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Remus’ back hurts. It always does on nights like these and he curses himself for giving in when Sirius had insisted on buying that used leather sofa he saw at a flea-market a few months ago. It’s anything but comfortable with that hard, somehow bulky seam in the middle; it’s currently digging into Remus’ lower back.
He groans, tries shifting away from it, turns onto his stomach, but it’s useless. The seam appears to find a way to bug him in every position.
Remus’ eyes shift to the windows opposite the sofa. Two large windows, missing curtains, covered in raindrops, creating spotty shadows on the carpet, and Remus’ vision blurs.
A shaky breath ripples through him as the first sound of a drop hitting leather makes Remus sit up straight, rubbing both hands over his wet eyes.
“ Jesus , fucking get it together,” he tells himself, keeping his voice low so as to not wake up Sirius in the bedroom across the hallway. He can’t take another fight, not after tonight and especially not after the things that had been said.
They’re not uncommon, the fights, no , they seem like the only thing keeping their weird relationship going.
It happens when you have nothing to talk about. You fight, so you don’t forget each other’s voices.
The raindrops hitting the window do nothing to calm Remus’ mind as it replays Sirius’ last words before he had stormed off into their bedroom, locking the door.
“Have you ever fucking considered, Remus , that maybe I don’t even want to be in love with you?”
It’s pure evil that Sirius knows exactly what to say to break Remus’ heart, but it’s the devil’s work that Sirius had half a mind to say such a thing aloud. Remus' heart could’ve asked for a softer display of love.
Sirius and Remus have always tiptoed around the three word confession in fear of ruining things that haven’t even been established yet. Hearing Sirius spit out the phrase in love with you in such a hateful tone and with such fire in his eyes, did something to all the locked up I love you ’s in Remus’ chest, causing them to turn into pleas instead of promises.
His skin sticks to the leather, making a low squeaking noise, when he turns to settle his feet on the ground, coming in contact with his jeans and the sweater he wore that day.
Remus squints at the clock on the coffee table and sighs in the fresh hours of the morning. The last tears wiped away, Remus gets up, feeling his bones crack and ache suspiciously loud for someone in their early twenties, and heads over to the window sill, lit by the moon.
One of Sirius’ black hair ties, the small crooked cactus Remus won at a Christmas market, two books about motorcycles that Sirius got for his birthday, untouched, and on top, an ashtray in the shape of a record, but no sight of the pack of Marlboros he bought just this morning.
A sneaking suspicion creeps up Remus’ neck when he searches every windowsill he can reach, but finds them all filled with clutter and memories instead of cigarettes. Even the screwdriver Sirius has been looking for and verbally sent to hell for the last few weeks makes his comeback while Remus pushes unopened letters and pens around, and he quickly throws it back into the black plastic container with the screws and whatnot under the sink.
Defeated, Remus takes a moment to let the upcoming frustration wash over him, digging his nails into his palm as his eyes wander to the bedroom door where he hears the familiar clicking of a lighter and the sound of the window opening.
“ Fuck you,” he breathes, rushing back into the living room, and pulls on jeans and sweater too hurriedly, causing everything to take much longer and increase his anger.
Sirius has always been a fucking tease, in every way possible, but never does it bother Remus as much as it does when it’s in the aftermath of a bitter fight. A fight that Remus can’t remember or understand the origin of.
Their fights happen so fast, Remus can’t imagine either of them know how they come to be.
Remus remembers accidentally walking in on Sirius changing this morning and noticing two new tattoos on each shoulder blade, which caused Sirius to quickly pull his, no, Remus’ sweater over his torso and huff in the way he does when he’s utterly scandalised. Sirius stormed out the door and Remus didn’t see or hear from him until ten hours later.
Remus had been listening to The Kinks and scribbling in his notebook when the door to their flat opened and Sirius entered, walking straight past him into the kitchen, where the noise of the fridge door opening and slamming shut sounded from, and came back with two cans of cold coke.
