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Remus thought his first night in the Gryffindor boys’ dorm would be the hardest.
He was wrong.
His first night he fell asleep almost at once; the chaos of saying goodbye to Mum and Dad, the train, and feast and the sorting, and the lights, and the noise, and people talking, talking, constantly, had worn him thoroughly out. He was thankful that the boy he’d shared a compartment with, Peter, was also in Gryffindor, and also not prone to being too talkative. He had a muggle Dad, he’d said, and appeared about as lost as Remus felt.
So when Remus rolled into his new, enormous four-poster, he’d fallen immediately, deeply asleep.
No, it was the second night. He’d spent the day incredibly busy, trying not to get lost, and finding having Peter constantly by his side was, actually, a bit stressful, as he didn’t talk much, but was always checking to see if Remus knew what he was doing. Which he didn’t, which made it worse.
He needed a moment alone, any moment alone. Except when he collapsed into bed, finally, his knees and elbows and shoulders and hands and bones hurt, and his mind was buzzing, not with any sort of meaning, just buzzing, like an overcaffeinated housefly.
Usually, this close to the moon, he’d still be up. He’d find a book, and Mum would make him tea, and they’d read together, or he’d go for a walk in the dark. He’d gravitate toward the cold and the night and the wild and the warmth of Mum’s hand in his.
But he was alone, tonight. So, so, so alone. Surrounded by people, yet far more alone than he’d ever felt on a solitary moonlit walk.
He slipped out of bed and wandered to the window, climbing up onto the sill to lean over and feel the wind on his face and great expanse of the air and the lake beneath him. To feel just a little closer to it all and a little farther from the people and the noise and the fear.
“You ever think about jumping?” someone murmured behind him.
Remus looked down, letting the wind ruffle his hair. “Long way to fall.”
The person chuckled. “Be glorious though. No control.”
“Yeah,” said Remus. “No control.” But he knew what that felt like. It meant pain the rest of the time. One moment of glorious abandon and then one paid.
“You’re Remus, yeah?”
He finally looked back into the room at the boy sitting there. Sirius. The other one with an odd name. He nodded.
“C’n I join you?”
Remus wanted to say no, that this was his time, that he needed this, that it was all he had and his joints hurt and his head was buzzing. But he didn’t know how to explain that, so he shrugged.
Sirius climbed up next to him. He didn’t touch him, just looked down, absorbed in the height.
Something about his presence was grounding. Sitting there quietly, when all day, people had wanted to talk. He smelled mildly of soap, and detergent. Good smells. Like home.
Remus blinked, to keep the tears back. Sirius didn’t notice, as absorbed he was in the drop.
“I think about it,” Sirius said abruptly. “There’s a tower at home. I think about it sometimes.”
“Jumping?”
“Yeah.”
“You want to?”
“You telling me to?” Sirius grinned at him.
Remus shrugged. “I don’t care.” He didn’t mean it in a bad way. Of course he’d rather no one die. But… sometimes people did. And he’d just met this person. And he’d rather someone die this way than have killed them.
Sirius’s face went oddly slack, and then he smiled again, much softer. “Yeah? That’s nice.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Relaxing. You’re relaxing, Lupin.”
Remus almost smiled. “No one’s ever called me that before.” Mum and Dad certainly hadn’t.
“Mm.” Sirius had closed his eyes and leaned back up against the windowsill.
Remus looked up at the nearly-full moon. He still hurt, but now, oddly, he felt like he had company. And that was nice.
~~~~~
Things continued this way.
The castle remained loud.
Peter remained stressful. He was nice, but anxious. He sent off little buzzes of anxiety that Remus could feel from two rooms away.
James was loud. He drew attention, all eyes on him. He was fun, he was (could be) kind. But people flocked to him, and it was all Remus could do to keep himself in one piece when they did.
And Sirius - Sirius - Sirius… Sirius was confident, but not loud. He drew attention, but he didn’t bask in it. He loved James and Peter and yes, Remus, proudly. And yet it wasn’t suffocating. And he would sit in silence with Remus when he needed to. Not touching. Just in silence. Contemplating the drop.
He made it easier. His presence - his presence didn’t fix it. But he made it easier.
~~~~~
One would think, by sixth year, that Remus would have learned to trust.
But that fear, once it’s buried in you, doesn’t let go easily.
And even once the marauders had found out about the wolf, even once they’d become animagi - Remus found it hard to trust.
He saw it more and more, as the other three dated and kissed and pined, and told each other of their exploits.
Remus never did. It was because of the wolf, he said. It was the scars. He couldn’t. Too many questions, too small of a school.
