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"James." The gentle poke of a finger into a warm arm.
"Jaaames." Hot breath in an ear, damp, humid.
"Jamesie." Small shake, fingers pinching.
"James, for fuck's sake!"
There's a sudden kick to the bed, a jarring sensation racing through it. James grunts, lurching upwards, flailing, arms flying about chaotically, defensively. He blinks into the darkness. He blinks again, shifts his eyes around slowly, searching for the source of his startlement and why he's suddenly finding himself awake and not still safely nestled within his wonderful dream. When his gaze settles on the slightly blurred face of an annoyed looking Sirius Black, James only has one thought.
Of course.
Sirius pulls back from where he's half bending over the bed when he sees James' eyes fix on him myopically. "Oh, good. You're up. We need to talk," he states plainly. He looks a little frantic through James' bleary vision. And that's all before he begins to pace.
James blinks again, tracking him, eyelids closing and opening slowly, so very heavy. He looks around again, squints up at the clock mounted to the wall, a metal thing surrounded by carved birds that Lily adores for some reason. James has never had the heart to argue that he hates birds.
"Sirius, it's half past two in the morning?" speaks James through a jaw cracking yawn as he turns back to his friend. "What are you doing here right now?"
"Exactly!" cries Sirius, looking every bit a man possessed. Possessed by what, James doesn't know and doesn't much care as he watches his friend pace back and forth across his bedroom floor. Wood sprites, possibly? Merlin, he's tired. "I should have been here ages ago! Done this ages ago! Why have I waited this long?"
James continues to stare at him, head following Sirius here and there as he crosses and recrosses the room. His eyelids still fight to close, and his mouth is hanging open a little, but James finds he doesn't have the energy to move his jaw to do anything about it.
"What is this about, Pads? I'm tired," grumbles James, giving up and scrubbing his hands over his face roughly before patting down the side table for his glasses. "Lily's gone off to some medical convention for Mungo's where she can learn how to reattach eyeballs or a severed buttock or some such with only one spell for all, and it took me three hours to get Harry into the bath and to bed."
"I never have a problem getting him into the bath," voices Sirius, clearly barely paying attention, mumbling other things under his breath too low for James to pick them out.
James narrows his gaze at the back of Sirius' dark head as he turns in his pacing. "Do you bribe him?" he asks suspiciously.
Sirius stops abruptly, his eyes darting to James and then shifting away. "…no."
"Sirius!"
"What?" snipes Sirius, turning to face him fully, his arms flailing a bit, like a chaotic inflatable tube man. "It's only a couple Hobnobs. What's wrong with that?"
"He's four! He shouldn't be fighting the bath this hard now," protests James, voice higher pitched than it has any right to be. "You're spoiling him."
Sirius pffts, waving his hand dismissively, turning away again to resume his restless pacing, the flooring squeaking under his feet. "I'm not spoiling him. It's only sweettalking."
"That is not sweettalking. It's bribery."
"No. It's called coercion and it's not my fault you never learned to do it properly," snaps Sirius, spinning back round to face him, pointing an accusing finger. "I did the best I could. You're just a poor student."
James gapes at him. "I don't think you understand what that word means, mate," he says. Sirius frowns a little, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling pensively before he rolls them and huffs, waving James off again. James groans, flopping back down over his bed, far too tired to deal with Sirius' apparent desire for dramatics right now. They always emerged at the worst times.
"Oh, no," says Sirius in rebuttal, walking over and leveraging James back to sitting by his arm as he seats himself on the edge of the bed. "No, you don't. Up you go, there's a good lad. You can't fail me now. I need you."
"You still haven't told me what this is about, and you've been here for twenty minutes!" exclaims James in exasperation.
Sirius glances up at the clock, his grip still firmly wrapped around James' arm. "Forty, actually," he admits. When his eyes slip back down and he notices the incredulous look on James' face, Sirius' expression fills with indignation. "What? I stole some Ogden's. I was out. Drank it all. Also made some toast. Settle the stomach." He motions vaguely to his abdomen, mouth turning down into an unpleasant frown.
James shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, squeezing his eyes closed briefly. "Of all the people I could have chosen on that train ride to Hogwarts, how in Godric's name did I ever choose you as my best mate?" he bemoans. "I would have been better off with Peter. Wait, no. Not Pete. He likes bread too much. Remus. Remus would have been better. Good old Moony. He makes toast and not a crumb in sight. You'd never know he was here."
He expects an eye roll, some sort of amusing biting retort, a sound quip. James would have even settled for a huff or scoff. What he hadn't anticipated is Sirius' face falling in on itself, his grey eyes creasing at their corners, his mouth turning down around the edges. He hadn't expected Sirius to look scared.
All thoughts of banter and bickering, of mild irritation, of crisp breadcrumbs covering his countertops and floor and Lily's pristinely kept toaster disappear as James watches his friend slump. His shoulders hunch, back curves, head bows a little. James ducks his own head, following his friend's dropping gaze.
"All right, I know that look," he says levelly, a softness around the edges of his voice. "Tell me what happened."
Sirius straightens a little, seeming to finally register his crumbling posture, his frown deepening further. "What are you talking about?" he asks in bemusement.
"You and Remus. You had a row, some sort of spat?" prods James, head tilting to the side. "He's put out with you, or you're put out with him. Or both. Tell me what it's about."
Sirius does scoff now, a thick, wet sound emerging from the back of his throat. "We're fine. We haven't argued," dismisses Sirius before amending, "Well, we have. Of course we have. I never clean my hair from the shower drain and he leaves his books about for me to trip over. It's a thing. A regular thing. But it's our thing and we're used to it by now. It's not worrying."
"So…why the face, then? Because you're clearly worried about something," remarks James, mentally scratching his head in puzzlement. He'd properly scratch it if he wasn't so bloody tired.
"Of course I am!" rants Sirius, leaping to his feet again unexpectedly, resuming his harried pacing. "It's time, isn't it? It's been eight fucking years. Right?" Sirius pauses, his face scrunching. "Sixth year, seventy-six, eighty-four…" he mumbles to himself, grey eyes fogging over a little as he seems to be counting, performing some sort of quick maths in his head. "Right! Eight years. Don't tell Remus about that." He looks at James quickly, more panic filling his features, terror flashing briefly before it's gone again, his hand flapping wildly. "No, it's fine, you won't. But eight years! It's time."
"Time for what?" cries James before lowering his voice, remembering Harry sleeping not far away. "What are you on about?"
But Sirius doesn't seem to be listening anymore, lost in his own misshapen world of shadow creatures becoming monsters that are actually only chairs with clothes strewn about their cushions. He's muttering now, still pacing, halting periodically. His hands flail about like he's directing an absurd orchestra, eyes shifting around the room, squinting, mouth wobbling in so many different emotions James can't keep track. He stares, mystified, as his friend falls apart in front of him in spectacular Sirius fashion.
"This is horrendous, I can't do this. There are chairs to think about, bands. Big bands? No. Not his thing. Karaoke! No, fuck. Remus would hate that. Not very romantic either, is it? Just a normal band, then. Muggle? That would be difficult. Flowers! Bloody hell, the flowers. Outside? No, inside. Shit, no. Remus likes water and rocks and trees and stuff. Definitely outside. But what if it's hot? And my hair. His hair! Suits in the sun? That's no good. And all the people. Fuck, I hate people. S'pose we don't have to do it that way. But he'd want his folks there. I'd want them there. Can't run off with it, that's not right. And what if none of this even matters because he could think you're completely mental, you bleeding plonker? What am I doing?"