“What are you drawing?” Sirius kicked off his boots, planting his feet on the table and crossed his ankles.
“Hello to you, too,” Remus murmured, focusing on the last detail of the black dog he was drawing.
A crack and a fizzling sound and Sirius threw his head back against the sofa dramatically, “ Hello, Remus . What are you drawing?”
“You, actually,” Remus shrugged, turning the notebook in his hands to show Sirius his newest work.
Sirius’ eyes narrowed as he examined the dog sporting bright pupils and long black fur looking up from the paper. “Me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Remus frowned, turned the book towards himself, “Well, I don’t know. You remind me of a black dog. What’s the matter?”
Remus had noticed the way Sirius’ knuckles turned white around the red and white can in his hand, but had no idea how to defuse the situation, so he did the only thing he could think of at the time.
“I thought of getting it tattooed somewhere, I just don’t—“
“Is this about this morning? Remus, you wander around this flat like a fucking ghost, okay? I would’ve told you about my new tattoos, I just wanted them to heal properly first.”
Remus closed the journal and stared at his boyfriend in disbelief. “You think that bothers me? You can do whatever you want, Sirius, what the bloody fuck are you on about?”
Sirius cheeks and ears flushed then, as he set his can on the coffee table with such force that half its contents spilled onto the tv programme. “Why don’t you just go and marry that fucking dog then?”
That’s how the yelling started and how they ended up here.
Remus locked out of the bedroom and Sirius lounging in their comfortable sheets, smoking Remus’ cigarettes.
Lighter in his pocket, wallet and keys in his hand, Remus leaves the flat and carefully walks down the creaky flight of stairs, takes a deep breath when the cool night air hits his face and sends goosebumps all over his skin.
The streets are empty, the sky pitch-black behind the orange light of the street lamps, but somewhere far away, Remus hears the sound of cars and there’s also something in the trees sending muffled hoots into the darkness.
There’s a cigarette maschine just two streets from here and Remus welcomes the four minute walk there. It might only be the placebo effect of every single advertisement stating that fresh air is the one and only cure for every misery, but Remus’ heartbeat steadies after just a few steps; his shoulders can’t seem to loosen up.
Sirius must’ve heard the door close.
A cool breeze blows dry leaves across the concrete at Remus’ feet and his hands find their way into his pockets. Something sharp graces his fingertips and Remus reaches for it, pulling it out carefully.
There’s always some truth in the things Sirius says. Especially when he’s angry. Emotions never did him any good.
It’s a folded paper bookmark. One of those things you get whenever you buy a new book at a bookshop. Remus unfolds the paper, finds Marlene’s new phone number scribbled onto it in black lines and curves and a misshapen heart next to it.
What part of his last sentence was that bit of truth?
Crossing the first road, Remus’ foot hits an empty can of beer on the pavement; a black cat flees from underneath a parked car, catching his attention. It hides behind a telephone box and Remus stops.
Sirius has never exactly been good at expressing his feelings. Remus feels like Sirius provokes him to be able to say the things he can’t express when he’s emotionally sober.
The metal of the telephone box is ice cold to the touch when Remus opens the door and enters the rusty rectangle which reeks faintly of alcohol. Three coins and ten numbers later, a female voice answers.
“Whoever this is, it’s two in the morning and I don’t have to answer you.”
Remus huffs. “Calm down, Columbo. It’s me.”
“Remus, hey, oh , you’re calling late. Did your wife kick you out again?” Marlene quips, but there’s a hint of concern hidden in her voice.
Maybe Sirius doesn’t censor his words with Remus because he knows that Remus won’t leave him that easily. Remus wonders whether this is a sign of trust and feeling comfortable enough to be yourself or lack of respect and egotism.
“I’m out for a walk.”
Marlene hums on the other side of the line and Remus hears another person in the background singing along to Brighton Rock . Remus swallows, jumps a bit when the black cat he forgot about stares up at him through the glass.
“And…who’s with you?”
