Chapter Text
The second Euphemia Potter opened the front door, Sirius knew he was completely fucked.
Not in a bad way.
In the deeply emotional, slightly humiliating oh Christ I might actually cry in front of adults sort of way.
Because some things hadn’t changed at all.
Euphemia still looked exactly how Sirius remembered her from childhood sleepovers and summers practically spent inside the Potter house, warm brown skin, thick dark hair loosely pinned back away from her face, soft floral cardigan despite the house being far too warm for knitwear, and those sharp intelligent eyes that somehow always looked like they could read every bad decision you’d made before you’d even spoken.
The second she saw Sirius standing there beside James, hands shoved awkwardly in his coat pockets, she gasped softly and stepped forward immediately like instinct demanded she check he was physically intact.
“Look at you,” she said quietly, reaching up without hesitation to cup one bruised side of Sirius’ jaw where the fading mark from Orion still lingered faintly. “Oh sweetheart, you look exhausted.”
Sirius had barely managed a weak smile before Euphemia narrowed her eyes sharply. “And before I say anything else, young man, I need you to know I have spent the better part of four years deeply unimpressed with how spectacularly horrible you have been behaving.”
“Right,” he muttered awkwardly. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Euphemia crossed both arms now, fully entering what Sirius vividly remembered as mum lecture mode. “I mean honestly Sirius Black, James tells me everything. Lily Evans too, these days. Do you know how many times I have sat in this kitchen listening to stories about you being cruel to people for absolutely no reason? Peter especially. That poor sweet boy adores my cooking and apparently every other week you were making comments about his weight.”
Sirius physically winced. Euphemia pointed a finger at him now.
“And Lily? My God. That girl has tolerated more nonsense from you than I would have at her age.”
Sirius opened his mouth weakly. “In my defence-”
“No defence,” Euphemia cut in instantly. “You were being awful.”
Sirius sighed dramatically. “Right. Fine. I was awful.” Euphemia stared at him another two seconds.
Then immediately pulled him into the tightest hug imaginable.
“Oh darling,” she whispered softly against his hair. “I am very glad you’re alright.”
The smell of her perfume alone nearly made Sirius cry.
Behind them Fleamont Potter stood leaning casually against the hallway archway looking thoroughly entertained by the entire interaction.
He was greyer than Sirius remembered now, laugh lines carved deeper around his eyes and spectacles sitting lower down his nose than they used to, but otherwise looked entirely the same, broad shouldered, warm eyed and permanently carrying the expression of a man who found life mildly amusing.
The second Sirius stepped out of Euphemia’s hug, Fleamont raised one eyebrow slowly in that painfully familiar fatherly way Sirius hadn’t realised he’d missed so much.
Sirius immediately looked toward James instinctively. James looked right back. And then somehow both boys broke into identical grins at exactly the same time.
Fleamont stared at them for another second before chuckling quietly under his breath.
“Ah,” he said dryly. “That’s unfortunate.”
Sirius frowned. “What is?”
Fleamont smiled knowingly now. “You two have started doing the same facial expressions again. Means I’ll be dealing with twice the chaos shortly.”
The Potter house itself somehow felt exactly the same too.
Large enough to be impressive but unlike Grimmauld Place, every room radiated warmth rather than status.
The sitting room held enormous mismatched sofas crowded around a stone fireplace still crackling despite the mild weather outside. Family photographs covered almost every spare wall space holidays, birthdays, football matches James had clearly been dragged into since childhood judging by the absurd amount of framed action shots.
The entire downstairs smelled overwhelmingly of garlic and roasted vegetables and something buttery Euphemia clearly had baking somewhere in the kitchen.
The Potters had money, definitely, but unlike the Blacks, their wealth had always felt invisible somehow. Like comfort mattered more than proving anything to anybody.
Dinner somehow became emotional embarrassingly fast.
Halfway through what Euphemia proudly announced was homemade butter chicken, which Sirius privately thought might be the greatest meal he had ever eaten in his entire life, James, because apparently he had no respect for privacy whatsoever, casually began explaining everything to his parents. Sirius and Regulus. Walburga. Orion. The beatings.
