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Sirius has only been limping for five minutes when the house comes into view. It's the last thing he expects to see, thirty miles from town, but at the moment he doesn't give it a second thought—he could dance for joy across the asphalt. If he had both his shoes.
Knocking on the door sets his knuckles to stinging. Luckily, there are no bloody marks on the wood when he takes his hand away. "Excuse me," he yells through the wood after a minute of waiting, "I need help, I've been in an accident."
The door swings inwards before the words are out of his mouth. "Sorry, I was in the—" The man stops short, his green eyes wide. "What happened to you?"
Sirius knows he must look awful. "I fell off my bike," he says, shrugging. Ow.
"You fell off your—?"
"Motorbike."
"Oh." The man looks him up and down again. "I suppose you want help."
He sounds so nonplussed that Sirius can't help grinning. "If you don't mind."
"N-not at all." The man tightens his grip on the mug he's holding. "I've got a phone, if you want to call someone."
"That'd be great." Sirius waits, but no phone is offered. He shifts his weight to the other foot.
The man clears his throat impatiently. "Well, don't just stand there. Come in and sit down."
Sirius realizes belatedly that the man is standing off to one side of the doorway, clearly leaving room for him to come through. "Thanks." The house smells like chocolate. "I really just need a phone, though."
"Don't be ridiculous." The man closes the door. "Looking like that, it's a wonder you haven't keeled over already. Sit." He points an imperious finger at the sofa.
Sirius isn't sure he can. The sofa—every surface, really—is covered with papers, binders, and thick books. He picks up a small pile and bends his knees gingerly. "Inviting me into your house is a bit of a risk, though, don't you think?" he asks as he tries to find a place to put the books down. "I could be an escaped convict or something."
"What's your name?" the man asks. He, too, is searching through the mess of papers that clutters the room. "So I can read about your capture in the paper tomorrow."
"Sirius Black."
The man shakes his head. "You can't go giving that information to everyone, mate. It'll get you arrested again before you can blink." He grins at Sirius, whose stomach lurches. "I'm Remus, by the way."
"Pleasure." Sirius gives up and puts the papers on his lap. Remus is still rummaging. "If you can't find the phone—"
"It's here somewhere," Remus assures him. "It's not always like this. I'm studying."
"Studying what?"
"Er—general medicine."
Sirius isn't quite sure what that means, but the top paper on his lap has a lot of big words on it. "I see."
He hasn't got a clue, and from the way Remus smiles, it's obvious. "Infectious diseases, specifically," he explains.
"Should I be worried about catching something?"
"As worried as I should be about harboring an escaped convict. Aha!" He waves a cell phone in the air. "Got it."
Sirius stands up, replacing the books on the sofa. There's blood on the white paper where it was pressed against his stomach. "Oh, shit." He looks down at himself and sees more blood, darkening his black shirt. It doesn't hurt, but the sight makes him dizzy. "Wow, that's…"
"Careful." Remus is in front of him, and reaches out to hold him steady because, apparently, he's swaying from side to side. "Are you going to be sick?"
"No," Sirius mumbles, shaking his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. It only makes his dizziness worse. The lights are very bright, he thinks through the fog, and pitches forward into darkness.
The first thought in his otherwise empty mind is of the color green. Sirius can't say why. Deep, vibrant green, like moss on rocks in a forest. His second thought is that there's a fair amount of pressure on his right side, just below his ribs, which hurt like hell. He inhales and winces.
"Oh, hello," says a voice. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to call an ambulance."
Sirius opens his eyes. A face is leaning over his. Remus. Up close, Sirius realizes that his brown hair is shot through with lighter streaks. "How long was I out?"
"About forty-five seconds." Remus pulls away slightly, and Sirius gets another look the exceedingly messy room. He's lying on the sofa, a lumpy pillow beneath his head. The books and papers seem to have been thrown haphazardly across the floor. He realizes that the pressure on his side is from Remus pressing a cloth into the cut. He tries to sit up for a better view, but a hand on his shoulder holds him down. "Take it easy," Remus says. "Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor," Sirius huffs. "You're studying, that means you're still at university." He squints. "Besides, you can't be much older than me."
"I may not be a doctor," Remus admits, "but I know a bit about fainting."
"I did not faint."
"You fell into my arms like a Victorian lady in a corset. What do you call that?"
"Swooning." Sirius snickers at Remus's expression. "Where'd the blood come from, anyway? Have I got a gaping wound in my side?"
"Hardly. It's a paper cut." Remus finally removes his hand from Sirius's shoulder to press down more firmly. "Bleeding's almost stopped, I think."
Sirius frowns. "I have no idea how this happened."
"Probably when you fell off your bike."
