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They thought James didn't know, and they were right. He never saw the touches or the kisses; he wasn't privy to the intimate moments. Sirius was afraid to tell. Remus kept his peace without objection. He was used to secrets. He felt stripped without them, bared down to muscle and bone.
It was like a game for a while. There were secret kisses at night behind charmed-shut bed hangings and nights locked in dusty, disused classrooms. Then came the flat, and freedom. Suddenly it wasn't a game anymore. Life stretched out in front of them with no discernible end and Remus woke up with his arms around Sirius every morning, same as he fell asleep. They shared a bedroom and a life: Sirius cooked them breakfast most mornings while Remus read crossword clues aloud from the Prophet. Three years ago, Sirius would've scoffed at being so domestic and Remus wouldn't have ever believed it, but now they had trouble imagining anything different.
Sirius kept silent because he didn't know what to say. It wasn't James' business, he told himself, and those sort of things weren't normal. Every time Sirius thought he would tell, the words froze on his tongue. He needed James as much as he needed Remus. Part of him was terrified that James would make him choose. He couldn't.
They think James doesn't know, but they are wrong. James knows. He doesn't quite remember when it processed, but he sees it in every touch that lingers too long and every look they share when they think no one is watching.
James smiles and nods and goes along with it. He doesn't say a word because Sirius doesn't, either. He wonders, sometimes, if even they don't know - if he's caught something before they have, because it seems unlikely that Padfoot wouldn't tell him something that monumental.
He laughs along with Sirius' stories in the pub, but he watches like a hawk for clues: a hand on Sirius' back, fingertips brushing as they pass each other in the crowd. He notices them and keeps a log in his head because one day he will need it. One day he will get up the guts to ask Padfoot if he's crazy, or if maybe there is something there that he isn't meant to see.
It was Christmas but not quite, that awkward time in the middle of December when people wished you a Merry Christmas and Sirius didn't have the heart to remind them that it was only the twenty-third. He was walking with Remus in a throng of holiday shoppers who had forgotten the spirit of the season. He supposed he could count himself in that, weighed down with bags and thinking of nothing but Galleons and Sickles, like good will towards men could be bought and sold.
They had presents for everyone, even if the shopping was a bit late and Hogsmeade was under two feet of snow. Moony was in step beside him, list in hand, checking to make sure they hadn't forgotten anyone. He was worrying his lip between his teeth. The sight of him, from his wind-ruffled hair to his pink cheeks down to his hideous boots made Sirius grin against a cold gust of wind.
Sirius loved him and he wanted to tell the world, but he couldn't open his mouth to his best friend. He wondered if Moony deserved better. Love didn't measure well in worth, no more than gold measured well in miles. There weren't equations and conversion rates. It just was and Remus knew that even if there was some sort of scale, he wouldn't care to check it.
It's Christmas but not quite, and James shouts Happy Christmas to anyone who will listen. It's his favourite time of the year, when the world is painted in white with red and green and blinking fairy lights everywhere. He loves the flush of Lily's skin in the cold and the way the sun glints just right off the snow and blinds him .
He's in Hogsmeade shopping because there's never enough presents for a child and Harry deserves them all. He stops beside a shop when he hears a laugh like a bark and peers around the corner into the alleyway between Gladrag's and the Owl Post.
He sees Sirius and Moony, pressed together against the cold and knee deep in snow. They kiss, just once - almost too chastely for James to notice - but he sees and smiles into his own hand. He doesn't stop and shout, because not all things are revelations and he has seen this coming even if he wasn't sure. There are gifts to buy and he has a wife and a son to get home to.
When he gets home, James puts the book he bought for Moony and the Tutshill Tornados calendar for Padfoot in a box, spells it shut and wraps it, then jots 'For The Dogs' on the tag. He hopes they understand.
When Christmas day came, they spent it with the Potters. Sirius felt it was an obligation as Godfather to be there with Harry on Christmas (and Remus was on the outs with his father anyway). They gave each other secret smiles all through lunch and afterward, once they'd all laughed at Harry's fascination with wrapping paper and had too much Goblin wine, James passed them a giftwrapped box.
Sirius peered at the tag and looked up at James again. He passed the box to Moony and excused himself. James met him on the back porch and stared out into the garden with him. They were quiet for a while, until James cleared his throat and told him that it was all right, that Moony was a good bloke and he'd break Sirius' kneecaps if he fucked it up.
Christmas lunch sits in James' stomach like a rock while Harry rips open his presents and spends more time crinkling wrapping paper between his chubby fingers than looking at all the toys. He tries not to read too much into the ghost-white look on Padfoot's face when he hands Moony the present and takes off to the back garden.
James follows, because James has always followed Sirius. He wonders if Sirius is scared and what it will take to break the tension. He wants Sirius realise that he loves him no matter what, because they are brothers and best friends, but the words get lost in a jumble on his tongue. They stand in silence until James makes promises he intends to keep - it's alright, he says, and Padfoot laughs when James threatens his knees.
James has a thousand questions but he doesn't ask any. It's Christmas and this is enough for now.