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It’s not one of his finest plans.
Sirius can admit to this. In fact, he would probably rank it somewhere between setting half of Hogsmeade on fire and waking Lily up before seven on a cumulative list of his worst ideas. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and his situation is growing increasingly dire.
Here’s the dilemma:
Twenty-four people that weren’t Sirius looked at Remus today.
It is, without a doubt, certifiably insane to go ballistic over something as silly as a few longing glances in the hallway between classes, but it’s not like Sirius has ever been known for his stellar mental well-being. And really, he can’t even be blamed for his behavior. Who wouldn’t fall for kind eyes, sharp jaw, skin like copper and a smile blinding enough to take out an entire army? He wouldn’t wish an infatuation with Remus Lupin on his very worst enemy.
As Slughorn drones on about the dangers of amortentia, Sirius quietly debates the ethics of drugging your best friend/crush/possible soulmate with a love potion. It doesn’t create real love, Slughorn had warned them, to the visible disappointment of about half the class, but Sirius doesn’t need real love. Fake love will just have to do. As long as Remus is his, nothing else matters.
With one last reminder to be cautious, Slughorn passes a vial of pre-made amortentia around the class, watchful of any possible misbehavior. Remus’ face is disturbingly blank when he takes a sniff, and Sirius doesn’t know whether to take it as a personal win or just take it personally. When he passes it over, their fingers brush momentarily, and a rush of electricity runs up Sirius’ arm at the contact. The minor quirk of Remus’ lips that follows makes him grateful he’s already sat down, or else his knees may have buckled.
He already knows what the vial will smell of before he brings it up to his nose. The familiar scent of cardamom and frankincense mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke invades his senses, more potent than Sirius has ever known it to be. It’s almost as if he’s burying his nose directly into Remus’ neck. He envisions it then, the two of them alone in bed, Sirius’ face digging into that spot right below his ear that he’s always wanted to lick. Remus’ big hands are all over him, whispering sweet nothings into his hair, nimble fingers trailing their way down to his waist, his stomach, and finally his… Godric. He’s so lost in the fantasy he doesn’t even realize it when his eyes slip shut.
James’ voice breaks him out of his reverie, tone much too amused and knowing for Sirius’ liking.
“Would you like to give the rest of us a chance?” he questions, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Sirius blinks, horrified to see the whole class—including Remus—observing him with poorly-concealed mirth. He wills his blush away, shoving the vial into James’ waiting hands and kicking him beneath the table for good measure. Remus is still tittering quietly into his own shoulder, and Sirius thinks he could die with how in love he is. He’s still grasping onto the last dregs of amortentia lingering in the air, and he quickly learns he isn’t the only one. When James is finished, eyeing Evans with no small amount of longing, he passes the vial to Bertha Jorkins, who nearly swoons.
“It smells of—” she breaks off breathily, eyes falling shut. “Myrrh and old books.”
“Chocolate and coffee grounds,” Lucinda Talkalot sighs a few minutes later.
Emmeline Vance doesn’t even bother looking away from Remus when she boldly declares, “Mint Aero bars and leather boots.”
The rest of the class hoots and hollers as Remus rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shoving his Aero bar deeper into his pocket, but Sirius is gripping the table so hard he swears he hears a slight crack. That’s not even a fucking smell. He ignores James’ repeated attempts to get his attention, instead deciding that he has to go through with his plan. He has no other option. Things were bad enough before everyone else got involved, but Remus returned last term looking like some kind of teenage Adonis. If one more person even breathes in his direction, Sirius may have no choice but to blow the whole castle up.
For the first time in years, he actually pays attention in Potions. He mentally notes all the additional aid that Slughorn provides outside the textbook and begins figuring out the logistics of brewing amortentia in their dorm room. Every couple of minutes he starts to get cold feet, but then he glances up to see at least four pairs of eyes on Remus (who's got his sleeves pulled up revealing roughly scarred forearms lightly corded with muscle and— oh Merlin help him) and all those doubts go right down the drain.
He doesn’t know it yet, Sirius tells himself resolutely. But he’s in love with me. I’m doing him a favor.
“Pass me the moonstone,” comes Remus’ voice, entirely apathetic.
Sirius hands it to him wordlessly, repeating the mantra in his head.
He’s in love with me. He’s in love with me.
“That’s the Ashwinder egg, thickhead,” Remus huffs, annoyance heavy in his tone.
Sirius squeezes his eyes shut.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
“That was… quite a moment you had back there,” James teases once they return back to the dorm.