Sirius sat frozen halfway through eating whilst Fleamont’s expression darkened visibly with every sentence and Euphemia eventually set her fork down entirely, eyes fixed solely on Sirius with the sort of heartbreaking softness he physically didn’t know how to handle.
Then very gently she reached across the table and placed one hand over Sirius’ wrist.
“James mentioned you boys may be moving in with your uncle soon.”
Sirius nodded awkwardly.
Euphemia smiled carefully. “I stopped nursing about ten years ago.” Sirius frowned slightly. “Why?”
James rolled his eyes immediately. “Because people are racist dickheads.”
Euphemia shot him a look before smiling sadly. “There was… a lot of unpleasantness surrounding my heritage unfortunately. Patients refusing treatment. Complaints. People assuming I was unqualified because I’m Indian.”
Sirius stared at her, anger flickering instinctively.
Euphemia squeezed his wrist lightly. “So I retrained. I’ve been working as a therapist ever since.”
“When you and Regulus move in with Lewis and Alfie,” Euphemia said softly, “I’d really like you both to consider coming to see me professionally.”
Sirius immediately opened his mouth to refuse out of pure instinct.
Euphemia smiled knowingly. “Not because anything is wrong with you.” Her expression softened further now. “But because boys who survive homes like yours often don’t realise how much damage they’ve become accustomed to carrying.” She continued gently. “You can come to my practice if you’d feel comfortable. Or I can recommend somebody else entirely. Whatever feels safest for both of you.”
Across the table James had gone suspiciously quiet now, clearly already having spoken to his mother about this privately before tonight. Sirius swallowed thickly before managing a quiet, “I’ll… think about it.”
Euphemia smiled warmly. “That’s all I ask.”
After dinner, everything somehow slipped effortlessly back into normality.
James dragged Sirius upstairs like no time had passed at all, both of them falling immediately into the same familiar rhythm they’d had when they were ten and inseparable. Sirius shoved James’ shoulder for stealing the last can of Coke from the mini fridge. James retaliated by throwing a football at Sirius’ head. Sirius threw it back harder. James immediately called him a violent bastard. It felt absurd how natural everything suddenly was. Like the missing four years had simply dissolved somewhere over dinner. And when Sirius stepped fully into James’ bedroom, he realised almost nothing had changed there either. Same dark blue walls. Same stupid football posters. Same shelves overflowing with books James always pretended he “might read eventually.”
Only now there were more framed photographs scattered everywhere. Lily smiling beside James on what looked like holiday somewhere sunny. Peter mid laugh holding what suspiciously looked like birthday cake. Remus leaning lazily against James during what must’ve been some school trip. Sirius smiled automatically at all of them.
Then his eyes landed on something else.
Himself.
Three different photos still sitting on James’ shelf.
One from when they were seven covered in mud after football practice.
One at age ten with Sirius missing his two front teeth grinning beside James.
One from a sleepover at eleven, both boys half asleep beneath a ridiculous blanket fort in the Potter sitting room.
Sirius stood there staring at them far longer than necessary.
James noticed immediately.
“Oh,” James said casually from behind him. “Yeah. Never took those down.”
Before James could say another word Sirius turned around suddenly and pulled him into a hug so tight James physically stumbled backward laughing. But after a second James hugged back just as hard, arms locking instinctively around Sirius’ shoulders exactly the way they had a thousand times as children. Sirius buried his face briefly against James’ neck, blinking hard against the sudden sting in his eyes because somehow this stupid room filled with old photographs had just reminded him of something devastatingly simple.
James had waited.
James Potter had never entirely let go of him.
___
A week after Sirius and Remus had handed in the assignment, Lewis announced the winners at the end of Thursday’s music lesson.
Sirius had been leaning lazily against the back wall beside the keyboards, only half listening because honestly he’d already been proud enough simply hearing the final version properly recorded onto CD earlier that week.
It had sounded real.