Sirius' fingers are wound tightly in his hair now, skin pulling harshly around his temples and forehead. It looks uncomfortable, painful. James is frozen, gobsmacked, has no idea what this is about or how to make it stop. He continues to watch his friend steadily lose his mind for a while longer before James finally sighs and slips from his bed. He walks over, plants himself firmly in front of Sirius, resting his hands on his friend's shoulders, forcing him to stop.
"Padfoot," he says intently, shaking the other man a little, making his eyes focus in. "Please, for the love of Merlin, for the love of Harry, what is this about?"
Sirius releases a very small whimper from the back of his throat, mouth wobbling again pitifully. "I – I want to marry Remus," he says pleadingly.
James blinks at him. "That's it?" he asks, dumbfounded. Sirius' mouth drops open, eyes narrowing in a glare.
"What d'you mean, that's it?" he demands haughtily. "That's everything."
James shakes his head, blinking again, trying to catch up. "Yeah, but…Sirius, mate, you've been saying you want to marry Moony since seventh year. Why's this any different?"
"Because I want to do it now!" exclaims Sirius, looking nearly rabid, eyes wild, desperate, mouth parted and teeth showing plainly.
"Oh," says James. Sirius releases a small, incredulous sound, eyes widening. James thinks for a moment his friend might actually hit him. Then his brain surges forward, gripping on. "Right. Right! Oh!" he gushes out, mind in a frenzy, finally comprehending. "All right. I get it now. I'm here. I'm caught up, on board."
"Are you?" demands Sirius in desperate exasperation. "Because you still look a bit woogly."
"You're one to talk," mutters James unpleasantly. "That's a bit pot calling the kettle black."
"Don't talk to me about Black," snaps Sirius, shoving James away to resume his pacing, but he stops again suddenly, whipping back around to stare in horror at James. "What if he wants to take my name? He can't do that. He'd hate it. I hate it. Why would he like it any better?"
"One step at a time, mate," utters James, trying to keep his tone soothing, attempting to settle Sirius again, calm him down. "First thing, why are you here and not, you know, there, with him?"
James thinks Sirius' eyes might pop out of his head at the question. "Why would I be?"
"To ask him! To tell him this shite instead of me! To wake him up in the middle of the night with your insanity!"
"But what if he says no, James?" cries Sirius piteously, wilting under it, the truth finally emerging. "What if this isn't what he wants? What if he leaves? I don't think I can – " He stops, face screwing up horribly, something terrible taking over him, heartbreaking and nearly shattering. "I can't lose him, James. I love him too much."
Something seems to exhale from James at the fearful admission. His expression morphs into understanding, eyes softening. His head leans to the side a little as he steps forward, positioning himself in front of his sullen friend. He stares at him for a while before he raises his hand and thwacks him around the back of his head.
"Ow!" yelps Sirius, startled, his own hand lifting to clutch at his head. "Oi, what was that for?"
"You're an idiot," states James, "of the highest caliber. Remus isn't going to leave you. If he was, he would have done it years ago. Even you know that. He wouldn't still be with you if he didn't want this, too. Now stop acting like a prat and go bloody well ask him. Leave me be to sleep. Come back in the morning if you need to. I'll make you more toast if we've still got any bread in."
James grips at his shoulders and steers Sirius toward the door. He ignores the other man's insistent protests as he shoves him through it, closing it in his face, his forehead thumping against its surface in exhaustion.
"Merlin, help me. Even Helga wouldn't have the patience for this," he mutters to himself before finally shuffling across the room and collapsing into his bed.
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Sirius shifts nervously in front of the door, waiting for it to open. His foot taps out a restless rhythm on the hardwood of the hall beneath him. His fingers curl, uncurl, pluck incessantly at the fabric of his trousers. This is fine. He's fine. He can do this, he can. Everything is perfectly fine.
When the door finally swings open, his gaze coming to rest on a sleep-rumbled, confused-looking Remus Lupin, eyes squinting against the harsh lighting, bleary and half-unfocused, Sirius quickly redirects his thinking. Everything is not fine. He is not fine. He can't do this. James is a moron, has no idea what he's talking about.
"Sirius?" asks Remus in a scratchy mumble, and Sirius' knees go a bit weak.
"Er…'lo," he responds slowly. "Lovely evening, isn't it? Did I wake you?"
Remus simply stares back at him, looking not in the mood in the slightest. "Sirius. It's nearly four in the morning. What d'you think? And why are you knocking? Where have you been? I thought you were sleeping, too. Did you lose your keys again? I'm not sure I can duplicate them anymore. There'll be nothing left of mine if I do."
Sirius gapes at him, and Remus frowns the longer he goes without speaking until Sirius shakes himself out of it. "No. No, I've got my keys."
"Then why the knock?"
"Um." Sirius' eyes shift around the hall outside their flat, searching for an answer that won't make him look as though he's completely lost his mind. "I forgot?"
One light eyebrow arches. "You…forgot?" mutters Remus, uncomprehending. "That you live here?"
"Er…yes. I did. Do that. That is…what I did."
"Sirius," says Remus plainly, the second eyebrow rising to join the first, "what the hell is wrong with you? And will you please come inside?"
"Right," mumbles Sirius, his head snapping back in Remus' direction. "Right! Inside. Here I come."
Remus sighs, his head bowing in something like defeat before he steps back so Sirius can enter. Once the door is firmly closed and locked, he peers at him through the soft lighting coming from their opened bedroom. He waits, still staring at Sirius who doesn't speak, can't make himself, fidgeting, nearly working a hole into the hem of his shirt.
"You're worrying me, Pads," murmurs Remus, concern and a small amount of fear settling over his face, invading his brown eyes.
"I – sorry," mumbles Sirius, scuffing his shoe over the carpet, glancing down at it, unable to hold Remus' gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to. It's just…Merlin, Remus, there's just so much here." His hands flail around his head in a vague referencing motion. "I don't know how to say any of it."
The look on Remus' face doesn't improve, only fills out with confusion. Sirius huffs, frustrated with himself. He stomps the heel of his boot down in irritation.
"Fucking hell," he utters. "Remus, this – this – this thing here, you and me, that thing, it's good, right? Really good? I mean, yes, I know I leave my shoes everywhere and I know my hair clogs up the drains. You leave your books about and there are jumpers everywhere, but I actually kind of like that, you know? Sometimes I wear them. They smell like you. S'nice. I never make the bed, mess it up immediately after you do it. You don't like washing the dishes even with magic, but that's fine because I sort of do, don't I? It's calming. The soap. I smell like motor oil and dog, and you tell me I shed everywhere. I can't help that. It's a Padfoot thing, I think. But it's good. We're good. We fight, but we're good, aren't we? And I want that to stay. I want to keep it that way, but there's this other thing and it just keeps nagging and biting. It's like a flea I can't shake or scratch off and I want it, but I'm terrified you don't, and what am I meant to do with that? Turn away, let you walk off. Un-bloody likely. Not happening. But what if you do? What am I meant to do then? I can't do that. I can never do that because I love you and I need you and I just don't know what to do with any of it – "
Remus watches him as he babbles, probably making no sense at all, but Sirius can't seem to make himself stop now. But there's a smile slowly spreading over the other man's face as he stares, mouth slightly parted. His hands raise, slotting perfectly over Sirius' jaw, finally halting his frantic, rambling words. Sirius sucks in a breath, the first one since he'd started, gazing back at Remus desperately, pleadingly.
"Sirius," says Remus softly but firmly, certainly, "will you marry me?"
Sirius blinks rapidly, furiously, his mouth dropping open before he manages to say, "You wanker! That was my line." But Remus laughs and pulls him in close, warm arms wrapping Sirius up in his embrace, and Sirius settles easily, like falling into place. "Fucking hell, Remus. Yes."