Peter and Remus have left them for detention and prefect rounds, respectively, meaning they have the room to themselves. Sirius ignores him, making a beeline for his trunk. He digs out his old cauldron, casting a quick finite to remove the shrinking charm and immediately regretting it as he lugs the heavy kettle toward the desk. James, bless him, disregards it entirely, more focused on taking the piss out of him for the Potions incident. Had it been Remus, he wouldn’t have left Sirius alone until he got an explanation for what he was doing.
“I need to use the cloak,” he says in lieu of a response. “Tonight.”
James frowns, “What for? You lot know things never go right when you plan pranks without me.”
“It’s not for a prank, you arrogant prick, it’s something I’ve got to handle myself. Mind your own.”
“Find your own if you’re gonna be like that. Dick.”
Sirius lets out an irritated huff, “Are you incapable of going one day without being an insufferable pain in my arse?”
“Clearly. Now tell me what you need it for, and it’s all yours,” James expresses cheerily.
“It’s a family thing,” he lies, watching James’ expression morph into something akin to worry. Sirius feels guilty using such a sensitive topic between them to get him off his back, but it works, and at this moment, that’s all that matters.
Nodding, James runs a gentle hand through his hair before offering his customary, “I’m here if you need to talk.”
As always, Sirius wordlessly leans into his touch, and the conversation ends there. For the rest of the evening, James keeps a watchful eye on him, careful to give him his space but also coddling from a distance. He offers to bring him up dinner, which Sirius politely declines. When he finally leaves the room, Sirius buries his face in his hands with an audible groan.
Merlin, he’s a terrible person.
For what is likely the tenth time today, he debates whether or not to go through with his plan. The time and effort it will take to brew the amortentia in secret without the other boys knowing, coupled with an increasing feeling of what may or may not be guilt building in the pit of his stomach, leaves him weary of proceeding. But when the thought of Remus on his rounds with Diana Merryweather enters his mind unbidden, Sirius finds himself not caring about his lies as much as he should. Soon the only person his best friend will have eyes for will be him.
He waits until all three other boys fall asleep before heading down to Slughorn’s storeroom. Over the years, he’s figured out exactly how to tell if each of them is sleeping and the signs. Peter snores, which had been a relatively uncomplicated discovery, but it took him a couple years to work around the other two. He’d come to find out that James is a restless sleeper, and if he’s completely silent, then he’s most likely awake. Remus had been the hardest. More than once, Sirius had attempted to sneak out of the room just to find himself with an additional shadow, one that was suspiciously lanky and about 15 cm taller. It wasn’t until last year that Sirius picked up on the one tiny detail— his breathing. At any given moment, Remus’ breaths come short and fast, like he’s always one second away from a panic attack. When he sleeps, they’re heavy and even, as though he’s finally at peace.
After double-checking that they’re all asleep, Sirius grabs the cloak and commences the trek down to the dungeons. He realizes about halfway through that he forgot the map and curses silently, feeling slightly more exposed despite his invisibility. He’s never been the best at keeping in touch with his surroundings, and Mrs. Norris, the demonic creature that she is, has snuck up on him on more than one occasion. Resolving to keep his eyes peeled, he continues the journey and sends up a noiseless prayer to whoever might be listening when he arrives in the storeroom without trouble.
Unfortunately, the sense of relief is premature.
He finds the Ashwinder eggs easily enough, Slughorn having left a basket full of them right by the door. He slips a couple in his pocket, casting a protection charm for good measure. It takes him longer than expected to gather the rest, and the rose thorns he collected were looking a bit stale, but soon enough, all he has left is the pearl dust. He spends nearly twenty minutes frustratedly digging through each level for the ingredient before remembering he’s a wizard.
“Idiot,” he murmurs to himself, climbing down the ladder and pointing his wand toward the shelves. “Accio pearl dust.”
Nothing.
Sirius frowns, shaking out his wand.
“Accio pearl dust,” he says more firmly, huffing when again nothing happens.
It’s entirely too long after the failed Accio that he realizes, dismayed, that it’s not a skill issue on his part but rather a supply issue. Slughorn is out of pearl dust. And it’s a Wednesday, meaning a new supply won’t be coming in until at least Sunday evening.
“Fuck,” he hisses angrily, and then a more aggressive, “Fuck!”
“Who’s there?” comes Filch’s voice from down the corridor, much too close for Sirius’ liking.
He sighs, “Fuck.”
