Coffee
We moved throughout our days with equal ignorance, I pretending not to feel a rush every time Sirius’ skin brushed against mine, and he pretending not to notice it when I turned away, suddenly bashful, after a comment or joke. James and Peter became the closest of friends, it would seem, and they spent most of their time quietly judging the fallout of my growing infatuation. And so, one rainy Wednesday, when I had taken the day off from my incredibly boring office job, Peter was done in the bookstore, and James and Sirius were back from whatever it was they found themselves doing all day, Peter proposed an outing.
“We never go anywhere together,” he complained, crossing his arms on his chest, and I knew in an instance any kind of arguing was out of the question. As such, I pulled myself up from where I was sprawled on the carpet with a groan.
“Well then, wormtail –” I asked, tilting my head. “Where do you propose we go?”
A grin broke out on his face. “I’m glad you asked, moony. There’s this lovely café by the Thames, and I just know you’ll love it, what with your crippling caffeine addiction.” Sirius smirked and I felt my ears grow red. He tilted his head, and for a moment I thought I saw realisation flash in his obsidian eyes. Whatever it was he came to though, he didn’t care to share it.
I nodded, avoiding Sirius’ gaze at all costs. “Great, I’ll go throw a coat on.”
~~~~~~
We got to the café pretty quickly, but for some reason I forgot my umbrella back at the apartment. Sirius was adamant I stand under his, but I refused.
“It’s just a little drizzle,” I shrugged. “I’m not made out of sugar, you know.” Peter snorted at that, and James asked him what was funny in that. He smiled and shook his head.
“I’ll tell you later,” he said, and the topic was dropped. The café itself was warm and cozy, and Peter was right in believing I’d love it. There was an old piano in the corner, and I could feel it to be a magical place, for the muggles of London passed it by unbothered, and the piano started to play a sad Chopin suite when I looked at it for a bit longer. James, Peter, and Sirius put their umbrellas in the stand by the door, and we went over to the cash register to order.
James had a latte, with some caramel syrup, Peter a chamomile tea, Sirius ordered an irish, and I had my regular black coffee. We took a table for our own in the back of the place, and sipped on our respective drinks in silence. Of course, until Sirius broke it.
“So, what’s the story behind Moony?” My mind froze and my stomach flipped as he said that, and it must’ve shown on my face, because he smirked.
Peter cleared his throat. “Well, it’s originally from a misspelling – our primary school teacher once signed him in the register as Remu Lupin, which makes no sense regardless but I digress.” He took a sip from his tea. “And, well. The both of us were bullied back then – and they would call him Loony Lupin… Remu, Loony… Remoony, Moony–”
“What’s the story behind Padfoot?” I asked, and Sirius’ eyes froze on mine. I didn’t let the heat behind my ears distract me. “That’s an interesting nickname – surely there’s something there?”
“Well.” Sirius hesitated. “Yes, I suppose there is.” He looked down at his coffee. “I come from a… specially talented family. Most of us are animagi by the time we turn thirteen,” he looked back at me, eyes of obsidian locking with mine, “and my form is a black dog.”
After that, the conversation flowed – with not much help from me, as I was busy imagining a black dog running through Hyde Park with a white wolf – before James cleared his throat and declared he had something to attend to next door, and Peter offered to join him, leaving me behind with a conspiratorial wink. I furrowed my brow, confused, and my eyes snapped back to Sirius, who I could’ve sworn was looking at me with fascination, but the delusion faded the moment our eyes locked, and silence fell once more.
“What would you do if you weren’t afraid of anything, Moony?” Sirius asked me. ‘Kiss you’, I thought.
‘Kiss you, like there’s no tomorrow’, I wanted to say. “I’m always afraid, Sirius,” I said instead.
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, I do believe that now.” He sighed. “I wish you weren’t though.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because maybe you’d find we want the same things, Remus.”
I laughed bitterly, taking a sip of my coffee. “I highly doubt that, Padfoot.”
“Why? Why can’t you believe it?”
“Because,” I shrugged. “I’m a monster. Broken. You can’t want the same things I want.” He fell silent after that, eyes wide. With disgust, I’d like to believe. I’d rather not think about what was true.
I sighed, getting out of my chair. “I need to have a smoke.” I opened the door and stood out in the rain, struggling with a lighter.
After a moment, I felt the rain stop falling on my head, and the cigarette lit itself, and I felt Sirius’ familiar breath beside me. I took a long drag of smoke, and froze as his soft, ivory skin brushed my cheek, pulling it gently towards his face and forcing my eyes to meet his own. I swallowed my desire and complied with the contact he demanded so gently.
“Don’t ever call yourself a monster again, ok?” His voice was so damn soft I thought I might die. “You’re not a monster. Or broken. You’re just… you. Got it?” I nodded slightly. He mimicked the expression. “Good,” he said as his hand slid down to rest onto my chest, “because if you’re a monster – or broken – then what does that make me, Remus?” His voice grew softer and softer, until it was nothing more than a whisper, “What am I when you’re so perfect…?”
I pretended not to hear, not to feel what I felt – but by god, if he asked me to kill a man, I would. Right then, I would’ve done anything for Sirius Black.
~~~~~~
We returned home soon after that, and like clockwork James and Peter went to sleep, and I found myself drifting to the kitchen, putting the kettle on, and preparing two coffee mugs. But when my company arrived, he did so dressed in a stunning green dress, face lit up by glitter and shine, and his curly black hair pinned back into a bun. He looked like a young goddess – and I wondered what could possibly explain away this gender-bent torture he had cooked up for me.
“Get dressed,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. “We're getting wasted.”
“I don't have a suit,” I stammered, and Sirius grinned.
“There's one waiting for you in my room. Now go, don't keep me waiting.” I went to say something, any kind of protest, but quickly decided against it, instead nodding and making my way to Sirius' bedroom.
It was so painfully his I thought I might die. The air in it smelled of chocolate and burnt wood, and dog, and cologne, and it was a glorious mess of red and gold – and in the centre of it all, an ivory suit, seemingly tailored to someone of a similar posture to myself. I put it on, carefully folding my own clothes and placing them on the edge of the mattress, and turned to take a look at myself in his looking-glass. I looked out of place in it, even though it fit me perfectly. I sighed and re-entered the living room.
“How do I look?” I asked, and Sirius regarded me with a strange expression.
“Perfect,” he said, walking over to me and linking his arm in mine, “now come on, the club awaits us.” I sighed once more, painfully aware of the feel of his skin on mine, of the scent of his perfume, his breath on my skin, and I wondered how I would possibly survive the night.
As it turned out, everything is easier after a few good martinis. Soon, I found myself laughing with the man-parading-as-a-woman at my side, and I hardly even noticed it when he took my hands and placed them on his hips, and I was blissfully drunk on the intoxicating feeling of not being judged, of being out, amongst the people, and with someone I cared for so deeply as I did for him… but all my ease is always short lived, and the image of the moon outside sobered me quite adequately, quite quickly.
“I'm going to have to go on a trip soon, Padfoot.” I muttered. He looked at me with concern in his eyes, and for a moment I wanted to tell him everything, and never hold anything back for him, ever. The moment passed.
“Where are you going?”
“I… I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I'll be back soon, though.” I promised. Sirius placed his head on my chest, and I thought I might die.
“Your heart’s beating awfully fast,” he said.
“It's because I'm afraid,” I answered.
“I know,” he whispered, closing his eyes. A beat passed, and he added: “I wish you were always like this. I wish we were like this.”
“I know, Padfoot,” I said, and I could feel the sadness well in my throat. “I know.”