Marlene stays quiet for a second and the singing stops. “No one? What?”
“Tell Dorcas I said ‘Hi’ .”
“What? How did you— now listen here, Sherlock Holmes, yeah, I also know detective names. You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
Remus leans against the glass, crossing his ankles.
“Why would I?”
“Not even Sirius , Remus— you know, he can’t keep his mouth shut, the fucking git. He’ll tell my mum; he knows where she works.”
“I promise, Marls. Need to go now, time’s up. Thanks for picking up.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Marlene says, followed by a rushed, “Love you!”
The phone call ends.
Remus is going to ask him. Whether he meant it or not. No tiptoeing this time.
Three street lamps later and Remus is face to brick wall with the empty spot where Remus used to get his cigarettes from. Something nasty twists in Remus’ stomach and he catches himself blaming Sirius for this matter as well.
For a second, Remus’ hands tighten into fists. A car passes, a distraction, and Remus lets his head fall backwards as he takes a calming cool breath of October night air; closes his eyes.
When he opens them again, his eyes trace the dark square shadow of dirt that’s been hidden by the cigarette machine for decades. The black cat runs by and Remus is convinced it merely exists as a witness to his pathetic late night walk. It stops and stares at Remus with its reflective eyes.
“Come here often?” The cat doesn’t answer, then runs off.
Of course, Sirius doesn’t want to be in love with Remus. Sirius wants to be in love with a girl. Remus knows it, James and Lily know it, Marlene knows it, Mary knows it, Peter knows it. The only person not aware, but instead pushing away and finding excuses, is Sirius Black himself. Remus fears this night is the only time he’s subconsciously acknowledged that fact.
Walking back to the flat, Remus goes through a million conversations in his mind. Each ending the same way and Remus is the one packing his bag and leaving. Sirius would never give up the flat; he just bought a new sofa and a bathtub is “extremely rare, Remus, please”.
The bedroom window is closed when he arrives and Remus takes another deep breath, knowing breathing is incredibly difficult in the flat that still echoes hurtful words and where both the love of his life and the bane of his existence live together in one vessel called Sirius Black.
Maybe one day you’ll just let me love you.
The keys rattle, the stairs creak, and Remus finds himself in front of their door where he’s pretty sure he didn’t leave the light on and yet it’s shining through the gap underneath the door.
So, Sirius is still up. A second later the door opens and Sirius is staring at Remus wide-eyed, jaw clenched.
Remus can’t react quickly enough before Sirius pulls him inside and crushes into his chest, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder. The skin on Remus’ neck turns warm and wet.
“Thank god,” Sirius’ muffled voice croaks. He smells like smoke. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Remus' chest hurts as he buries a hand into Sirius’ hair. It hurts because Sirius feels like home. It hurts because Sirius doesn’t show any signs of remorse for the things he said. Maybe the thing that makes Remus’ heart tear at the seems the most is the way he’s ready to just let it go. Let the fight be in the past again and, with Sirius tightening his grip around Remus’ waist as his warm breath still blows against the wet spot on Remus’ neck, Sirius knows if he just holds Remus a bit longer, he’ll take him to bed and love him again.
“Sirius,” Remus whispers, “Sirius, let me go.”
“ No , wait, but don’t leave again, I’ll— okay,” Sirius rambles. He lifts his chin to look Remus in the eyes and Remus almost gives in. “You hate me.”
“I don’t fucking hate you.” Remus takes a step back, closes the door. “Of course not, but we need to talk.”
Remus toes off his shoes, slips past a nail-biting Sirius, and heads straight for the bedroom, where he finds, half-covered by the sheets, a red and white pack of Marlboros.
Wasting no time, Remus grabs them, walks around the bed to open the window again, and lets himself fall backwards onto the rumpled bed, placing a well-earned and highly anticipated cigarette between his lips.
The first drag feels like a last straw and Remus’ eyes tear up.