Throwing on the cloak, he all but sprints out of the storeroom, not even bothering to close the door or take any measures to cover his tracks. In his haste, he just narrowly misses running into Filch, who’s too preoccupied to hear the squeak that escapes him. Unfortunately, the same doesn’t go for Mrs. Norris. She stops right in front of Sirius, her ears twitching. He moves his palm to his mouth, halting his breathing.
It’s ten harrowing seconds—seconds that feel more like hours—before Filch summons her from down the hall with an unintelligible grunt. She narrows her beady eyes once more, seemingly staring into his very soul, before turning back to her owner with a small sniff. It isn’t until both she and Filch have turned the corner that he finally allows himself to breathe.
Normally, he wouldn’t care about getting caught. In his time at Hogwarts, he’s probably surpassed the previous record of most detentions by tenfold, and it’s a badge he wears proudly. But getting caught in the Potions storeroom is a different type of punishment. The professors can excuse silly pranks—even not-so-silly ones, ones that end in trips to Pomfrey—but messing around with potions is indefensible for even the most laid-back teachers. And he’s already on thin ice, considering what happened at the end of fifth year.
Sirius’ heartbeat doesn’t slow until he returns to Gryffindor Tower. He’s grateful to see the common room still empty and throws off the cloak with an irritated huff, marching up to his dorm. There is no choice but to wait until next week to start the potion, but Sirius is growing impatient. Waiting means another week of stares and giggles in the hallways, birds and blokes alike coming up to him and asking if Remus is single or no.
He tells them no, of course. But that has never stopped these harpies. They won’t leave Remus alone until he’s got someone hanging off his arm, and by Godric, that someone will be Sirius.
It’ll be me, he reassures himself before falling into a fitful sleep.
He wakes up the next day in a shit mood that’s only exacerbated as the morning progresses. The dorm is empty, meaning he’s fucking late. He readies himself in a flurry of flying clothes and beauty products, silently cursing James for not waking him the entire time. He practically trips down every staircase in his haste, gets into a blowout with Peeves in the middle of the hallway, and discovers halfway to the Great Hall that he’s still got on his pajama pants below his skirt. Things don’t get better when he shows up for breakfast.
Valentine’s Day is approaching quickly, meaning the influx of love letters arriving every morning since February began has only worsened. Sirius barely restrains a groan when he gets to the table and sees an ever-growing pile of notes in the seat across from him. Had it not been for the look of complete disinterest on Remus’ handsome face, he may have been pushed over the edge.
It isn’t as though Sirius is lacking in secret admirers, but ever since he was caught snogging Benjy Fenwick in a broom closet in fourth year, his number of Valentine’s letters has decreased drastically. Now, his daily bundle consists primarily of a few younger years hoping they can coax him into heterosexuality and the occasional closet case hoping for a late-night rendezvous.
James whistles lowly when he catches sight of Remus’ pile, “Is it just me, or has it doubled since yesterday?”
“Tripled, most likely,” Peter notes, a hint of envy in his voice.
Remus and Sirius exchange a glance at his tone, the former’s lips quirking slightly when they lock eyes. It distorts the thin scar that runs from his cupid’s bow down to his chin, and Sirius’ heart stutters. He prays to all that is holy and sacred in this world that his face isn’t as red as it feels hot, resisting the urge to take a deep breath. Get yourself together, he hisses inwardly, pinching his thigh.
“Don’t you worry, Wormy,” Remus teases, ignoring the letters entirely. “I’m sure about half of these were meant for you.”
“Oh, he’s a funny guy today,” Peter mutters, and the unexpectedly loud cackle that leaves Remus has Sirius gasping for air.
Godric isn’t he gorgeous. Even lost in the force of his laughter, Sirius can’t help but admire his beauty. The precious way his nose scrunches and eyes crinkle so thoroughly they appear to be closed. The sound sends a flood of warmth through his body, and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to take this. Things only worsen when Remus turns his attention back to him, still beaming and slightly flushed.
“New skirt?” he asks, nodding at the garment.
Sirius glances down, “Oh. Yeah, I hadn’t realized… Dorcas gave it to me a couple months ago. I just threw on whatever.”
Remus nods again, smile having morphed into something more genuine, “It’s nice. Pretty.”
Pretty.
He’s so fucking fucked, fuck.
“T-thanks,” he stutters, voice humiliatingly breathy.