"Thanks, that's so helpful." Sirius makes a face at Remus, who grins. "I didn't so much fall as fly."
"I don't know how to tell you this, mate, but motorcycles don't fly."
"Mine did. Into a tree."
Remus raises his eyebrows. "How did you avoid smearing yourself across the road?"
"I saw it coming and jumped off. Hit the ground kind of hard, but I lived. Thanks to you." He plasters a huge smile on his face. "My savior!"
"Lucky me."
"Most people would feel lucky," Sirius points out. "A stunningly handsome vagrant shows up on their doorstep, collapses into their arms, and is undeniably indebted to them? It's the perfect scenario."
"For what?" One side of Remus's mouth quirks up, and Sirius's heart skips a beat.
"I don't know," Sirius blurts. He can't think with Remus looking at him like that, but for some reason he can't look away.
Remus smiles as if he's discovered something, but all he says is, "Well, you make a wonderful damsel in distress."
"Has the bleeding stopped?" Sirius asks after a moment of strangely awkward silence.
Remus lifts the cloth a few inches. "Yes, actually," he says. "Hang on. I'll get bandages."
"I don't need those," Sirius protests, but Remus has already walked into the other room. "Really!" he calls after him.
"Yes, you do," Remus calls back, "or you'll start bleeding again as soon as you get up, and then I'll have even more blood on my thesis." He comes back carrying a green first aid kit.
"I'm sorry about that," Sirius offers. "I didn't mean to make it look like a murder scene."
Remus shrugs. "No hard feelings." He unzips the kit and takes out a spray bottle of clear liquid. "Stop looking so petrified. This is good for you."
"In all honesty," Sirius says, "I'd rather go home and wash it with alcohol."
"Maybe you're a convict after all," Remus muses as he sprays the wound. Surprisingly, it doesn't sting. "You've got a remarkably warped sense of self-preservation. I suppose you weren't wearing a helmet today either?"
"They took away my gear when they locked me up." Sirius looks away when Remus takes out a square of gauze and a roll of white bandages. He settles for watching Remus's face, which is set in concentration. "Actually, I was wearing a helmet. I took it off and left it with my bike."
"Hm." Remus looks teasingly skeptical. "Be that as it may, you're lucky you're not roadkill."
"My best mate's proposing to his girlfriend today. He got a bit worked up so I was on my way to go calm him down before she got there."
"What time would that be?"
"Er… in fifteen minutes."
"And where does he live?"
"Leicester."
Remus pauses. Sirius can feel his fingers on his skin, tingly and warm. "It's two hours from here to Leicester."
"I know, that's why I was going so fast."
"Sirius, that's impossible. Even with a train it takes over an hour."
"I know." He focuses on the curve of Remus's nose, of all things, in an effort to ignore the tugging sensation around the edges of the cut. "What can I say? I help my friends."
"Seems to me that it's easier to help if you're still alive."
"You know, that did cross my mind as I was crashing."
Remus's nose wrinkles as he smiles. "Try to remember it next time." He smoothes the bandage flat and his palms brush Sirius's stomach. "That's that."
"Oh, good." Sirius looks at the finished work, but not before Remus turns his head and catches him watching. "You're pretty good," he says. Apart from the stain on his shirt, there's not even any blood.
"I'd refrain from rinsing it in alcohol," Remus advises, "unless you'd like an infection."
"An infection would be an excuse to come see you again, right?"
Remus holds up a paper with a red splotch along one side. "I do infectious diseases. It's very different."
"Damn," Sirius says, and Remus's cheeks turn pink.
For perhaps fifteen seconds, neither of them says anything. Sirius has a vague idea of why he's feeling disappointed, and it's got everything to do with the light touch on his skin at the edge of the bandage. As soon as he realizes, the touch vanishes, and Remus places his hands in his lap. "Do you want to call your friend now?"
Sirius nods and glances at the clock. "Hopefully he's still breathing."
"All right. Don't stand up this time." Remus retrieves the phone again, then leaves the room.
James picks up on the second ring. "She's not here yet, Padfoot."
"Calm down, you've still got five minutes."
"Will you be here in five minutes?"
Sirius imagines James running his hand through his hair until it's sticking straight out from his head. "Er, no. I crashed my bike."
"So catch a train. I have faith in your supersonic speed." There's a beat, and then—"Hang on, are you all right?"
"More or less. I knocked on some bloke's door and then I passed out."
"Christ, Sirius, do you need me to come find you?"
"No!" He's so loud that Remus pokes his head back in. "No, I'm still in Yorkshire. Wait for Lily."
"Are you sure? I really think I ought to help. It's my fault you were even on the road, and Lily would understand—"
"Prongs, do not come anywhere near me," Sirius hisses, checking that Remus has vanished again. "The door I knocked on—the most beautiful man in the world lives here."
