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Spring
Remus Lupin is the springtime. He is a warm breeze, watery sunlight, and delicate, new green shoots. He is muddy wellies and warm rain. He is spring.
That’s what Sirius would tell you. Because that’s what he thinks when he first sees Remus looking just like an angel on a sunny day in April, when little buds are forming on every tree branch and tulips push through the new grass from their winter slumber. Remus is reading a book on a wrought iron park bench. The book, Sirius would tell you, was bound in old leather, even though it probably wasn’t, and was about 500 pages long, even though it definitely wasn’t. But none of that matters, because when Sirius rounds the corner, he nearly falls over from seeing a golden angel come to earth, complete with a glowing halo of tawny curls and a smattering of freckles like stardust across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
Remus would tell you he’s just a regular person. Maybe a little less than regular, to be honest. He was in a car accident as a kid and walks with a limp, so warm spring rains actually make him feel a little sore and grumpy. He wears a lot of corduroy and too-big jumpers with stretched-out necks, even in April. His glasses are perpetually askew, no matter how many times he tightens them with that stupid little screwdriver from the pharmacy, and his hair always seems to flop into his eyes. The book he is reading that day is actually a very bad paperback plucked from the supermarket checkout line on a whim. It was a terrible waste of 8 quid.
Sirius doesn’t know what to say to an actual springtime angel from heaven, but he does his best to play it cool. He sits down next to the angel and strikes up a normal, casual conversation.
“Hello, you look like an actual angel from heaven, and since I’m named after a star, I think I’m an authority on the subject,” he says. “My name is Sirius Black, what’s yours?”
Remus looks toward the black-haired stranger, who is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching, and debates whether he should move a few inches away in case he’s dangerous. But when he turns to get a better look at the stranger’s face, a cloud shifts, shooting a ray of powerful sunlight right into Remus’s eyes, temporarily blinding him.
“Oh, my God!” Sirius says breathlessly, pressing a hand to his heart. Now the angel really is glowing. He knew it!
Remus’s eyes sting, his face scrunches up like he’s just sucked on a lemon, and he blinks away painful tears.
Sirius is in love.
Summer
Remus Lupin is the summertime. He is hot, bright days and humid, starry nights. He is sun-warmed strawberries, sparkling ocean surf, and sticky, sweet ice lollies. He is summer.
That’s what Sirius would tell you. Because for the past three months, he’s been allowed to be the golden angel’s boyfriend. The angel is actually from heaven by way of Wales, and seems gilded and glowing from within, even at night. Although Sirius has seen paintings of angels before—and therefore had some inkling about what they should look like—he’d never actually spoken to one and is even happier now that he has.
Remus is dry-witted and sarcastic, all quirked eyebrows and impatiently drumming fingers. He’s the smartest person Sirius has ever met (makes sense=angel), and also the kindest, and the funniest, too. He made Sirius laugh so hard on their second date that iced tea shot out of his nose. Sirius also didn’t know that angels could have bodies like gods or kiss like decadent sin become flesh. But these are the things you learn by dating one.
Now they’re lying on the warm dunes of the beach, watching seagulls dive into the pounding surf, and Sirius can’t stop stealing glances at the little grains of sand that cling to Remus’s golden skin and sparkle and glitter in the July sunshine.
Remus would tell you that three months into their relationship, he’s still not entirely sure what Sirius Black—rich, handsome, charming Sirius Black—sees in him, but he’s not complaining. Sirius doesn’t seem to mind that he’s just a schoolteacher, lives in a dull, three-story walk-up, and is made out of mostly elbows and knees. In fact, he seems quite enamored of those things, oddly enough. He thinks that the jokes Remus tells under his breath are the cleverest things he’s ever heard and is always stealing his ratty old jumpers and curling into him on the couch, saying that he’s the loveliest person he’s ever known and wondering how his head fits so perfectly on Remus’s shoulder.
Remus hopes that Sirius doesn’t get sick of him and the way he rolls his eyes at things other people find sweet or how he sometimes doesn’t move as fast as Sirius’s perpetually-in-motion body does. Even now, as they lay on the beach—Remus, sweaty and covered in sticky sand, Sirius, already pink from forgetting to put on sunscreen—Sirius is looking at him in that way he does, his grey eyes bright and soft with affection.
“Your hair is like spun gold,” Sirius says, reaching out and twisting one of Remus’s curls around his finger before leaning in for a kiss, as warm and salty as the ocean air.
Sirius is in love.
Autumn
Remus Lupin is the autumn. He is crisp air and bright, fire-hued leaves. He is evening bonfires, freshly sharpened pencils, and spiced quince pie. He is autumn.
That’s what Sirius would tell you. Because Remus is back to school now and comes home to their shared flat each afternoon—yes, Sirius lives with an angel, can you believe it!?—looking all brilliant and professor-y in his tortoise-shell glasses, trim-fitting white Oxford shirts, and soft gray cardigans. He’s the best teacher in the world and all the kids love him (makes sense=angel). When he walks through the door, he drops his bag and wraps Sirius into a hug, pressing kisses to his lips and hair and neck. And even though Sirius is already technically home when Remus arrives, he’s not really home until Remus arrives.
They sit cross-legged on the couch with big bowls of squash soup and hunks of crusty bread and talk about their days, and when they’re finished, Remus puts out an arm for Sirius to crawl under. They cuddle up like that for a while, watching Bake-Off and talking about how Paul Hollywood is handsome but terrifying, until Sirius’s hand starts to wander. Then Remus is sighing, and pulling him onto his lap, and kissing him like only someone who’s arrived straight from heaven by way of Wales can do.
Remus would tell you that Sirius is, in fact, the brightest star in the sky, and now that he’s in Sirius’s powerful orbit, he feels brighter, too. Sirius makes everything more fun. He pretends to tap dance in the frozen foods aisle at the supermarket. He stands on the couch and does karaoke wearing only his boxer shorts. He’ll lose entire Saturdays inventing a new scone recipe for the bakery he’s going to open soon and makes a mess of the kitchen in a cloud of flour and sugar. He’s forever booking weekends away. He’s as affectionate and loyal as a puppy, and needs as much attention as one, too, which Remus is only too happy to give.
But Sirius isn’t perfect. When it rains, he mopes until Remus spoons him in their bed. He loses his keys every single day until Remus hangs a little hook for him next to the door. He’s the most forgetful person in the world, so Remus sets calendar reminders and alarms for him to do everything, from taking out the trash, to calling his best friend back, to taking his Ritalin in the morning and his allergy medicine at night. Even now, as they sit on their balcony on a chilly October evening, Sirius has forgotten to put on any warm clothes and is shivering in the night air, so Remus runs inside to fetch him a pair of his own wooly socks and the moss green jumper that Sirius always steals and bundles him into it.
“What would I do without you?” Sirius asks, grabbing Remus’s hand and holding it tight.
Sirius is in love.
Winter
Remus Lupin is the winter. He is Christmas trees hung with peppermint sticks and brightly wrapped presents. He is intricately patterned snowflakes, crackling hearths, and steaming mugs of thick hot chocolate. He is winter.
That’s what Sirius would tell you. Because Remus is meant for afternoons making snow angels (makes sense=angel) and coming inside to cuddle on the couch with pink cheeks and hot mulled cider. Even when it’s freezing outside, even when the snow is drifting into heaps through the street and across the sidewalk, making it impossible to go out, their flat is warm and toasty.
And it’s even warmer in their bedroom, under heavy quilts, with their arms wrapped around each other and their bare chests pressed together, exploring each other’s bodies, and making their own heat until they’re kicking off blankets and breathing hard and heavy against each other.
Sirius couldn’t wait for their first Christmas together, for their first New Year’s kiss together, for their first Valentine's Day together. It’s all been golden, magical, glowing, perfect. Remus is his spring, summer, fall, and winter angel.
Remus would tell you that he’s never had the flu quite as badly as he did that first March that he and Sirius lived together. He shivers under the quilts in their bed until his fever spikes and he kicks off the blankets, breathing hard and sweating, every muscle in his body throbbing and his joints aching. He throws up twice. Once in the toilet and once in the hallway, too delirious to even realize he hasn't quite made it to the bathroom.
Sirius is there, calm, sweet, and loving. He’s emailing Remus’s headmistress to tell her Remus won’t be into school for the rest of the week. He’s changing sweaty sheets and mopping up sick. He’s making homemade chicken broth and feeding Remus ice chips. He’s pressing cool flannels to Remus’s forehead and setting alarms to make sure he takes Tylenol every four hours. He sits on the edge of their bed and rubs soft circles into Remus’s back until he drifts off to sleep.
And when Remus opens his eyes, he sees the black-haired angel sleeping next to him, fully clothed and laying atop the bedspread, cool winter sunshine radiant across his face, his long eyelashes fanned out across alabaster cheeks, perfect, like a Grecian sculpture. Remus reaches out a weak arm and laces his fingers into Sirius’s before closing his eyes again.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Remus is in love.