With a parting grin—all teeth and devastatingly handsome—Remus gets up to depart for his first class. Never in his life has Sirius been more grateful to have a free period in his schedule. If he had to suffer through 90 minutes with him after being called pretty, he would’ve said some things he could never take back. He would also probably jump him at the first point of contact. Probably.
“Oh my god,” he whispers to himself, trying to cool the twin spots of heat no doubt ravaging his face.
There’s a noise that sounds, to Sirius’ complete and utter dismay, like a choked-off laugh. His head immediately shoots up, and he’s mortified to discover Peter and Lily both watching him with expressions of sickening glee. Thankfully James is already gone, but that small blessing does little to stave off the waves of humiliation beginning to overtake him.
“T-T-T-thanks,” Peter mocks before dramatically collapsing onto Lily’s shoulder.
She cackles, shoving him off and zeroing in on Sirius with pure evil in her eyes. When she opens her mouth, his heart drops, and he stops her with a raised hand.
“If you say anything, I’ll kill myself,” he warns.
Despite their clear amusement, they both mime zipping their lips shut and proceed to their next class, but not before stopping halfway out to impersonate two people aggressively making out. Sirius groans, flipping them the bird and following it up by banging his head against the now-empty table.
A change of plans is in order, he decides. He absolutely cannot wait until next week to start the potion. If he doesn’t have Remus in his bed by that time, hopelessly and desperately in love with him, he’ll probably die.
Pearl dust, despite its regular use, is a rare and expensive potion ingredient. It’s a miracle in and of itself that students are permitted to brew with it considering how uncommon it is to find in your typical potion shop. Even Lily doesn’t have it in her stash, not like Sirius would ever be foolish enough to steal from her. Think, he commands himself, pinching at the skin between his brows. There may be some remnants of the dust in the Potions classroom, but he doubts it’ll be enough for a full dose of amortentia. He momentarily wonders if Slughorn would have some in his office, but it’s a silly thought. If he did, he’d know immediately if someone swiped enough of it for a potion.
Sirius is just about ready to give up when his eyes find their way to the Slytherin table. An idea comes to mind, possibly even worse than drugging his best friend with a love potion. The person he needs is missing from his usual spot, but Sirius knows for a fact that he doesn’t have a class during this time, and there’s only one other place he’d be if not in a lesson. So, with a steeling breath, he grabs his belongings and begins his trek.
When he arrives at the library, Sirius isn’t surprised to locate Regulus all the way in the back with his nose buried deep in an ancient-looking tome. The first thought that comes to mind is swot. Years ago, he probably would’ve used the term affectionately, but now, after everything, there’s a nasty edge to it he can’t shake. The guilt he feels for it is fleeting.
This is for a good cause, he reminds himself before marching up to his brother.
“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Regulus says snottily without looking up.
“Is that any way to greet your older brother?”
“So we’re brothers again when you want something from me?”
We’ll never be brothers again he wants to hiss, but for the sake of his potion, Sirius bites his tongue.
“I’ll pay you for your troubles,” is what he says instead, and, as expected, Regulus perks up immediately.
He finally sets down his book and looks Sirius in the eyes, “What is it you desire then, brother mine? So that I may list my price.”
“Stop talking like Aunt Lucretia,” Sirius snaps.
“The price just doubled.”
“I need pearl dust,” he grits out, swallowing down another insult in the face of his brother’s snootiness. “Slughorn’s out, and I know you little snakes have a potion lab somewhere in your den.”
Regulus’ expression goes from smug to— well, even more smug, and Sirius knows instantly that he’s in trouble.
“You’re brewing amortentia. Why?”
He gapes, “How did you—”
“Lupin!” Regulus shouts delightedly, and Sirius flushes.
His brother bursts into a fit of giggles, the act so loud and uncharacteristic that it draws the attention of nearby tables. Sirius buries his face in his hands, hot all over and more humiliated than he’s probably ever been in his life. Has he really been so blatant about his infatuation? Regulus is the third person today to comment on it. Not to mention the fact that he figured out the plan in a mere ten seconds just from a simple inquiry regarding pearl dust, an ingredient used in dozens of potions. I’m doomed, he thinks miserably.
“You’re so predictable,” Regulus snickers, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes. “That is so not going to work, you know. Like, at all.”
“Shut up,” Sirius hisses. “Can you get it for me or not?”
“Merlin, you’re pathetic,” is all Regulus says, still shaking with silent laughter.
“I’m taking control of my own destiny,” he sniffs, quoting Mrs. Potter. Surely that wasn’t what she meant when she’d shared the quote with him, but the sentiment remains all the same.
