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I love to sit and watch you drink, with the reins to the world, gripping a smoke, vaguely missing a link- Rufus Wainwright, 14th Street
Remus sits on the banks of the Great Lake, back to a tree, dappled sunshine streaming down on his Transfiguration notes, and feels grateful for silence. It’s a rare thing to find at Hogwarts, with halls overflowing with teenagers(talented young wizards and witches, yes, but ultimately just as hormonal and unpredictable as their muggle counterparts. And, more upsettingly, just as loud), a common room constantly full of chatter, and even a library that felt too stifling under the sharp gaze of Madam Pince to really be called peacefully silent at all. So these moments that Remus steals for himself, alone with his notes and his creeping dread about his upcoming OWLs, are precious.
Currently, Remus is trying to stuff as many different pieces of information he can into his brain for the written portion of his Transfiguration exam. What should have been a relatively easy, if not routine, task was hindered by the fact that half his notes were practically illegible due to the speed he had been writing them, and because halfway through their most recent lesson, James had stolen his parchment to write a disgustingly romantic poem about the specific shades of green found in Lily Evans’ eyes. When Remus had questioned him on why he hadn’t just used his own parchment, James had looked at Remus like he’d grown two heads and said “Well what if she found it? I can’t have her thinking I’m a bloody sap! Besides, I need mine for notes, obviously.” Remus thought Lily would prefer thinking James was a hopelessly in love sap than an insufferable prick, but what did he know about romance anyway.
He’d rather sacrifice himself to the giant squid than write a poem about Sirius’ eyes, or about Sirius’ anything, really. He’d decided long ago, when he had realized with great horror what the alarming pang in his chest whenever Sirius got too close meant, that he’d rather die a gruesome death than reveal the depth of his feelings. Better to face Sirius with a constant facade of mild annoyance and reluctant fondness than anything that could ever come close to brushing the surface of his gaping desire.
As if summoned by the direction of his thoughts, Remus is suddenly met with a face framed in a familiar curtain of black waves that is alarmingly close to his own. Remus flinches back, only to belatedly remember that he’s leaning against a tree, and that there is nowhere to flinch back to.
“Shit!” he curses, rubbing the back of his head as it smarts.
“Alright, Moony?” Sirius says with a shit-eating grin.
“No thanks to you, prick. You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that!”
“I’ll have you know I made a great deal of noise when I tripped over a branch about thirty seconds ago. You were too wrapped up in glaring at your notes to notice,” Sirius responds, plopping himself down right beside Remus and folding his hands back behind his head to lean against the tree. Remus tries not to find the long column of his neck distracting.
“I was not glaring at my notes, I was studying. You ought to try it sometime instead of stealing answers off me,” Remus responds.
“But Moony, why would I study if you always give me the answers? Besides, you weren’t really studying, you were wishing your notes were more legible so you could actually study. I keep telling you I’ll copy my notes for you if you want,” Sirius says.
“And I keep telling you that I will absolutely not trust you to write notes with any sort of substance in them. I’ve seen your notes, and they’re shit,” Remus retorts.
“Aw, but Moony I promise I’d take good notes if they were for you! I’d draw little hearts on them and write you poems like our dear Prongsie. ‘Oh, Moony, my Moony, how beautiful are your eyes, with their-’” and suddenly he’s in Remus’ face again, far too close to comfort, nose an inch from brushing Remus’ own. “Hey, what color our your eyes, anyway?”
“Sirius! Personal space!” Remus hopes he sounds strict instead of panicked. He prays his ears aren’t as red as they feel.
“Never heard of it!” says Sirius cheerfully, but he moves back so he’s sitting next to Remus again, albeit sitting with his shoulder brushing Remus’ own. Remus burns at the point of contact.
“What are you even doing here, Sirius? I thought you and James had a prank planned for today,” Remus says, hastily changing the subject. If the words “My Moony” come out of Sirius’ mouth one more time, sacrificing himself to the giant squid becomes an even greater possibility.
“What, I can’t want to spend time with my beloved friend, my fellow marauder, one third of my partners in crime?” Sirius responds, clutching a hand to his heart and falling forward dramatically, his head landing, quite alarmingly, in Remus’ lap.
Remus cocks an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.
“Spoilsport. James would have laughed at that.” Remus should find Sirius’ pronounced pout far less adorable than he does.
“Yes, well, that’s why you love James the most,” Remus responds, and hopes the words don’t sound as sour as the bitter aftertaste they leave in his mouth.
Sirius looks up, still (unfortunately) in Remus’ lap and says, “You don’t mean that, do you? Moony, come on, look at me.”
“No Sirius, I don’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed about OWLs,” Remus struggles to reel in the hurt leaking through his syllables. He briefly meets Sirius’ gaze, but finds he can’t handle the hurt and worry he sees swimming there.
“Yeah, well, so is James. We were going to set off dung bombs in the Slytherin common room, but he left me to study! To study! He’s turning in to you, I swear,” Sirius responds, that persistent pout never leaving his face.
“Well, in case you haven’t heard, there are these things called exams coming up, and maybe you should start taking them seriously like James and I are.” The words are barely out of Remus’ mouth before he realizes what he’s said and groans, tossing his head back against rough bark.