More real than anything Sirius had ever made before. Beside him, Remus had been absentmindedly picking at a loose thread hanging from his jumper sleeve when Lewis suddenly clasped his hands together dramatically and said, “Right then, children. I regret to inform you all that talent has won again.”
Sirius immediately looked up. Lewis was smirking directly at them. “Congratulations to Mr Black and Mr Lupin, whose song will be officially submitted to local radio this month.”
Remus let out this ridiculous little gasp beside him and almost grabbed Sirius. Lewis laughed. “Honestly Lupin, composure.” Remus ignored him entirely. Sirius, meanwhile, felt his entire chest swell with something dangerously close to disbelief.
A few days later, the CDs had been handed out.
Every student who took Music got one, a compilation of the term’s best recorded performances, polished properly and printed with actual cover art that Lewis had apparently spent an embarrassingly long time designing himself.
Sirius had spent nearly ten minutes just staring at Track One where his own name sat printed neatly beside Remus’.
I’ll Believe In Anything — Sirius Black & Remus Lupin.
He had quietly wondered then, only briefly, whether Lewis had somehow influenced things.
Whether maybe the whole future uncle-in-law thing had played some unfair role in them winning. But the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Because no.
Sirius knew how hard he’d worked on those lyrics. Knew how much of himself he’d bled into every line. Knew how perfectly Remus’ guitar had wrapped around every note.
The song had won because it deserved to win.
Because Sirius Black was talented.
Deeply, unbelievably talented. And nobody had handed that to him.
A week later, on Monday afternoon, the song aired on local radio.
Sirius wasn’t even there when it happened.
Instead he got three missed calls from James and two texts from Remus that simply read OH MY GOD IT’S ON and TURN THE RADIO ON RIGHT NOW.
Sirius had sprinted downstairs at Grimmauld Place fast enough that Regulus thought someone had died, and there it was, his own voice carrying softly through static speakers in the kitchen whilst Walburga shouted from somewhere upstairs for him to turn that bloody racket off immediately.
Sirius stood completely frozen listening to every lyric pour out into the world, feeling something warm and electric settle somewhere deep in his chest. It wasn’t just a school assignment anymore. It wasn’t just a silly little project.
Somewhere, random strangers were hearing his voice. His words. His song.
But somehow…
Lunch the next day felt even better.
By now, sitting with James and Remus had become routine enough that Sirius no longer hesitated walking into the cafeteria.
Peter and Lily still weren’t exactly friends with him, understandably, considering Sirius had spent years being awful to both of them, but things had softened. Peter no longer physically tensed when Sirius sat down nearby and Lily had reached the point where she mostly rolled her eyes at Sirius instead of glaring at him like she wanted him dead.
Progress.
So when Sirius dropped into his usual seat beside James that afternoon, immediately stealing three chips off James’ tray because some things would never change, he noticed Remus looked almost suspiciously excited. The sort of excitement Sirius had quickly learned usually meant trouble. “What?” Sirius asked immediately. Remus grinned. “Nothing.” James smirked too. “You’re about to find out.”
Then suddenly Remus reached across the table, grabbed the portable CD player Peter had brought in earlier for lunch music, clicked something quickly and turned the volume up.
The opening chords rang out immediately.
Give me your eyes
I need sunshine
Give me your eyes
I need sunshine
Sirius froze.
“Oh my God,” Lily laughed instantly, covering her mouth. Peter looked delighted. James leaned back in his chair already grinning like an idiot.
And Remus? Remus looked positively radiant.
He sat there staring directly at Sirius with this unbearably soft expression before proudly gesturing toward the speakers loud enough for all three of them to hear.
“Yeah,” he said simply, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “That’s my boyfriend.”
Sirius physically felt heat rush straight into his face. James burst out laughing so hard he nearly knocked his drink over. Peter immediately started nodding along to the music like he’d personally discovered the track himself. Lily looked somewhere between amused and weirdly emotional. But Sirius barely noticed any of them. Because Remus was watching him like Sirius had personally hung the stars in the sky, proud and warm and full of this impossible affection Sirius still didn’t entirely understand how to handle.
