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The dorm room was silent. James and Peter were already asleep in a post-Welcome Feast food coma, and Remus was in their bathroom, taking his nightly shower, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts. He’d already changed into his pajamas and lay down, staring at the top of his four-poster bed. It was only his first night back after the summer holiday. He shouldn’t already be so stressed. Sure, it was his OWL year, which every fifth-year was freaking out over, although classes didn’t start until Monday. But exams weren’t what plagued Sirius’ mind. The thing that occupied nearly every bit of his thoughts since the train was more of a personal crisis than an academic one.
A romantic personal crisis, to be specific. Sirius had a crush, or at least what he thought was a crush. He wasn’t quite sure since he’d ever had a crush before. But he had the intense desire to snog the daylights out of a certain someone, so he figured it was probably a crush. Unlike most boys, Sirius had never had a childhood crush. While James had jabbered away at eleven about how cute the seventh-year Ravenclaw that tutored them in Levitation Charms was, Sirius just nodded and threw out the occasional, “yeah, her hair does look soft.” He figured the heart-racing, pixies-in-your-stomach, dry-mouth-inducing attraction toward a girl would come later when he was older. And to an extent, he’d been right. He was older alright, but it wasn’t a girl making him feel weak at the knees. No, it was a boy.
When he thought about it—which he had been obsessing over the past eleven hours—it didn’t surprise him all that much that he liked blokes. He’d been on a date with a girl last year to Hogsmeade, and it was an alright time. He had had a nice time, he guessed, and he’d kissed her because that’s what he thought he should do. But it wasn’t the fantastic experience that Gideon Prewett, one of the twins on the Quidditch team in the year ahead of him, had made it seem. So, it wasn’t the “fancying blokes” concept that bothered him. It was the bloke in question that had him frazzled.
The door opened and out walked Remus, already dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a green jumper. He was towel drying his tawny curls, which had grown longer over the summer and now hung in his eyes in an impossibly adorable way. His hair wasn’t the only thing that had changed about him in the two months that had passed while Sirius had been cooped up in Grimmauld Place. Remus had shot up at least five inches, although he was still shorter than Sirius, and seemed to have put on a little muscle, too. He was still skinny, but not nearly as skin-and-bones as he always was. And maybe it was the fact that Dumbledore had made him Prefect, but he also carried himself with an air of quiet confidence he didn’t have before. In short, somehow, in two months, Remus Lupin had gone from this short, gangly, and quiet boy to one who was tall, fit, and—well, still quiet, but in the kind of way that made Sirius’ stomach flip.
And that was the source of Sirius’ dilemma. He’d never once saw his best friend as cute. Never had he wished to smooth the still damp curls away from Remus’ face, then maybe pull him close by those curls and snog the ever-loving daylights out of him? What in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do if the first person he’d ever had the will to snog was his bloody best friend?
“The bathroom’s all yours, Padfoot,” Remus said as he hung his towel on the hook by his four-poster.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He could feel Remus looking at him, and he wanted to look back, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d never been very good at hiding his emotions, and the last thing he needed was for Remus to find out about his feelings before he had really had the chance to work through them. So he continued to stare at the ceiling, hoping that Remus would go to bed soon.
Remus let out a frustrated huff. “Alright, that’s it. Budge up,” he ordered. Sirius barely had time to register the command before Remus was plopping down on the foot of Sirius’ bed, pulling the curtains closed, and casting a Muffliato Charm.
“What’s up?” Sirius asked.
“‘What’s up?’” Remus parroted back at him. “‘What’s up’ is that you haven’t looked me in the eye or said over six words to me since the train. And seeing as I also didn’t hear from you all summer, I can’t help but think you’re mad at me. So, what did I do?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t—I couldn’t send any letters this summer. The only reason that I could talk to James because of our mirrors. I promise.” That much was true. His mother had put him on a communication lockdown for the entire summer in an attempt to bring him in-line. But it didn’t explain his behavior on the train or at dinner, and the look on Remus’ face told him he wasn’t going to get out of the conversation that easily.
“That still doesn’t explain why you won’t talk or look at me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m right in front of you, and you still won’t look at me.”
Sirius took a deep breath and dragged his gaze up from his lap to Remus’ face.
“Pads, what is it? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I can tell something is up with you. If it was something I did—”
“It’s not you, Rem,” he said, cutting Remus off.
Remus’ face softened. “Did something happen with your family?”
He nodded. “Reg won’t speak to me. We got into a fight last night and—” he said, which was true, but again, not the complete story.
Luckily, Remus bought it. He reached forward and squeezed Sirius’ arm. “I’m sorry, Pads. You know you can talk to me, though. You don’t have to hide.”
Sirius did his best not to react to how the subtle contact sent a spark through his entire body. “I know. I just—I need time to process it.”
Remus smiled sadly. “Well, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Moons,” Sirius said, returning the sad smile. “I’m going to go brush my teeth then try to get some sleep. I’m exhausted.” That was a complete lie. He was wide awake, but he needed to be alone.
“Sure.” Remus gave his arm another squeeze before putting his arm away. “Goodnight, Padfoot.”
“Night, Rem.”
He watched Remus lift the Silencing Charm, open the curtains, and climb out of bed before going to the bathroom. He shut the door, leaned against it, and buried his face in his hands to muffle his frustrated groan. Merlin, he was in trouble. Because in that brief conversation, he had three realizations:
One: he didn’t just want to snog Remus, but wanted general physical closeness. He wanted to hold his hand, and for Remus to hold him in his arms as he told him about his horrible summer, and to bury his face into those fluffy curls to breathe in that comforting scent of bergamot and chocolate that always seems to hang on him.
Two: he’d wanted to do those last three things for longer than just the past eleven hours. He thought that was just things people always wanted to do with their friends. But maybe not, because he’d never had the same want for physical closeness with James or Peter.
Which brought him to three: his feelings for Remus might not be as recent a development as he initially thought.