“But Moony.” Sirius starts, dragging out the syllables long and sensual. “I always take things siriusly.” A pause, for effect, then, “Do you get it? Because I’m Sirius?” He grins, looking delighted. It’s a slightly crazed, slightly dangerous smile that he only ever really shows to his friends. It’s so much different from the slick, charismatic one he flashes all across the school, when flirting, or when generally trying to get his way. Remus loves it the most of all his expressions, for it’s realness, for it’s sirius-ness, for the reminder that as much as Sirius might be a flirt and a charmer and the love of half the student body, Remus knows him better than they ever will.
But he can’t voice a single one of these thoughts so he slaps Sirius on the forehead(lightly, but he knows Sirius will make a stink because of it anyways) and says, “Pads, that joke was barely funny the first time you told it,”
“James loves that joke! He always laughs,” Sirius retorts, rubbing at his forehead dramatically. He messes up his hair in the process, a stray curl flipping the wrong side of his part. Remus itches to fix it.
“Yes, well, as I said before- that’s why he’s your favorite,” the words sound no less bitter this time, despite Remus’ best efforts.
“Moony. Moony, hey, Moony,” Sirius says, poking Remus in the thigh while Remus resolutely does not look down at him. “Remus” Sirius adds, and it comes out like a plea, like a prayer.
Remus finds himself powerless to resist. “What, Pads, I’m trying to go back to studying,” In his haste, he had grabbed his parchment again to give himself something to focus on that wasn’t the weight of Sirius’ head in his lap.
“Bullshit,” Sirius says mildly, then, “I feel like there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, Remus. Did I do something? Did James do something? I’ll punch him for you, Moony, I swear I will. But normally when you’re cross with me I either know why or you don’t mean it,” When Remus hesitantly risks a glance in Sirius’ direction, he sees worry etched across his face.
And while he might curse himself for it later, he allows himself to reach down and fix Sirius’ hair before speaking. Sirius’ mouth parts slightly in surprise, and Remus swears he hears him suck in a gasp as Remus’ fingers brush lightly over his forehead.
“No, Pads, you didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did James. It really is just OWLs stress,” And it’s not wholly a lie. Sirius could never really do anything wrong, not to Remus, anyway.
“Okay, Moony. I’m sorry for bothering you while you were studying. I can go,”
Sirius moves to get up, but in a split second of idiocy, Remus blurts, “No, you can stay,” it comes out rushed, and a little too loud, and Sirius looks shocked.
But he settles back down into Remus’ lap and looks pleased. “I’ll be quiet, Moony, I promise. I’ll go over charms in my head, or something. That’ll make you happy, right?” He looks so earnest, so open, something Remus has always struggled to be. The force of Remus’ adoration hurts as it swells in his chest.
“Yeah, Sirius, that’ll make me happy,” he says, and slowly turns back to his parchment.
~~~
It’s hard to say how long they stay that way, Sirius with his head still in Remus’ lap, face shadowed by parchment. Remus, too absorbed in his studies, doesn’t notice any of the weird looks they get from other passing students, but Sirius meets all of their stares with a fierce glare. He feels rather like a guard dog, but figures it isn’t too far off. He can feel the spirit of Padfoot sparking to life and he tamps it back down quickly. After Remus switches over to practicing wand movements, Sirius removes a cigarette from inside his robes and snaps his fingers to light it.
Remus arches an eyebrow at him but says nothing. He doesn't have to, a please don’t set me on fire, Pads, you idiot is conveyed through years of shared experiences and a single glance. Sirius loves it, this ability they have to communicate silently. Sirius loves a lot of things about Remus. Right now, he loves the focused furrow of his brow and the way his long, slender fingers delicately grip the base of his wand. He loves the way the soft sunlight glances off his skin, and the way Sirius’ head fits so perfectly in his lap.
He thinks about Remus’ hand in his hair, and how he wishes he had just kept it there, combing through the snarled strands until they were soft. There’s a metaphor there, but Sirius is too lazy to go and find it. So he closes his eyes and breathes deep trees and his Moony, and feels grateful for peace.
~~~
After what could be minutes or hours, Remus puts both his wand and his parchment down and looks down at Sirius.
“Hello, Moony,” he says around a cigarette.
“Hello, Pads. Comfortable?”
The shit-eating grin makes a reappearance(how it can still look so dashing with the addition of the cigarette, Remus doesn’t understand). “Very. Your lap would rival some of the chairs in the common room,”
“Thank you, Pads,” says Remus drily. “I don’t think chairs have to worry about not feeling their legs below the knees due to blood loss, though,” he adds.
Sirius doesn’t look very put out by this. Instead, he looks contemplative. This is usually not a good sign, as a contemplative Sirius could only mean something astonishingly brilliant or astonishingly stupid is about to come out of his mouth(or both, depending on who you ask).
This time, however, his words are soft and delicate. “You know I love you, right, Moony?” he asks. When Remus must look slightly alarmed, he hastily adds, “Earlier, you said that I love James, which is true, of course, but you know I love you too, right?”
Remus feels out of breath. “Yeah, Sirius, I know,” he says, so soft he’s not sure if the words are even clear.
Sirius smiles, soft, precious, fragile(a different smile than either of the aforementioned ones. This one, Remus dares hope, might just be for him). “Say it back?”
Usually Remus would huff and ignore him, but there’s something in Sirius’ tone that lends him pause. “I love you too, idiot,”
Sirius smiles again, this time that broad only-for-friends smile. “Good enough,” he says.
I love you, Sirius Black, thinks Remus.
Remus and Sirius sit on the bank of the Great Lake and feel grateful for love.