“And the destiny in question being… drugging someone into falling in love with you because of your innate capacity for undesirability?”
Yes.
“I hope you choke on your quill ink, you pompous little git. Answer my question.”
Regulus sighs, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
“And what is it you want in return?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says with a sinister grin. “The way this’ll blow up in your face will be reward enough.”
When Sirius returns to his dorm that evening, he finds the pearl dust in a small baggie on his bed, along with a parchment listing the dangers of amortentia. Swot indeed. He rolls his eyes, opting to set it on fire rather than simply tossing it. Serves the little twat right.
“Careful with that,” James hisses from his bed when a spark flies off.
Again it’s just the two of them, Peter at chess club and Remus doing whatever it is sexy-werewolf-prefect-possible-Greek-gods do on Thursday nights. Sirius dismisses him, removing the concealment charm from his cauldron on the desk and gathering his ingredients.
“What on Earth do you need pearl dust for?” James asks curiously. “Is that moonstone? And rose thorns… Sirius.”
“What?” he says, feigning innocence.
“I just know I’ll regret asking this, but I really must know. Why are you brewing amortentia?”
Sirius sniffs, “None of your business.”
“It’s most certainly my business, considering you’re brewing an illegal potion in our dorm room.”
He scoffs, “Oh, please. As if the legality of something has ever stopped you before. And anyway, it’s not illegal. Just… frowned upon.”
“That’s— Okay. Tell me why, and I’ll leave you alone,” James compromises, and Sirius pauses.
He’s always been able to trust James with anything, even his more… short-sighted endeavors. And there’s something to be said about lovesick solidarity, he also understands what it’s like to want someone you can never have. Plus, in the worst-case scenario, he’ll just obliviate him. The joys of wizardhood!
“Remus,” Sirius says simply, and James’ jaw drops slightly.
His mouth works around empty words for a moment or two before settling on, “Sirius, no.”
“But—”
“No,” James says again, more firmly. “Absolutely not. Have you lost your mind!? Actually, don’t answer that. I already know that you have, you madman.”
“Just hear me out—”
“No.”
“Listen, I—”
“No.”
“I have a plan—”
“No!”
“Would you just—”
“You can’t drug him with a love potion!” James finally bursts out, expression slightly crazed.
“But why not?”
Sirius knows there’s more than just a hint of a whine in his voice, but he’s truly at his wit's end.
They didn’t have Potions today, but that didn’t prevent at least ten more people striding up to Remus in between—and even during, in some cases—classes hinting that they smelled him in their amortentia. Gilderoy Lockhart even had the gall to run his hands through Remus’ hair, and it was Lily’s hand on his arm that stopped Sirius from blowing the dirty little shite’s brains out. As it is, he just dug out his book on Ancient Egyptian curses and set to work right then and there in Divination.
“There are, like, so many ethical issues with this I don’t even know where to begin,” James moans, pulling at his hair slightly. “There’s also something to be said about drugging your best friend.”
His expression is expectant, but Sirius just watches him blankly, wordlessly casting a heating spell beneath the cauldron and tossing in the Ashwinder egg.
“Merlin,” he breathes. “Okay, new direction. What exactly do you plan on doing when the potion finally wears off?”
Sirius frowns, “It can do that?”
James groans, burying his face in his hands.
“Did you pay attention at all during class?”
“I paid attention to the steps,” he chirps, dumping in the pearl dust.
There’s a vague memory of Slughorn mentioning the duration of the effects, but Remus had begun stretching, a movement that lifted his button down and revealed a small sliver of skin above his waistband. It’s safe to say Sirius was thoroughly distracted after that.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because people keep staring,” he pouts, mixing in the moonstone.
“Do you really think giving him a love potion will stop people from staring at him?”
“Well, no. But it will give me peace of mind, and that’s all that matters.”
“Sirius,” James says again, a note of begging in his voice. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”
That stops Sirius in his tracks. He sets down the spoon, turning to face James with an empty expression.
“Do you remember what happened after Fenwick and I got caught?”
His best friend sucks in a breath, sadness heavy in his eyes.
“I don’t blame the Muggleborn students because that’s just how they were raised. I’m the last person to judge people by their parents. But I still haven’t forgotten the things they said and how they acted. What if… I mean, his Mam is a muggle—”
“Yeah, but it’s Hope,” James interrupts. “As if she’d ever be so unaccepting.”
