight chance that I broke it when I fell."
"So you did fall." murmurs Remus, and there's that smile on his face, that flitting, teasing thing that had Sirius scowling immediately.
"Piss off, you snarky little goblin." He says, turning away from him and cradling his wrist, but Remus stoops to pick up Sirius' discarded bag from the floor.
"Not this time." Remus sighs. "I'm taking you to the emergency room."
*
The emergency room is close to empty, with the exception of a miserable woman clutching at her stomach and an old man looking rather lost, but the receptionist still tells Sirius to just sit down and wait.
Sirius is not very good at waiting. His knee bounces as he rests back in one of the cold, hard chairs, and his eyes fix to the silent television overhead, which is playing The Price Is Right. Next to him, Remus has flicked to his place in his book, The Age of Innocence, and for a moment, Sirius watches his lips move along with the words as he reads them.
"I saw you talking to Lockhart earlier." He says eventually, into the silence, trying to keep his voice even.
Remus' eyes flicker up to settle on him. "Oh."
"Thought you broke up." Sirius says.
"We did." Remus frowns, straightening his spine against his seat. "We're still friends."
"Right." Sirius mumbles, inspecting his nails. His arm is aching and he hasn't had enough sleep to be having this conversation. "That's normal."
Remus hesitates, "Is that why you fell down--"
"No." Sirius snaps, hotly, twisting to glower at him with utter malice. "Obviously not. I just missed a step."
"Sure." Remus mutters, but his reply is prickly as he returns to his book. "Whatever you want, Sirius."
Even though Remus is no longer speaking, Sirius continues to glare at him like he is, glares until he can't bear it anymore.
"You make me feel stupid." Sirius says, swallowing. And Remus doesn't reply, but now he's looking at him again, unreadable. "You make me feel stupid for caring about you. I wish you'd just tell me what to do, Remus. Because I'm in no position to resist anything you ask of me."
Remus is still staring at him when the double doors swing open and a young doctor in a long, white coat steps through, squinting down at her clipboard.
"Sirius Black?" She calls, and he stands to go for his scan, suddenly feeling very cold and very sad.
*
Remus Lupin likes to disappear. Sirius knows this, and that’s why he’s not surprised when he sees him slip off and out of James and Lily’s living room.
They are not celebrating anything in particular, except maybe the arrival of summer, which is hot in the air and has them all stripped down to shirts, but Marlene has brought champagne and Dorcas Meadowes, who is far too good at poker, and Peter insists on betting money he doesn’t have on games he’ll never win.
Lily has bought a horribly cheesy get well soon card that everyone has signed for Sirius and his pathetically broken wrist, which Sirius swears he will frame. Remus has been quiet, far too quiet, and he won’t stop looking at Sirius, who looks back when he can bear it, which is not often.
So when Remus excuses himself and stands up from the sofa to walk out into the hall, Sirius follows, because that’s what he does: follow Remus and wait for him to want him.
"What are you doing out here?" Sirius asks when he finds Remus, sitting on the same bay window seat from all those months ago. Remus is staring out the window, and he doesn’t flinch when Sirius draws closer. "I thought we'd put your days of hermitude behind us."
"Figured you didn't want to see me." Remus says, his voice pulled tight and strangled, and Sirius doesn’t know what he’s done to make him sound like that.
"It's not the same if you're not there, Moony."
"Don't lie, Sirius."
"I'm not." Sirius steps closer, because he’s not sure what else to do. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too." Remus is frowning up at him, but his gaze flickers down to the cast on his wrist, which has been coloured in and scribbled on by Marlene and James. "How's your arm?"
"Fine." Sirius hesitates, chewing down on his bottom lip. “Come back and sit with the rest of us. Please?”
Remus is staring at him, like he’s never seen him before, like he’s deciding something in his head, his shoulders are taut and his lips are parted, like there’s a question half way up his throat, but then he’s saying, suddenly–
"Kiss me."
Kiss me. Kiss me! Sirius stares at him, the two words echoing around in his mind, over and over, and he can’t breathe for a second. He can’t see anything else but Remus, his Remus. "Really?"
"I'm asking, Sirius." Remus says, "Please kiss me."
"Okay." Sirius says, just the word, and he swings one leg, then the other, over Remus' knees so that he's straddling his hips. He doesn't look away from his eyes, warm and yellow and terrified, and he places his hand on his chest, pushing him back against the window pane, against the cold glass.
It’s all beneath his fingertips. Remus Lupin is beneath his fingertips. He forgets how to at first, before he’s bending his head and kissing him, a soft, slow thing that only lasts for a few seconds, but he feels every muscle in Remus' body stiffen at the touch of their skin. His thumb traces the soft curve of his cheekbone as he pulls away, and leans their foreheads together, never wanting to move again.