“Remus…” Sirius’ voice comes from the doorway and shortly after the mattress dips and he’s crawling into Remus’ lap.
“No, Sirius—“
“Why? I’m sorry, all right? What do you want me to say?” Sirius’ face appears above him as he blows out another puff of smoke. He’s so achingly beautiful in the moonlight, that it takes everything in Remus to sit up and push him off.
“How can you—“ Remus takes a deep breath, takes another drag, flicks the ash off into the ashtray on the nightstand. “I want you to say what the fuck is bothering you, Sirius. Don’t you realise what you’ve said to me today?”
Sirius looks like a beaten puppy, the epitome of regret, and Remus tears his eyes away to not let it manipulate him again. Remus is properly embracing the conflict now, feels it in his twitching fingers and his beaming cheeks.
“I didn’t mean it,” is all Sirius says, fiddling with his silver bracelet, eyes focused on it, too.
“No, because you never mean anything you say. I’m trying here, all right? I’m trying my best and I can’t fucking ignore everything that comes out of your mouth when you’re all…all riled up and angry, because it hurts me .”
Sirius’ eyes snap to Remus’ when he hears the quivering voice and Remus uses his free hand to wipe away the traitorous tears. Sirius stays quiet; Remus takes another drag, leans back against the headboard.
“The only thing we do is fight. I know why, you don’t, and every time I say it out loud, you say all that shit that hurts me, intentionally . Can’t you see how mad that is? Fucking Christ, Sirius.”
There’s no response from the man across from him, just the same longing gaze that conveys all the emotions and feelings Sirius is too afraid to show.
Sirius hates it, but Remus can read him like an open book.
“What scares you? Being gay?”
“I’m not, I’m bi.”
“Good, then, are you scared of being with a bloke?”
Sirius sighs. “No.”
Remus’ heart sinks. He puts out his cigarette with too much pressure and burns the tip of his finger.
“So, it’s actually just… me .”
Remus buries his face in his hands, unable to see into Sirius’ eyes with the upcoming rejection that will inevitably rip his heart out.
A sound, like a wince, fills the room and Remus feels Sirius shuffling closer.
“Remus, I—“
Two hands circle his wrists and he reluctantly lets Sirius pull his hands from his face. Sirius cheeks are streaked with dried tears, his bottom lip bitten bloody.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Remus lets his head fall back against the wall.
“I think you don’t want to know what’s wrong with you, Sirius. I wish you would just listen to yourself.”
Sirius nods and Remus wants to shake him. Make him understand that this isn’t going to work and Remus doesn’t feel loved, but endured .
“You found my screwdriver,” Sirius says. “Where was it?”
Taken aback, but not surprised by the sudden change of topic, Remus swallows down a much louder and ruder tone. “Kitchen windowsill.”
“Fuck off, I looked everywhere. I swear it wasn’t there before.”
Remus shrugs. “I didn’t put it there.”
Sirius leans over him, reaching for the pack of cigarettes and lights one, flopping onto his back, and Remus watches as his rosy lips close around the filter, black hair looking like a halo on the pillow he’s resting on. And then Sirius starts talking.
About a new feature for his motorcycle, about buying himself a guitar, about how he really wants Remus to make that stew again, about how much he loves the new sweater Remus is wearing.
Somewhere along the way, Remus takes off his jeans and sweater, throws them onto the ground as Sirius keeps rambling about all the things that make Remus fall in love with Sirius more and more each day.
Remus’ eyes fall shut and Sirius shifts.
Silence.
When Sirius decides that Remus is asleep and unable to hear or feel, he moves closer, slips underneath Remus’ arm, and presses himself into Remus’ side, wrapping a blanket around them.
Another beat of silence.
A finger traces his cheekbone.
“I’m so sorry, I wish I was better at this. I’ve never been in love,” he whispers.
Remus’ heart almost explodes. He thinks he should interrupt this. He’s not supposed to hear this, and even though it’s exactly what he wants to hear, it feels strangely intrusive. Before Remus can do anything, Sirius continues.