James sniggers. "I think you hit your head when you passed out."
"His name is Remus and he bandaged my wound. You are going to propose to Lily and not ruin this for me."
"I'm shocked. As if I'd ever do anything to thwart your admittedly pathetic attempts at romance!"
"Two words, Prongs: Frank Longbottom."
"You're blaming me for that? He'd already asked Alice out!" There's a colossal crash on the other end. "SHIT, Lily's here. I'm going to throw up."
"Answer the door."
"I can't. I'm hiding behind a bookshelf."
"Prongs, answer the door and don't call me until tomorrow." He manages a "Good luck!" before the call disconnects, but he's not sure if James hears it.
Remus leans through the doorway. "Did his girlfriend get there?"
"Yeah." He tries to read Remus's expression, but can't quite decipher it. How much did he hear? "He's a little busy."
"Is there anyone else you can call?"
Sirius shakes his head. "Usually I'd try my friend Peter first, but he's on holiday somewhere—Albania, I think."
"What about family?"
"No."
There's an edge to his voice, and Remus hears it. He leans back a little, looking embarrassed, but his tone is light when he speaks. "I suppose I'll have to drive you, then."
Is Sirius imagining it, or is Remus pleased? He ignores the squirming in his stomach and nods. "Yeah, probably." He feels glued to the sofa. Once again, silence stretches between them. Remus appears to be watching the play of light on the wall through the branches outside—and then he turns and smiles when he sees Sirius looking at him. His stomach flips over.
"Do you want to go now?" Remus offers. "We can collect your bike, too. And the helmet that may or may not actually exist."
"You wound me. But yeah. We could go now." Words trip awkwardly off of his tongue. He sits up painfully and rolls some of the stiffness from his neck. With his various aches and pains, getting to his feet will be a chore.
"Let me help," Remus says. He grips Sirius's elbow and, together, they stand.
Sirius's knees seem to have fused at uncomfortable angles. He can't help leaning on Remus a bit, and when he looks up, their faces are only a few inches apart. He swallows.
"How are you feeling?" Remus asks.
"A little dizzy," Sirius says truthfully.
"Do you want to sit down again?"
Remus's eyes are a vibrant green, Sirius realizes, like moss on rocks in a forest. "I don't think that would help." His heart is beating a wild tempo against his ribs, and judging by the flush across Remus's cheeks, his isn't the only one.
They might stand there forever—Sirius isn't entirely opposed to the idea—but there's a magnetic force between them. All at once, he sees a challenge in Remus's eyes. Hope threatens to choke him. He can't say who moves forward, just that their lips meet hesitantly. For one clumsy moment, they bump noses, but then Remus tilts his head and they fall smoothly into each other.
Sirius can feel Remus's pulse singing in his mouth, matching his own rhythm. Suddenly he's alone, and Remus has pulled away, wide-eyed. "Er," Sirius starts. His face burns. He's still hanging on to Remus's arm. Should he let go?
Before he can decide, Remus smiles. It's a strained expression, nothing like the relaxed grins he wore earlier. "Sorry," he rushes. "I don't know what I—I mean, I don't—" He stops and runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he repeats, his cheeks on fire.
Looking at his distress, Sirius experiences a strange warmth blooming in his chest. It bubbles up as laughter. Remus blinks at him and he forces himself to stop. "It's just," he says, and chuckles. "Sorry." He takes a deep breath to compose his face. Still, he can't help smiling. "I'm gay," he says as easily as he can manage.
"Oh," Remus says, more like a huff of air than a word. His smile widens, a real one now. "Well. Good." He flushes a deeper pink than ever.
"Are you?"
Remus shakes his head. "Bi."
"Cool." Remus laughs, as Sirius hoped he would. But he still seems worried. "Is something wrong?" Suddenly, Sirius is suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he has bad breath. Maybe he bled on him.
"I kissed you," Remus says. He sounds almost accusatory. "Without consent. Most people are a bit touchy about that."
Sirius crosses his arms. "Hang on, now. I kissed you."
Startled, Remus laughs again. "No, I don't think so." He's teasing, but there's a bit of leftover uncertainty there, as if he's afraid it's all a big joke.
"I'm sure of it," Sirius tells him, trying to let him know. He has to understand. I don't mind.
Remus gets the message. "In that case," he says, his expression suddenly clear, "we should even things out." He runs his hand down Sirius's arm until they're holding hands, and pulls him closer. Those green eyes hold his gaze. "I'm going to kiss you," he warns. One corner of his mouth twitches up.
As Remus leans forward, Sirius feels dizzy again. "I'm counting on it."