But the truth was that he didn’t want to. He never had. He’d never understood and he didn’t care to understand. He didn’t like most people, and he didn’t trust them far as he could throw them.
Besides, he had all he needed.
He had James. He had Peter.
And he has Sirius.
Who made it easier.
Remus knew, deep in his heart of hearts, that if Sirius asked him to jump with him, he might.
Because he noticed - he noticed things, like how Sirius still smelled clean, like soap, much he liked to act like a tough. How his jawline had gotten sharper and his thumbnail was always red and irritated because he chewed on it when he was nervous or thinking.
Remus wasn’t sure if everyone noticed. He wasn’t sure if it was a werewolf thing.
Everyone else seemed to agree that Sirius was beautiful.
But Remus needed him. He needed him. He made life bearable. He was the only one. Who made it easier.
He found himself watching him, tracking his movements, feeling a clench in his chest when he was too far away. He loved him, and he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know if this was normal, and much as he didn’t trust anyone else, he trusted himself less.
And Sirius, of course, noticed.
He cornered Remus, in the common room.
“You’re always watching me,” he said, slowly.
“I— sorry,” Remus said, looking away, studying the flickering of the firelight against the far wall.
“You are, though.” It was an observation.
Remus looked back to meet his eyes. “I guess.”
“Why?” There was a kind of hopefulness in his face, something raw and open that Remus has never seen there before. He’d seen concern, he’d seen anger, he’d seen joy. But not this curious mix of fear and curiosity.
Remus gazed back at him. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said.
Because you’re kind to me. You see me first. You put me first. Because you don’t treat me like a monster. Because you’ve never lied to me, not like I’ve lied to you. Because the monster in me sees the monster in you, and it loves you, and if I can love you and your monster, maybe I can love me and mine.
It wasn’t enough, but it was the best he could do.
Something shuttered. “Ah,” Sirius said.
“Sorry,” Remus said, and looked away again.
“Don’t be sorry.”
Remus shook his head. He didn’t want him to think—
But Sirius stepped closer, and placed a hand gently on Remus’s hip. “You think I’m beautiful?” The curious shuttered expression was still there, a little bit, but only a little, now obscured under layers of smoky eyes and twisting mouth. “I’ve never heard you say that about anyone before.”
“I can think people are beautiful, can’t I?”
“I suppose so.” Sirius glanced down at where his hand was resting on Remus’s hip, giving him Remus a long, unobstructed view of his long eyelashes. “You ever slept with anyone, Remus?”
“I—“ Remus sputtered, “that’s none of your business.”
“Just asking,” Sirius said. “Would you want to?”
And so now — he supposed — this was it, right? This was what he should want. Right? Maybe he did. He certainly wasn’t going to say no. So he nodded.
Sirius slid a hand gently under his waistband and halfway down pelvis, right in the hollow by his hip, and he was on fire, and warm, and cold, and breathless, because Sirius was so beautiful, and he loved him so goddamn much. The way the firelight flickered across his skin and threw his tattoos into relief, the way his leg hair was dark against his thighs. It wasn’t that he was beautiful as much as he was Sirius, and Sirius was him, and that was enough. Remus didn’t know how you could love someone this much and not just - crumple, like a can under pressure. It had to go somewhere. He had to put it somewhere.
So when Sirius leaned in to him, he responded, fiercely, touching him everywhere, everywhere he could, to show him, show him how much he adored him. How beautiful he thought he was. When Sirius arched against him he felt accomplished, like he’d somehow managed to prove himself, managed to communicate what words couldn’t, what he couldn’t get himself to say.
Afterwards, they lay together, arms and legs entangled and breathless, breathing in each others’ scent, and they didn’t have to say much. Remus hoped he’d managed to communicate what he needed to.
Over the following months, not too much changed. They had their friendship. Sirius had James. But Remus and Sirius now - had him like no one else did. Because sure, Sirius slept with other people. He was beautiful, he was popular, he had people on their knees (literally and figuratively).
But no one else also had him after the full moon, leaning over them, brows furrowed, sensing, without even knowing when Remus needed to be coddled and when he needed silence and not to be touched. When he needed to be grounded and when he just needed someone to wait with him until Madam Pomfrey could get there. James could be too much. Peter could be not enough. But Sirius always knew.
And that’s all Remus cared about, really. The sex felt like a confirmation, that was all. That he had him, that he was all his. A confirmation for the other times, when Sirius was simply there, and himself, and perfect. The sex alone wouldn’t have been enough. It wouldn’t have been anything. But in addition? It was everything.