“But I’m glad that it’s you. You’re easy to love.”
A quick movement and soft lips press against his cheek before Sirius settles his head on Remus’ chest, wriggling the way he does when he tries to get more comfortable.
“Stop wriggling,” Remus whispers and Sirius stills.
“Sorry,” Sirius whispers back.
Nonetheless, Remus' chest blooms and he’ll regret it if he won’t express what’s on the tip of his tongue.
“Thank you for saying those things,” he whispers back. “Can we please finally talk about it tomorrow?”
Silence.
Sirius shifts and his dry fingers skim over Remus’ abdomen and up his chest, resting where Remus’ heart is.
“All right.”
Remus releases a heavy breath and then he just does what feels right.
“I love you, too.” Remus whispers, as sleep tries to finally swallow him.
But Sirius is quicker, capturing Remus’ lips in a gentle kiss. Sirius’ lips taste like smoke and relief and toothpaste.
Remus wakes up cold and Sirius is gone.
He listens, but there aren’t any sounds until there are; the front door closes.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Remus peels himself off the bed, nearly drips over a pair of black converse next to it, and kicks them thoughtlessly to the side.
The alarm clock says it’s well past eleven which means Sirius is up early and it makes Remus nervous.
Sounds from the kitchen, like plastic bowls hitting the ground, followed by an enraged swearing; Remus pulls a clean sweater off the clothes horse which hasn’t seen damp clothes in at least a week and follows the noise.
He leans against the doorframe, encounters his lover crouched on the black and white tiled kitchen floor, nearly blending in wearing the same coloured T-shirt and joggers — if it wasn’t for the bright rainbow socks.
“Morning?”
Sirius spins on his toes, eyes wide. “Woah, where did you come from?”
He’s wearing his shoulder length hair in a half-up bun; Remus smiles weakly. “The bedroom, actually. Where did you come from?”
“Uh.” Sirius hurriedly picks up three bowls and their corresponding lids. “Just…bakery.”
Remus notices the white paper bag on the counter, strolls over, and peers inside. “Which one? Oh. ”
The floor sways.
“Yeah, Baker’s bakery, because they have pain au chocolats on Saturdays. Still, stupid name for a bakery. Pretty obvious.”
“It’s their last name.”
“That’s quite unoriginal,” Sirius expresses matter-of-factly, sorting the bowls back where they belong.
Remus shrugs. He can’t be bothered and frankly doesn’t care whether the name is unoriginal or whatever — Sirius got him pain au chocolats .
“Good?” Remus’ head snaps to the side, finding Sirius standing right next to him, staring into the bag.
“You’re wonderful, thank you,” Remus replies, leaning in to press a wet kiss onto Sirius’ forehead.
“Wuah, I hate when you do that,” Sirius winces, rubbing the wet spot on his face and Remus laughs at the way Sirius grimaces in disgust.
Sirius steps away, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s evident what he wants and expects from Remus. This game they always play where Sirius flashes his breathtaking smile and Remus forgets about the tension that’s still there; they make up and fight again by midnight.
“Why don’t you go and put a record on, I’ll—“
“No, you decide. I’m on breakfast duty today.”
Remus sighs. “Whatever you want.”
“What— no, I didn’t—“ Sirius rolls his eyes, falling back against the kitchen counter. “Why can’t you let me be in charge once.”
Remus' stomach drops at Sirius' defensive tone. They can’t be fighting again already. They wanted to talk .
Alarm bells go off Remus’ head. He can see it in Sirius’ eyes, a challenge, but Remus doesn’t want to be his opponent. Remus wants to be Sirius’ teammate.
“Because I know you hate preparing any kind of…” Remus gestures in the general direction of the oven. “Food related stuff. You—“
“But I want to— How are you going to—“
“Hey,” Remus says calmly, catching Sirius’ eye, “No fighting this early, yeah? We can make breakfast together. I don’t want you anywhere near my coffee; you don’t know the first thing about how to make coffee, love.”