And I could take another hit for you
And I could take away your trips from you
And I could take away the salt from your eyes
And take away what's been assaulting you
And I could give you my apologies
By handing over the olive trees
And I could take away the shaking knees
And I could give you all the olive trees
Oh look at the trees and look at my face
And look at a place far away from here
___
Three weeks after the wedding, Sirius and Regulus Black ran away from home.
There was no dramatic screaming match beforehand.
No final confrontation with Walburga or Orion.
No grand declaration of freedom.
In truth, it happened almost laughably quietly.
On a Thursday morning before school, both brothers packed absolutely nothing besides what they were already wearing, exchanged one long look across the upstairs hallway of Grimmauld Place, and simply… left.
Walburga had been downstairs on the phone discussing some charity event she didn’t actually care about, Orion was still asleep after stumbling home late the night before smelling strongly of whisky and expensive perfume that definitely hadn’t belonged to his wife, and neither parent noticed their sons slipping through the front door carrying absolutely nothing except years of fear finally left behind.
Sirius remembered standing on the pavement with Regulus in the weak morning sunlight, both of them strangely frozen for a moment as reality settled over them.
Then Regulus had looked sideways and muttered quietly, “Well. I suppose we’ve committed now.”
Sirius laughed so hard he nearly cried. Lewis picked them up twenty minutes later and by lunchtime, Sirius and Regulus Black officially no longer lived at Grimmauld Place.
Alfie, naturally, reacted to this life changing event by immediately announcing they needed “an aggressively irresponsible amount of shopping.”
Sirius had barely stepped fully inside the estate before Alphard was jingling car keys and loudly declaring “Right boys, trauma can wait, bedroom aesthetics cannot.”
Which somehow led to the four of them spending nearly eight straight hours driving between Ikea, B&Q, furniture warehouses and absurdly overpriced home décor shops Sirius privately suspected existed solely for rich people with too much time on their hands.
Sirius was allowed to choose things simply because he liked them. No Walburga dictating colours based on family image. No matching furniture sets chosen purely because expensive meant respectable. Sirius immediately gravitated toward dark wood bookshelves, huge soft bedding in charcoal grey, a ridiculous record player Alfie bought before Sirius could even protest, and enough LED strip lights that Lewis muttered “Christ, are we building a bedroom or a nightclub?”
Regulus, far quieter but visibly overwhelmed in the best way, somehow spent nearly thirty minutes choosing between six nearly identical shades of dark green duvet covers before finally deciding “forest green feels emotionally correct.”
Sirius had laughed for five solid minutes.
The next few afternoons became something Sirius quickly realised he’d remember forever.
Every day after school, he and Regulus came home, home!, which still felt bizarrely wonderful to think, and immediately disappeared upstairs to continue decorating.
Sirius discovered very quickly he apparently had strong opinions about furniture placement when left unsupervised.
Lewis kept wandering into his half-finished room offering unsolicited but annoyingly useful design opinions whilst Alphard mostly appeared carrying coffee and saying things like “You’ve inherited the dramatic decorating gene, excellent.”
Sirius’ room slowly transformed into something entirely his own, records mounted neatly against dark painted walls, posters carefully framed instead of messily blu-tacked, soft lighting everywhere, guitar stands positioned near the enormous windows overlooking half the estate gardens.
Regulus however… was struggling.
Sirius had never really noticed before how little sense of personal taste his younger brother possessed until watching him stare blankly at three unopened boxes for nearly twenty minutes before quietly admitting, “I don’t actually know how rooms are supposed to look when people enjoy living in them.” Sirius hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry.
Thankfully Barty and Evan arrived that evening.
And immediately took complete control.
Regulus, surprisingly, didn’t seem remotely bothered by this.
If anything he looked relieved the second Barty walked into the half decorated bedroom, stared critically at the empty walls and announced “Right. This is tragic. Step away immediately.”
Sirius sat in the hallway for the better part of an hour listening to the three of them bickering over furniture placement whilst Evan repeatedly insisted “No human being needs this many dark colours, Reg, are you decorating a crypt?”