~~~~~
It took them four years to talk about it.
Four years in which they graduated. Left the castle behind, found a flat in London, the four of them.
James and Lily — well, they’d be married eventually. Of course they would.
Pete had his parade of lovers, his friends, his work. He blossomed after Hogwarts. It seemed he was at his best when surrounded by muggles, and dancing, and cheap alcohol. He blossomed. Where he could be someone, not an acolyte, not a subpar student. The person he’d been at Hogwarts was already a shadow of the person he was becoming. He seemed happy.
Sirius, too. He had Alphard’s money, which took the edge off of what was, admittedly, a rocky start to adult life. But he did alright. He did fine. And he had resources to fall back on. He even had a few lovers, for a short period of time. People he referred to elliptically, but a few of whom even came over and met their flat. Eventually, Sirius would break up with them, for one reason or another. They were clingy, or boring, or tiring. Or he’d simply ghost, and the flat would get an angry phone call that Remus or Peter or James would have to try and defuse.
And each time, Sirius would find his way into Remus’s bed and Remus would feel a surge of satisfaction that he’d try to tamp down, firmly. Because Sirius wasn’t his. He never had been. Remus wasn’t pretending. He was… he was simply the person Remus trusted before anyone else. He was simply the person who Remus felt the most heartbroken at the thought of losing.
And Remus?
Well.
Remus was the same as he’d always been.
He worked what jobs he could. Mostly muggle, what he could get away with magic. He had to be extra careful, though. Accidentally breaking the statute of secrecy would be detrimental to any career he might have. Not like if James or Sirius or Peter made a mistake. He took what jobs he could find, doing his best to schedule days off in advance, not always succeeding.
He reported in to the Ministry every full moon. Gone were the days where he could run wild in the forest, his friends by his side, preventing him from ripping himself to pieces with frustration and boredom.
These days, he spent his moons throwing himself at silver-laced bars, waking with bruises and burns and broken bones. He was always tired. Always, always tired. You can mend a broken bone with magic, but in the end the body still heals itself. All the energy it would take, over months, condensed into a moment. Exhaustion.
His friends, because they were his friends, were shocked and horrified and tried to help.
James wrote to Dumbledore. He wrote to his father. He wrote to the minister. He tried, he really did. His grief was sincere.
James couldn’t understand why no one would do anything. James never knew when to stop, when it wasn’t worth it.
But they weren’t in school anymore.
No one was coming to Remus’s rescue now. He knew this. He’d always known.
Remus was grateful anyway.
Peter’s sweet eyes would fill with tears at the sight of Remus’s broken body, and he’d quietly offer Remus a custom cocktail of who knows what drug was going around at the club that month.
Peter always knew when a fight wasn’t worth fighting.
He knew how to make the most of what moments you have, even if it meant self destruction. He knew when to give up.
Remus took the drugs.
They took the edge off.
He was grateful.
And Sirius? Sirius had nothing to offer but rage.
Black, cold, rage.
The kind of rage that made him hard to look at, sometimes. The kind that made him snap at Remus when he tried to laugh off a bruise, or an ache, or a foul mood. Sometimes, Sirius was terrifying.
And sometimes, rage is what Remus needed.
He didn’t need solutions, appeals to authorities that had never cared and never would.
He needed the drugs, to be honest, but it was a short term fix. He came down, and then he was in as much pain as before, maybe more, because now he had a point of comparison.
But Sirius’s rage filled him up. Because Sirius understood. Sirius felt the rage Remus had pushed down so deeply into himself he sometimes wondered if it was still there.
There was no fix. There was no way out. This was just how it was, and they both knew it. No lies. But as long as Sirius felt that rage, Remus hadn’t completely given in. And as long as Sirius was there to feel it for him, he could live with it. Knowing that someone saw him, and loved him, and understood.
Sirius loved him. Of course he did. They spent every waking minute they could together. Sirius knew which pair of socks he liked best, and remembered how he took his coffee.
Remus knew this.
But only when they had sex could he truly believe that Sirius was all his. Mine, all mine.
He didn’t mind sharing Sirius’s body so much. It was Sirius that he loved. And Remus only knew of one way to claim him.
And so, it was a cycle. Sirius had a rhythm. Partner, ghost, Remus. Partner, ghost, Remus.
And in between and amidst all those cycles were the little moments, where they ordered take away and talked about nothing until two, three in the morning.
Remus didn’t know if Sirius had nights like that with his lovers. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he cared, because that was perfect. It was all he wanted.
