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Remus woke up on Sunday morning to the faint sound of music and the smell of pancakes. He fumbled blindly for his phone and squinted at the time - 8 AM. He wrinkled his nose, then blinked the sleep out of his eyes, yawned, and shoved himself out of bed. A peek outside told him they were in for another dreary, drizzly day. They’d had a full week of them so far, and he could feel the effect in his joints.
As he shuffled into the kitchen, the smell grew stronger. He scratched the side of his head, mussing up the curls that he knew had been pressed flat against his pillow all night, and took another deep inhale, pulling his roommate's attention to him.
Sirius turned from where he stood at the stove, poking at the contents of a pan. He nodded shortly to Remus, offering him a quiet “morning” before turning back to his task.
“Banana?” Remus asked, gesturing to the pan. Sirius nodded.
“What are you doing up so early?” Remus pressed when Sirius said nothing, making his way over to the coffee maker. He found the pot half empty, which meant Sirius had been up for at least an hour.
“My mom called.”
Remus whipped around from where he was sifting through mugs to find his preferred one, which had a picture of Frog and Toad on their tandem bicycle with the words “Be Gay Do Crime” emblazoned underneath. “What did she want?” He demanded, abandoning his search.
Sirius’ shoulders lifted in a shrug, his gaze remaining on the pan. He flipped a pancake neatly, prompting a fresh sizzling sound that briefly drowned out the music playing in the background. “To remind me I was a failure and a waste of space, mostly.”
Remus sucked in a breath, biting down on his bottom lip before he could launch into a tirade about Walburga Black. It had turned into an argument last time, when Remus had begged Sirius to block her, and Sirius had insisted that he couldn’t do that, and it wasn’t any of Remus’ business why not. The yelling had turned into them storming off to their respective rooms, which turned into reluctant forgiveness when they both emerged silently to curl up on the couch and watch The Princess Bride.
Now, Remus watched Sirius lift the pancake onto a plate and pour batter for another. The movements were rote, but graceful, in the way that only Sirius could make pouring batter a graceful activity. Remus waited for him to be done, then made his way over to sling an arm around his shoulder. Sirius leaned into him, resting his head against Remus’ shoulder while he watched the pancake batter bubble in the pan.
Remus let his hand rest on Sirius’ arm, tapping along to the rhythm of the song playing. “I like this,” he said mindlessly, entranced by the pancake forming in front of them. “What is it?”
“Dunno,” Sirius said quietly. “Regulus made the playlist. Said it helped with his panic attacks.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“I texted him to let him know she was on the warpath. I’ll check in later.”
Still discomfited by Sirius’ lack of chatter or energy, Remus shifted to grab his phone off the counter and peek at the playlist that was on. It was all gentle, acoustic songs, and as he was scrolling through the list, a new song came on that he vaguely recognized.
He looked back to where Sirius was tossing the latest pancake onto the already full plate. When he reached for more batter, Remus set the phone down and gently placed a hand on top of the hand holding the mixing bowl.
Sirius made no move to resist as Remus leaned forward to turn the stovetop off before pulling Sirius away from it, arm still wrapped around his shoulder. “Dance with me?” He asked quietly. Sirius turned to him with a small, bemused smile.
“You don’t dance, Moony.”
“Yeah, but you do.” He pulled away enough to spin Sirius around to face him. “I’ll let you lead.”
Sirius sighed, the smile at the corner of his lips slowly growing as he rested a hand on Remus’ waist, the other hand outstretched, cupping Remus’ hand in his own. Remus followed, resting his free hand on Sirius’ shoulder, watching him carefully.
Sirius led them through a shuffling two step around the kitchen, and Remus delighted in the small laughs he elicited every time he stumbled over his own feet or lost the rhythm. When Remus initiated a minor wrestling match to take over as the lead, Sirius let out a full, barking laugh that ignited something warm in his chest.
“Give us a spin, Padfoot,” Remus laughed, lifting an arm. Sirius obliged, allowing himself to be pulled in a small spin. When he turned back to face him, his arm came up to drape on Remus’ shoulder, his hand resting at the nape of his neck.
They fell into a soft, swaying, side-to-side step in the center of the kitchen, and Remus admired the smile on Sirius’ face, the more relaxed stance he held, the strands of dark hair that had fallen loose from his bun and swayed along with him. There was a spark in his sharp gray eyes that hadn’t been there when Remus had first seen him that morning.
“Feeling better?” He asked quietly, his thumb swiping over Sirius’ rib cage where his hand sat on his side. He could feel Sirius’ fingers tangling in the curls at the back of his neck. Sirius hummed and nodded, still swaying with the music, although their feet had largely stopped moving.
“Yeah,” Sirius murmured, eyes flicking over Remus’ face. “Love you, Moons.”
“Love you more, Pads.” A familiar call and response that spanned a decade of friendship.
“How much?” Sirius broke the pattern. Remus blinked.
“More than words can say.”
“Show me?”
Sirius gazed hopefully at him, and Remus’ eyes strayed to his lips; soft, pink, a perfect Cupid’s bow at the center. He swallowed. Sirius said, with a touch of desperation, “Please?”
Remus prayed to every god he could think of that he wasn’t reading the situation wrong before ducking down to capture Sirius’ lips with his own. Sirius responded eagerly, pressing forward and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.
“Can we go back to bed?” Remus breathed, the shape of the words on his lips brushing against Sirius’.
“But my pancakes-”
“Can be reheated.”
“...You’re right. Lead the way.”
—
We got everything we need right here and everything we need is enough.
Just so easy when the whole world fits inside of your arms.
Do you really need to pay attention to the alarm?
Wake up slow. Hmm, wake up slow.
- Banana Pancakes, by Jack Johnson