Downstairs meanwhile, Lewis had apparently become completely obsessed with both boys within minutes.
Sirius wandered into the kitchen eventually only to find Barty halfway through explaining some obscure metal band whilst Lewis leaned dramatically across the counter saying “You two are taking Music next year immediately, I refuse to let this talent go wasted.”
Evan, who had been tuning Sirius’ spare guitar absentmindedly nearby, looked delighted by this prospect. By the time they left two hours later Lewis had somehow secured verbal promises from both boys and immediately declared next year’s music department “finally worthy of my presence.”
It was later that evening, sat around the enormous dining table buried beneath takeaway cartons and half empty glasses of wine, that Sirius accidentally discovered perhaps the most horrifying thing about queer adulthood.
Alphard had reached across lazily to steal food from Lewis’ plate, smiling in that infuriatingly affectionate way married people apparently developed, when Lewis absentmindedly laughed and muttered, “Honestly, my bear, stop stealing my chips.”
Sirius had looked up immediately. “Your what?”
Alphard grinned instantly. Dangerous. Delighted.
Lewis, clearly realising his mistake too late, covered half his face with one hand.
Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “No. Explain immediately.” Unfortunately Alphard did.
In far too much detail.
Apparently bear referred to large hairy gay men. Specifically large fat hairy gay men according to Lewis, who was now bright red whilst Alphard looked deeply pleased with himself.
Across the table Regulus physically gagged. Sirius copied him instantly. “I hate this. Why do gay people have secret vocabulary?” Alphard burst out laughing.
“Oh sweetheart.” Lewis groaned into his wine glass. “Please don’t teach them more.”
Alphard smirked wickedly. “You’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Sirius and Regulus exchanged one identical horrified look before simultaneously pretending to throw up into their plates.
But underneath the disgust, Sirius found himself smiling anyway. Because between learning that his uncle liked being called bear, watching Lewis aggressively recruit teenage musicians into next year’s classes, and decorating a bedroom entirely his own inside a house where nobody feared raised voices… Sirius realised something strange.
Freedom didn’t arrive all at once. Sometimes freedom looked smaller. Softer. Stranger. Sometimes freedom looked like laughing at gay terminology over takeaway dinner whilst sitting beside your little brother in a house where nobody ever slammed doors hard enough to make you flinch.
And God.
Sirius loved it here.
____
A month into whatever this was, dating, Sirius supposed, though neither of them had ever really sat down and officially labelled it beyond Remus occasionally calling him my boyfriend in ways that made Sirius’ brain stop functioning, Remus finally asked the question Sirius had secretly been dreading.
They’d been sprawled across Sirius’ enormous bed at Alfie’s estate, tangled half beneath blankets after spending the better part of an hour making out whilst Fleetwood Mac hummed softly through Sirius’ speakers, when Remus casually said, “Mum wants to meet you by the way.”
Sirius had immediately sat bolt upright. “Absolutely not.”
Remus had laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the mattress. “You’ve literally fought my dad in your head over this already, haven’t you?”
Sirius glared. “Your father definitely hates me. Rightfully. But still.”
Remus only smiled then, reaching over and absentmindedly tracing circles against Sirius’ bare thigh. “Come over Friday. Properly this time.”
Things between them had been… slow.
Publicly at least.
Sirius still wasn’t ready for open affection in school corridors and Remus, endlessly patient as always, never once pushed him further than he could handle.
They didn’t kiss at school beyond the occasional secret touch beneath cafeteria tables or fingers brushing together when nobody was looking.
No public declarations. No hand holding in crowded places. Sirius still carried too much fear stitched into his bones for that. But privately? God. Privately they were inseparable.
Every stolen afternoon in Remus’ tiny bedroom somehow turned into hours spent tangled together, kissing lazily beneath blankets, learning one another slowly in ways Sirius had never experienced before.
Sirius had been with girls before, plenty, actually, but being with Remus felt entirely different somehow. Softer yet harder. More consuming. More real.