~~~~~
It went on that way, until one night when they were sharing Remus’s bed - not doing anything, just lying there. Remus had though Sirius might be about to initiate sex when he’d come in, but instead he’d crawled into the bed and huddled under the covers by Remus’s side.
That was fine. Remus liked that. He reached over to pet the top of Sirius’s head - and stopped when he noticed the sheet was damp.
“Sirius?” He turned his head, afraid that if he make any large movements he’d scare Sirius away.
“I’m fine.” Sirius shook his head, back stiff. “I’m fine.”
“No you’re not,” said Remus, turning onto his side and placing a tentative hand between Sirius’s shoulder blades.
Sirius just shook his head again.
“Tell me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s okay.”
Sirius took a deep, shaking breath. And then another.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His back convulsed with a hiccup.
“Can’t do what?” Remus said carefully.
Sirius gulped. “Any of this, I can’t do it anymore.”
Remus gently pulled Sirius’s shoulder so he was lying flat on his back. Sirius let him. Tear tracks shone on his cheeks.
“I’m not gay.”
Of all things, this wasn’t what Remus was expecting.
“I’m not,” Sirius said again, shaking his head.
“But.. Sirius,” Remus started.
“I’m- that’s what people want, they always want,” Sirius stopped, and hiccuped, and seemed to choke on the weight of the words, “so of course I do, what else is there for me to do, they always want me and I try, I want to be wanted…” he was holding his breath, turning purple trying to keep whatever he was holding in contained. Whatever it was, it was too big. Sirius was such a big personality, the holding anything inside the way he was. That was going to be too much. “So I go home with them and I…”
Remus’s own eyes were pricking and threatening to spill over.
“And I can’t anymore.”
“Can’t…”
“I want to love you,” said Sirius, and Remus held his breath, because he never thought he’d hear those words, and he never thought they’d be quite so heartbreaking.
Remus slid up in a sitting position, hugging his knees up to his chest. “Don’t you?”
“Not how you deserve to be,” Sirius said quietly, sniffling.
Remus took a breath. “How do I deserve to be?”
Sirius still didn’t look at him. “You deserve everything. Everything, ever.”
“What if I want you?”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“Remus, you don’t understand.” Sirius finally turned to glare at Remus up from under the sheet. “I can’t love you. I’m not gay.”
Much as that hurt, Remus had to smile a little. “Evidence points toward the contrary.”
Sirius glared.
Remus sobered. “I’m sorry. Can you explain to me?”
“I like- people- liking me. I can make them want me, you know? Men, and women. And that’s… but I never want them back.”
“Oh.”
“I’m nothing, I think. I’m just… I’m just a terrible person. Not anything.”
“Did you want me to want you?”
Sirius nodded into the sheet. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you.”
A sob. “I know.”
“You don’t have to do anything to make me love you, you know.”
“But it’s not fair. I want you to be happy. I want everyone to be.”
“Sirius… is this just about sex?”
“Huh?”
“What you can’t do anymore… is it just the sex?”
Sirius nodded into the pillow again.
“You know you don’t have to do that with me, right?”
“I want you to love me.” It was whispered, ashamedly.
“But I don’t care about sex.” Remus had never said it out loud before, but the moment he did, he knew it was true. “I love you. I don’t give a flying fuck if you sleep with me.”
Sirius’s mouth was slightly open, looking dazed.
“You make my life better. You listen. You know when to be quiet. And yeah, you’re beautiful but that’s because you’re you, you know? We don’t ever have to have sex again. But I- I just want you here, with me.” He didn’t know how else to put it. “I just want you here. I want it to be like this.” He finally reached out for Sirius’s hand, and Sirius have it to him.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure of what.”
“How do you know you’d be happy never having sex again.”
Remus shrugged. “I never cared. How do you know you can’t anymore?”
“I just can’t.”
“Then… that’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. This is perfect.”
“This is perfect for me, too.”
“Can we stay like this?”
“For how long?” Sirius was still huddled under the sheet by Remus’s side, but was smiling a little.
“Long as we can. Forever?”
“Yeah. Forever. Forever’s good.”
“No more doing things you don’t like. Just be here with me.”
“Yeah.” Sirius smiled. “Okay.”
“I love you. I always have, you know.”
“I love you too.”
It wasn’t really much - Sirius hadn’t said much. Neither has Remus. But… everything felt just a bit clearer, now. Sirius was all his. He had his love, his trust. That was really all he’d wanted. No more lies.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share - it was to know that Sirius understood how he felt. And it seems - he did, more than he expected. They had each other, whatever that meant.
And that was perfect.