"Shit." Remus presses his palms to his eyes, and Sirius blinks when he sees the glimmer of tears on his lashes. "I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can’t think when you’re just there staring at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want me." Remus says, and his voice is small. "Like you want more. Do you?"
"Moony," Sirius replies, in disbelief that he hadn’t got it yet, that he didn’t realise, "Of course I bloody do. I do want you. I want more. I want everything and anything you’ll give me."
Remus seizes his jaw, curves his fingers underneath, and kisses him again, kisses him hard and fast and with his tongue, and Sirius melts into it, feeling so fucking alive, feeling like a live wire. When Remus breaks away, he does not look horrified at himself, or shocked, he only smiles and kisses his unbroken wrist, lips brushing his pulse.
"I really am sorry about your wrist." He murmurs, soft, and glances up at him with golden, beautiful eyes. “It’s my favourite part of you.”
Sirius grins, and he hates that they weren’t doing this from the moment they met, the moment Remus had scowled at him outside James’ flat, and in every moment since. He sighs and tells him– “We’ve been so stupid.”
*
Later, much later, that evening, when they are lying in Sirius’ bed, pressed up against each other and still breathless, bare skin flushed and eyes closed, Sirius raises his head to look at Remus, where he lies back against the pillow. Streetlight filters through the blinds and spins yellow lines across his cheekbone, and the soft rise and fall of his chest is the only other noise, apart from the hum of the cars on the road outside.
“Why Lockhart?” He asks.
Remus slips a warm arm around his waist, still not opening his eyes, his red, bitten lips twisting upwards at the corners. “What?”
“Why the hell did you subject yourself to Gilderoy fucking Lockhart? He’s awful.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wears monogrammed socks.”
“Shut up.” Remus says, and he finally gazes at Sirius, propping himself up on his elbows. His soft curls fall into his face as his smile grows wider. “Don’t pout, I didn’t know how you felt–”
Sirius sighs and shifts so that his thighs are either side of Remus’ hips, but his cast is too awkward and heavy for him to do little else. It had proved difficult, in the moments before, to touch, but they’d managed, laughing into each other's mouths and trying not to cause any irreparable damage to Sirius’ already shattered wrist. “Moony, I was all over you all the time.”
“Not all the time.” Remus narrows his eyes, like it’s a challenge, and Sirius shivers when his palms slide down to grip at his waist. “When I told you that he’d asked me on a date, you just ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.” Sirius scowls back at him. “I retreated in a manly fashion.”
“James told me you threw up.”
“James is a liar and a villain and he deserves to be put in the stocks.”
Choking back his laugh, Remus leans up to kiss him, deeply, for a long, trembling moment, and Sirius forgets everything else. He has decided that he will never let Remus leave this bed again, will never let him out of his sight, even if it means kidnapping. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months of his life, and now it’s here, he’s not quite sure how to go through with it, but he’s betting it all and hoping for the best.
“Remus," Sirius murmurs, after a while, as Remus is falling asleep, their legs tangled together under the thick duvet. He’s fidgeting with a loose thread of the pillow, watching Remus’ profile, the soft, sleepy cast of his features. "I think I'm going to transfer to English Literature."
"Mm." breathes Remus, "About time."
*
It goes like this. Sirius tips his head back to stare at the dark sky. They’ve stepped outside the Whomping Willow to smoke, but the clouds are gathering overhead, grey and looming.
A drop of rain hits his nose and he frowns, blinking back down at Remus, who stands against the wall, but Remus has a funny look on his face and before Sirius can get a word out, Remus has kissed him.
A soft hiccup of surprise rises from the back of his throat and God, the taste of him, the hot lick of his mouth. Strong fingers dig into his waist, sneaking under the worn leather of his jacket. The pack of cigarettes slips from his hands as he winds his unbroken arm around Remus' neck, pulling him down closer and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth until he hears the other boy gasp. Where their skin meets, it burns like fire. There is nothing but the soft heave of Remus' chest, pressed tight against his own, the ghost of his breath over Sirius' jaw.
"I'm never going to get used to that." Sirius murmurs against his lips.
"Tough." Remus smiles, fingers winding into his hair, and it’s so fucking strange that he looks happier than Sirius has ever seen him.
"Oi." James sticks his head out of the back door, the chatter of voice flooding out as he peers at them from behind his round glasses. "Hurry up, lovebirds. The quiz is starting!"
"Ready to fail miserably?" Sirius grins.
"Absolutely." Remus says and leads him back inside.