Everything with Remus carried emotion Sirius had never attached to physical intimacy before, and somewhere embarrassingly deep inside himself Sirius had accepted one undeniable truth.
Nothing in his entire life had ever compared to loving Remus Lupin.
Which unfortunately did not stop him from nearly throwing up walking toward the Lupin house Friday evening.
“You look pale,” Remus said immediately after opening the front door.
Sirius shoved past him. “I’m considering escape.”
Remus laughed softly, shutting the peeling yellow door behind them whilst Sirius stood awkwardly in the narrow hallway trying to remember how breathing worked.
The house looked exactly the same as the first time he’d come over weeks earlier. Cluttered, warm, smelling faintly of coffee and laundry detergent and something baking somewhere deeper inside.
Except now the familiarity somehow made Sirius more nervous rather than less. Because before, Remus’ parents hadn’t been here.
Today they were.
Sirius heard movement in the kitchen and physically tensed. “You realise,” he muttered under his breath toward Remus, “your dad has every right to hit me on sight.”
Remus snorted. “Relax. He promised not to maim you.”
Lyall Lupin did not smile when Sirius met him.
Not properly.
He sat in the living room in his wheelchair with a paperback novel resting abandoned in his lap, broad shouldered despite sitting down and carrying the exact sort of intimidating quiet Sirius found infinitely scarier than loud anger. His greying hair sat slightly messy like he’d been running frustrated hands through it and his expression when Sirius stepped into the room could best be described as… restrained tolerance.
Sirius knew exactly why. This man knew who he was. Knew what he'd done.
The bruises Remus had worn after that fight had not exactly been subtle. Sirius stood there awkwardly before muttering quietly, “Hello, sir.”
Lyall stared at him for another moment longer before finally sighing and setting his book aside. “You know,” he said dryly, “I imagined this conversation very differently considering you punched my son in the face not long ago.”
Sirius physically wilted.
Remus groaned beside him. “Dad-”
Lyall held one hand up. Then finally, reluctantly, the corner of his mouth twitched. “That said…” his eyes flicked toward Remus standing suspiciously close beside Sirius now. “… I’ve not seen my son smile this much in years.” Sirius looked up slightly. Lyall nodded once. “So I am choosing… temporary civility.”
Then Hope Lupin entered the room.
And Sirius immediately understood why Remus was the way he was.
She was sunshine.
There was genuinely no other word for it. Warm faced and bright eyed, curly honey-blonde hair tied messily upward with what looked suspiciously like a pencil holding half of it together, oversized knitted cardigan hanging off one shoulder and flour dust somehow coating one side of her jeans like she’d walked through baking ingredients on the way downstairs.
“Oh lovely!” she said instantly, smiling wide enough Sirius thought his retinas might burn. “You’re far prettier than I expected.”
Remus covered his face. “Mum, please.”
Hope beamed anyway, crossing the room toward Sirius with a slight unevenness in her movement he noticed immediately.
The left side of her body moved slower somehow, her left leg dragging just a fraction behind the right, left shoulder held slightly lower too.
Then she stuck out her right hand cheerfully. “Hope Lupin. I’m informed you’ve traumatised my son and also apparently have excellent cheekbones.”
Sirius shook her hand automatically whilst trying not to laugh.
It was later over dinner Sirius learnt why she moved the way she did.
Lewis had taught him enough basic boundaries recently that he knew not to ask directly, but Hope apparently had no such reservations.
Halfway through serving potatoes one slipped from the spoon because her left hand failed to grip properly and she laughed brightly. “Oh honestly, this thing is decorative at best.”
Sirius frowned. Hope wiggled the fingers on her right hand.
“Cerebral palsy darling. Whole left side works slower than the right. This hand contributes absolutely nothing useful besides aesthetic support.”
Sirius blinked. “Yuhh What?”
Hope laughed. “I’ve had fifty-six years to make disability jokes, I’ve earned them.”
Remus groaned again. “She says that to literally everyone.”
Sirius found himself smiling despite the nerves still lingering beneath his skin. There was something effortless about Hope.