Remus steps closer and Sirius leans in, reaching out, and nods. “Deal.”
Cold hands wander up his back underneath the hem of Remus’ sweater when he closes his arms around Sirius. They stay like that, close, warm with each other, and Remus settles his chin on top of Sirius’ soft hair.
“Can you say it again?” Sirius says after a while, when the rain starts and his hands become clammy on Remus’ bare skin.
Remus hums. “That I love you?”
Sirius tenses in his arms, but makes a sound of agreement, and Remus figures that this is what Sirius is afraid of. Not used to it, not really.
And how is someone supposed to love and be loved if they have no idea what it can feel like?
Remus knows love from his mother. Unconditional love from the person he trusts most, and even though his father wasn’t there for him , he was always there for Remus’ mother and Remus aspired to find love from another person who’s not supposed to love you because you’re related, just like they did.
Remus knows love from Marlene who grew up in the house across from him, like a sister. From Marlene’s parents who’d always take Marlene and her brother on fantastical trips to Japan or South Africa, which Remus could only dream of, and from Marlene’s grandmother who’d bring him sweets from the city whenever she had a doctor’s appointment.
Sirius knows love from the way his mother and father would refuse to feed him dinner for coughing during Sunday mess.
Remus’ arms subconsciously tighten.
“I love you.” Sirius relaxes a bit. “And I know you’re confused, but a fight won’t change that. Maybe I should tell you more often.”
Sirius stirs at that, trying to push away; Remus lets him.
“I should also tell you more often.” Sirius frowns. “Or…at all.”
At that, Remus falters a bit, hands falling to his sides, and the fear returns in Sirius's eyes.
“Later,” Remus nods, and reaches past Sirius to open the fridge, where he gathers some eggs.
“Okay, uhm…”
Remus turns to find Sirius staring helplessly at Remus’ hands as he’s cracking two eggs into a pan. He sways onto his heels a couple times, opens the fridge to peer inside without touching any of its contents, takes four uncoordinated steps in each direction and—
“Music. You got this.”
—flees the kitchen. Remus snorts.
The sizzling of eggs and guitars of Bon Jovi fill the flat and soon after, Remus hears Sirius singing along to the first album they bought after moving in together.
Remus revels in the normalcy of everything. The way Remus makes breakfast and Sirius never touches so much as a pot in the kitchen. How Sirius zooms and dances through the flat because he just can’t stand still and Remus is used to it by now; wonders how quiet his old flat was without Sirius in it.
It’s weird like this, Remus thinks, how scary the thought of change was before moving in with someone; scary the thought of losing a sense of privacy and identity. Now, Remus knows that part of his identity has always been with Sirius. Losing him would mean losing the part of himself that only Sirius knows.
Remus sets the table, uses the plates his mother got him when he moved to England for nostalgia’s sake, and opens the window to let some air in.
“Wow, look at you,” Sirius quips behind him. Remus turns and Sirius’ eyes sparkle. “Ah, I wish I had one of those polaroid cameras Mary has,” he says, sitting down at the table. “You just looked like a scene from a film, the way you were staring out the window…”
Remus chuckles, reaching for the chocolate filled pastries. “We do have one.”
Sirius stops, one cheek round and full with the piece of toast he’s devouring. He swallows. “No?”
“Hey, I found the screwdriver, you can trust me on this one, too.”
“Good point,” Sirius shrugs.
Breakfast passes with mostly Sirius talking again. Remus is otherwise occupied, pain au chocolat and Sirius’ foot bouncing against Remus’ leg. Another nervous habit Remus knows how to handle. He catches Sirius’ food by the heel, places it onto his thigh, and wraps his fingers around Sirius’ ankle.
Sirius coughs and splutters, choking on his orange juice and wriggles his toes. “I knew you had a foot fetish.”
“Foot fetish ? I’d love to cut your feet off .”