“You never know,” Sirius states firmly, returning to his potion. He can’t see his friend’s eyes on him for this next part. “I’m in love with him. I am so absolutely positively disgustingly in love with him, and I can’t—”
He cuts himself off with a shudder, and James’ eyes lock on something behind him, widening marginally. Sirius brushes it off, working up the courage to continue.
“I can’t risk telling him just to find out he thinks it’s, like, disgusting or unnatural or summat. Skirts and makeup are fine until you put them into practice. A boy in a skirt is better than a boy in a skirt who likes other boys. And I love him so bad it makes me sick, Prongs. This is the only way.”
“I’m sure that big brain of yours can come up with some other option.”
Sirius freezes at the deep timbre, so different from James and about a million times sexier. Oh, fuck me, he thinks miserably, realizing what’s happening.
“How long have you been here?” he asks Remus when he finally gets his voice back, barely louder than a whisper. He’s still facing the cauldron, entirely unwilling to turn around.
“Since you got in. You should probably make a habit of checking the beds before beginning your ethically ambiguous scheming.”
“Nothing that ambiguous about it,” James murmurs, but his comment goes ignored. “I’ll just leave you two to sort this out.
There’s some shuffling, the door slamming shut, and then Sirius feels it behind him— Remus’ presence. He towers over him, shadowing the now pink potion bubbling in the cauldron. He swallows, embarrassed tears gathering in his eyes. Remus heard all of it. The plan, his confession, basically everything Sirius had spent the last four years making sure he’d never, ever find out. He wants to say something, but he fears the moment he opens his mouth, only a sob will spill out.
“You know, I never got to telling you what I smelled yesterday in Potions,” Remus begins conversationally, and Sirius’ stomach drops.
He closes his eyes, the tears he's so bravely held back finally slipping through the cracks. This is it, then. This is where Remus tells him about some beautiful girl he’s loved forever, someone Sirius could never amount to in any universe. The day has been a long time coming, but it doesn’t mean it’ll hurt any less.
“Coconut shampoo,” he says, and Sirius’ eyes fly open.
“W-what?” he murmurs, voice barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears.
“Coconut shampoo, acrylic paint, and an earthy smell I couldn’t quite point out until I smelled it on Mary today. She said you’d done her henna for her.”
Sirius blinks, tears now flowing openly down his face.
“Don’t fuck with me, Remus. This isn’t funny.”
Remus’ hands find their way into his hair, gripping it slightly, “Who said I’m being funny?”
He yanks it back, drawing a gasp out of Sirius and forcing their eyes together. It sends a spark of something through his body, and warmth pools in his lower belly. Remus is beautiful as ever, gaze intense as he stares Sirius down. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and an involuntary whimper leaves Sirius, much to his humiliation. When Remus’ smile widens, he forces his eyes shut lest he be embarrassed any further, but his best friend is having none of it. He tugs on his hair harder, coercing another noise from him.
“No, keep your eyes open,” Remus commands gently, and who is Sirius to defy him?
The smile is gone, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. When Sirius realizes his gaze is on his lips, an anticipatory shiver runs down his spine. At this moment, they’re the only two people in the world. Everything has narrowed down to fingers in his hair, small puffs of shared air as Remus nears closer and closer, their noses touching and breath skimming each other’s lips.
“I love how you smell,” he breathes, so close that Sirius can focus on nothing but his eyes. His eyelashes, he realizes, are lighter than his complexion. He’d never noticed that before. “I love the sound of your voice. I love the way you’ve never made a good decision in your life. I love that you wear skirts the same day you wear your binder, then hex anyone who asks about it. I love that you sleep with kohl on your eyes and leave little kisses inside my notebooks— yes, I noticed. I love the charms you put in your hair and when you steal my aftershave when you think I’m not looking. I love you, Sirius Black.”
Before Sirius can even respond, Remus seals his declaration with a kiss. Even in his uncomfortable position, it’s better than he could’ve ever imagined. Sirius gasps into it, reaching his arms up to pull Remus closer. His lips are soft, and he tastes faintly of mint. And there’s something so satisfying knowing that they’re both in their right minds, that they both want this.
“I love you,” Remus murmurs again, and Sirius kind of wants to cry.
Instead, he giggles.
“I love you,” he says back, then giggles again. “Oh, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Remus laughs, nuzzling his cheek, “What do you say we take this to the bed? And dump out the love drug, yes?”
Sirius grins so widely he has to bite his lip lest his face split open from the force of it.
“I thought you’d never ask.”