Entirely unashamed. Entirely herself.
It struck Sirius immediately that if Walburga Black had lived in a body she deemed imperfect, she’d probably spend her life hiding it. Hope instead treated it like an amusing inconvenience.
By the end of the evening, Sirius found himself sitting cross-legged on the Lupin living room floor whilst Hope rambled enthusiastically about terrible eighties music, Lyall quietly debating literature with Remus from across the room and the warm yellow lamp beside the sofa casting soft light over everything familiar and safe.
At one point Sirius caught Lyall watching him again, not cold this time. Protective still, naturally. But softer somehow.
Sirius knew he would never fully forgive what had happened before.
Nor should he.
But seeing Remus tucked comfortably against Sirius’ shoulder now, absentmindedly playing with the rings on Sirius’ fingers, seemed to answer enough questions for now. And sitting there surrounded by another family who loved loudly and imperfectly and honestly, Sirius was thinking something dangerously wonderful.
Maybe he was becoming the sort of boy worthy of loving Remus Lupin after all.
It was later that night, long after Lyall had wheeled himself into his bedroom muttering something about “young people being insufferably loud after ten” and Hope had kissed both Remus and Sirius on the cheek before nearly tripping over the kitchen doorway and laughing “left leg’s clocked out for the evening, boys,” leaving the house wrapped in that quiet sort of stillness only late evenings seemed capable of carrying.
Sirius and Remus had ended up alone in the tiny kitchen, the yellow overhead light dim and warm above them, the back window cracked open enough to let cool summer air drift lazily inside. Somewhere behind them, Sirius had quietly connected his phone to the little bluetooth speaker sitting beside the toaster and the soft opening chords of Life’s a Gas by T. Rex had begun filling the cramped room so gently it almost felt like breathing.
I could have loved you, girl, like a planet
I could have chained your heart to a star
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas
Neither of them said anything.
They didn’t need to.
Remus stood between Sirius’ arms, one hand lazily linked with Sirius’ own whilst Sirius rested the other low against his waist, both of them moving in that slow awkward way teenage boys did when neither properly knew how dancing worked but both were trying anyway.
I could have built a house on the ocean
I could have placed our love in the sky
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas
Their socked feet kept bumping clumsily against one another over the kitchen tiles, Remus laughing quietly every time Sirius accidentally stepped wrong, forehead resting against Sirius’ collarbone whilst Sirius smiled into the mess of dirty blond hair falling against his face.
I could have turned you into a priestess
I could have burned your fate in the sand
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas
The world outside felt impossibly far away somehow. No school. No parents. No hiding. No fear curling in Sirius’ stomach every time someone looked too closely at him.
There was just warm kitchen lights. T. Rex humming softly through cheap speakers. Remus breathing steadily against him like he belonged there.
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas
I hope it's going to last
Sirius could see it.
Not now.
Not seventeen and bruised and still learning how to exist without fear stitched permanently into his bones.
But later.
Years later.
He saw flowers.
Soft music.
Rows of chairs filled with laughing people who loved them both.
He saw James grinning stupidly somewhere near the front. Regulus taller somehow, older, happier. Lewis definitely crying dramatically despite pretending he wasn’t. Alfie standing beside him looking impossibly proud. Hope beaming brighter than the sun itself. Lyall trying and failing to hide emotion behind some sarcastic comment.
Sirius saw himself walking forward.
Saw an aisle stretching beneath his feet.
Saw Remus Lupin standing at the altar waiting for him.
Golden eyes warm.
Suit slightly crooked because Remus would never care enough to fix it properly.
And Sirius knew with terrifying certainty that if he ever saw that future for real…
He would cry before even reaching him.
“What’re you thinking about?” Remus murmured softly, voice half lost against the music.
Sirius looked up at him.
At this beautiful boy who had somehow loved him through all the ugliest parts of himself.
And quietly, Sirius whispered against Remus’ ear.
“I don't believe in science”
“Hm? How come?” Remus murmured, even softer now.
“Because I orbit the Moon.”
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas