Chapter Text
Winter break at Hogwarts is always quiet. The Gryffindor dorms go from being full of warmth and laughter to silence, the crackling fire able to be heard over whoever is in the common room for once. Of the Marauder’s dorm, James and Peter both went home, as per usual. Remus and Sirius both stay. They have no classes to go to, just the homework that had been assigned the week before break.
Remus is working in the library when Sirius slides back into the seat next to him. He’s wearing Muggle clothing: a maroon jumper and a pair of jeans Remus thinks were James’. Sirius is carrying a huge book with him.
“Did you find what you needed?” Remus asks lightly. Sirius had decided to tackle the Transfiguration essay first, whereas he himself had stuck with the much easier (in his opinion) Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Sirius disagreed, however, as was common for them.
Sirius nods back at him. “Yeah, I did, actually.” He flips through the pages, lifting his quill to scratch down something on his parchment. “I wish she’d made the length just a bit shorter though.”
Remus rolls his eyes. “The great Sirius Black, wishing he could write less about Transfiguration?” he teases.
Sirius grins, “Unheard of, I know.”
Remus flushes a bit, unwillingly. It must be hot in the library. He shakes away the other possible reason for his blush, the one sitting right next to him.
***
He had known he was queer for a while. Since before Hogwarts, almost. It was just another part of who Remus Lupin was; werewolf, wizard, gay. He had told his dormmates he was gay at the beginning of this year; their sixth.
Sirius Black was a new development. When Remus had come out, he’d looked at him in such a way that sent a flutter through his chest and led him to entertain thoughts he knew he shouldn’t. Sirius Black was not queer, and Sirius Black did not want to date him.
Remus repeats this mantra as the man in question leans over to look at his essay, so close he could smell Sirius’s shampoo. Remus repeats this mantra when Sirius’s leg presses against his own at dinner later. Remus repeats this mantra when Sirius puts his arm over his shoulder on the couch in the common room, so easily, as if they were made to slot together like that.
Remus repeats this mantra in the letter he writes James, because of course his friend would have figured out he had a crush on the person who was like James’s brother , and of course his friend would have told him to just go for it .
Remus was not going to go for it. Remus was going to stew in his mess of feelings, because Remus was not going to ruin their friendship because of a stupid crush. Sirius was too important to him, as a friend , and Remus would rather die than make him uncomfortable.
But he still considered the impossible, no matter how hard he tried not to.
***
They are in the infirmary when Remus realizes that he cannot just repress these feelings until they go away, after one of his transformations— and Merlin, he hates when the full moon is right before Christmas, hates feeling keyed up and nervous and unable to relax, somewhere between man and monster, two opposites warring inside of him , right before one of his favourite holidays.
Sirius had brought him his bag, and his hair is messed up; he probably napped after he left the Shrieking Shack, and hadn't had time to fix his hair. He looks incredible, and Remus wants to kiss him. Remus wants to kiss him so bad it scares him.
Remus wants to run his fingers through his tangled hair and hold his hand just because he can and— Sirius does not, cannot like him like that. He is being weird. Remus takes a deep breath, and focuses back on whatever the man in question is saying to him.
“—heavy, anyways,” Sirius finishes.
Remus feels dumb. “What?”
“Your bag,” Sirius laughs. “It’s really fucking heavy.”
“Oh!” Remus pulls it closer to him. “I don’t even know what I’ve got in here, to be honest…”
He pokes through the bag, which is crammed full of stuff. Remus likes to shove every piece of parchment and every pen he finds into it, until it’s bursting at the seams and his friends are pressuring him into cleaning through it. It literally has broken multiple times before; this is his second bag this year alone.
“I’ve got two books I’m reading for fun, some study guides and notes I copied from Lily for exams, a couple textbooks, my Defense Against The Dark Arts essay, notes for the Transfiguration one, a shitton of chapstick, and some other stuff,” Remus lists off.
Sirius laughs again, leaning over to look inside the bag. “That’s a mess, Moony,” he says warmly, and Remus blushes. Just a bit. Jesus, he’s as much of a wreak as his bag is.
“Wait, actually can I have some chapstick?” Sirius asks. “I never remember to buy any when we’re in Hogsmede and my lips are chapped as fuck.” Whenever he asks something, his head tilts a bit, like a dog’s. His shirt pulls down too, and Remus’s eyes trail down to the skin newly exposed on Sirius’s collarbone, lingering for what feels like hours.
He shakes his head, and reaches inside the bag for chapstick. Pull yourself together .
“Of course you can have some.”
Sirius takes the chapstick from Remus. Their hands brush, just a bit, and Remus flushes again. Sirius doesn’t point it out, although he’s sure it’s so obvious.
He uncaps it, and puts it on, and Remus is enthralled. Sirius’s lips are chapped, yes, but they still look so soft, and he knows that the chapstick is strawberry flavoured, so he knows what Sirius’s lips would taste like right now and— Stop. You’re being disgusting.
Sirius hands the chapstick back to him, and Remus takes a deep breath. He takes a deep breath, and steers the conversation far, far away from chapstick, and his thoughts far, far away from Sirius, until he’s almost forgotten that Sirius used his chapstick in the first place.
(That will be Remus’s undoing.)
When he finds it, hours later, in his jumper’s pocket, he uses it. They’re in the common room, and it’s late, later than they should be up. Remus is putting chapstick on and Sirius has stopped, and Remus’s lips taste like strawberry and— Fuck. This was the same chapstick Sirius used, back in the infirmary.
It’s not a big deal, he tries to reassure himself, as Sirius shoots off something about needing to go to bed, he’s suddenly so tired, good night, good night. It’s not a big deal .
Oh, but it is, and Remus hates himself for making it one. It’s a big deal and it shouldn’t be, they didn’t kiss, they just used the same chapstick. He’s given some to Lily and Marlene and James and all of their friends plenty of times.
But it’s different when it’s Sirius, and Remus wishes it wasn’t. Remus wishes he could just be content with being friends, not yearn for more, more, more, chasing something that he cannot have. They are like twin moons, stuck in an orbit around a planet, never catching up, one always a step ahead of the other.
Remus groans, dropping his head into his palms. I’m a mess. I know that Sirius doesn’t want that with me.
(What he doesn’t know is that this was just as much Sirius’s undoing as it was his own.)