“Mmh, kinky ,” Sirius snorts, squeals when Remus runs his nails across the sole of Sirius’ foot.
“Don’t tempt me, I know your weaknesses,” Remus warns, pushing the last piece of his breakfast into his mouth.
Two hours later, Sirius is coming out of the bathroom, hair wet and cheeks flushed, and flops down next to Remus on the sofa. The leather makes the sound Remus merely tolerates.
Remus, deeply into his newest drawing, hums when the scent of Sirius’ shampoo fills his nose. It takes barely a minute and Sirius is moving closer, plants a quick kiss onto Remus’ shoulder and has his attention.
“Wait,” Remus murmurs absentmindedly, finishing up the small drawing of a shooting star. “Okay…”
Remus throws pen and notebook on the coffee table and scoots back on the sofa.
The tension in the room shifts and Remus knows that if he doesn’t catch Sirius before he closes up again, he’ll never have the conversation they need to have.
“Are you comfortable?” Remus asks softly, and Sirius nods, but reaches across Remus to pull a blanket around himself. He adjusts it to cover Remus' lap as well.
“I want to say something first,” Sirius blurts, not meeting Remus’ eyes. He’s fiddling with the silver necklace around his neck. The letter R attached to it.
R for his brother, Regulus, not R for Remus.
“Sure,” Remus says, shifting, so that he can meet the gaze Sirius keeps avoiding.
“I just took a shower and I’ve been thinking about…some stuff. You and me and us ,” Sirius says a bit too fast. Remus swallows.
It’s one thing that Sirius states unnecessary facts when he tries to explain himself; it’s another thing that his shower thoughts mostly end in him starting another argument with Remus.
Sirius licks his lips. “Okay, so…when I said that I don’t want to love you—“ He squeezes his eyes shut for a second.
A spark of hurt flashes through Remus’ chest and ends in his fingers. He tugs them under the blanket in his lap.
“I might’ve used… I should’ve said it differently because that way it makes you look bad, but it’s not about you, okay? It’s about how… I’m just scared.”
Sirius blinks a few times and Remus can’t stop himself before he reaches out to take his hand, laces their fingers together.
“Why?” Remus tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but something seems to break in Sirius and he shakes his head as tears well in his eyes.
“Because you’re fucking wonderful, Remus, and I’m such a mess,” Sirius nearly shouts. “You’re brave and kind and beautiful and smart and all the things that I’m not.” He rips his hand away, gestures wildly, and finally meets Remus’ eyes.
“I want to love you, but I’m not brave enough.”
Sirius’ eyes are wild and his hands, everywhere. Remus catches his wrists easily. “Sirius…”
“I totally understand if you…this is embarrassing, it’s okay if you want to break up. Or I guess we haven’t even made things official? Oh—“
“Sirius, love.” Remus releases his wrists to cup Sirius’ face and the other man stops breathing for a second as his shoulders sag.
“Hm?”
Remus’ heart aches. Because Sirius is crying and saying all those things that Remus never realised would hurt even more than the things Sirius says when he’s angry. They feel honest and real, and that’s the worst part.
“Can I kiss you?”
Sirius nods to his abilities. “Please. If you want.”
Remus smiles weakly and leans in.
His lips ghost over Sirius’s forehead, his reddened nose, and meet Sirius’ lips in a soft kiss. A sigh escapes Sirius throat, Remus swallows it and notices the way Sirius arches into him a little. The kiss doesn’t last very long, but carries all the understanding Remus can’t express with words.
Sirius follows him when Remus pulls away, but Remus stops him before Sirius can climb onto his lap.
“I want to say something next,” Remus whispers against Sirius’ lips and the glazed over grey eyes stare back at him longingly.
“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, moving away slightly, not too far; Remus hands fall away.
There’s something he needs to say and something he wants to make clear and both things are stuck in his throat. Remus clears his throat, wipes his hands on the blanket.
“First of all — I hope you don’t believe any of the shit you just said. That you’re not brave. That you’re a mess, Sirius, everyone is. Me too, and maybe that’s a good thing, you know?” A smile tugs at Remus’ mouth.
“I love it when you say wise stuff,” Sirius sighs and Remus frowns.
“Half of the time I have no idea if what I say makes any sense.”
“It does to me.” Sirius nods, a weak smile on his lips.
“What I’m trying to say is,” Remus cuts in before the conversation ends again. “I feel like you don’t trust me to stay when we fight.”
The smile slips off Sirius’ face and Remus knows he hit the spot. Sirius starts shifting, shrugs.
“Well,” is all he says, so Remus continues.
“I need you to know that I love you. Somebody who loves you, doesn’t leave when it gets ugly. Fuck, look at me… I sound like a bloody poet.”
Sirius swoons dramatically, which looks a bit mad with his wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
“ My bloody poet.”
“But I mean it,” Remus chuckles. “I got you, Sirius.”
“I know,” Sirius says, and takes a deep breath. “I—“
“You really don’t have to—“
“I got you, too.”
Oh.
Remus swallows, but something in his chest unplugs at Sirius’ words. It’s rare that Sirius speaks openly about his feelings, but probably the most unexpected is that Remus might’ve found something he needed to hear more than the three word confession.
“Do you want me to list all the things I love about you, too?” Remus smiles as Sirius’ face twists.
“Maybe…let’s just make out some more?”
Remus shrugs. “Then you’ll never find out about your beautiful hair…”
“No,” Sirius winces, holding up both hands.
“…or the way I love your wonderful humour…”
“Remus.”
“…how sociable you are…”
“Enough,” Sirius laughs, moving closer and swinging one leg over Remus’ lap, straddling him as Remus continues to annoy Sirius in the kindest way possible.
“And have you seen your—“
Sirius shuts him up with a teeth-clashing kiss.
It’s a night three weeks later. The moon is full and Sirius is pursuing his ritual of sitting on the windowsill of their bedroom, smoking one of Remus’ cigarettes and watching a black cat outside.
Remus is lounging on their bed, one foot dangling off the side, reading the novel Sirius bought and abandoned.
“It looked pretty and it was only three pounds,” were his words when he had brought it home a while back.
The streets are empty, the sky pitch-black behind the orange light of the street lamps, but somewhere far away, Remus hears the sound of cars and there’s also something in the trees sending muffled hoots into the darkness.
“Sometimes when I look at the moon,” Sirius says, Remus hums, signaling that he’s listening. “You know what I think?”
“Tell me.” Remus turns to page eighty-one.
Sirius blows a cloud of smoke into the night.
“Don’t laugh.”
“No promises.”
“I just think it’s not fair that you can go blind from looking at the sun, and then the sun helps the moon shine at night and somehow we go ‘ Oh, look at the moon! ’ when it’s all the sun’s doing. We should say ‘Thank you, sun, for making the moon look so pretty at night!’ .”
Remus lowers his book, stares at the back of Sirius’ head. It’s not often that Sirius renders Remus speechless, in fact, there’s something else swelling in Remus’ chest.
And then he laughs, clutching his chest.
Sirius turns, frowning. The sun and moon tattoos on his shoulders distort.
“What’s so funny?”
Remus wipes away the single tear that’s escaped his eye. “Sorry, it’s just—“ Another wave of laughter catches him before he can explain himself and a moment later, Sirius is straddling his hips.
“I’ll never tell you anything ever again, Remus. Why are you laughing?”
Sirius’ hands on his cheeks, Remus gathers every last bit of strength in him, blinking away the tears of laughter.
Remus sighs, arms falling loosely around Sirius, a smile on his face.
“Sometimes I wonder why I love you so much, and then you open your mouth and tell me what’s on your mind and I know. ”
Sirius’ eyes turn soft. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I love that.”
“What?”
There’s a glint in Sirius’ eyes. Not a mischievous one, but one that’s full of warmth and Remus can’t help but blush.
“You, actually.”