Chapter Text
Remus Lupin is a lost cause.
He’s resigned himself to the fact.
Because no matter how many times he tells himself to stop, no matter how many times he tries to shove his feelings into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind—Sirius Black will always be his undoing.
He’s in love with Sirius Black. Not in the casual, crush-like way he’s fancied others before, but in the aching, bone-deep way that makes his chest hurt. He’s learned to live with it, stuffing the feelings down beneath books, patrol duties, and the occasional Prefect excuse to stay out late. And it’s not just because Sirius is beautiful (which he is, painfully so, with his storm-gray eyes and lazy smirk, and the way his hair falls into his face like it’s been carefully disheveled by the gods themselves). It’s not just because he’s charming or brilliant or devastatingly cool.
Because Remus doesn’t get to have things like this. He doesn’t get to have love, or affection, or a future that involves anything other than isolation and fear. He’s a monster. A ticking time bomb.
Because it’s one-sided. It has to be. There’s no chance it’s anything else. Not with Sirius.
Sirius flirts with everyone. Sirius drapes himself over Remus like it means nothing. Sirius calls him Moony like it’s just a name, not a whispered prayer in Remus’s ears. Not the same way that Remus breathes out his name when he knows none of the other boys are in their dorm room, in the peak of bittersweet ecstasy, where he knows Sirius—the way Remus pines for him—will only exist in his fantasies.
And Remus knows better than to hope.
It’s been years now. Years of watching Sirius from the sidelines, watching as he flits through life without a care in the world, kisses anyone he wants at their parties, drags somebody new into their dorm room at the end of the night, and Remus quietly curls up on a sofa in the common room so he doesn’t have to sleep five feet away from the love of his life having sex with someone else.
It just sounds pretentious, doesn’t it? Love of his life? The beautiful, broken boy who will never give him a second glance except to show off his newest tattoo or the way he learned to spin his wand through his fingers or the latest Bowie record that they all have to listen to.
The boy with stars in his name and stars in his eyes who will never belong to anyone, much less Remus.
So when Sirius flings himself across the Gryffindor common room sofa, draping his long limbs over Remus’s lap as if he belongs there, calling him Moony in that ridiculous, sing-song way, it’s all Remus can do to keep breathing.
“Why so tense, Moony?” Sirius muses, propping his chin on Remus’s thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Remus swallows hard and tries to nudge him off. “I’m trying to read, you insufferable prat.”
Sirius pouts exaggeratedly. “You love me, really.”
Remus’s heart clenches. But he rolls his eyes, forcing a smirk. “Not even a little bit.”
Sirius grins, pressing his hand to his chest. “Wounded. Betrayed. Crushed.” He shifts closer, his chin dangerously close to the middle of Remus’s thighs. “James, tell him how cruel he is to me.”
James looks up from where he’s been scribbling something in his Transfiguration book. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing between them before smirking.
“Remus? Cruel to you?” James scoffs. “Pads, if anything, you’re the one who—”
“ANYWAY,” Sirius interrupts loudly.
James just hums, still smirking.
Peter, for his part, is in a chair across the room, stuffing his face with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, completely uninterested in whatever crisis Sirius is having today.
Remus ignores the way his chest aches. Because this is normal. This is fine.
He can live with being just friends.
“Come upstairs, we’re having a little party tonight, a little fête, if you will,” Sirius says with a grin, eyes sparkling. “And I know you’ve already done all your reading and your Potions essay for the weekend because you’re insane, so you have no excuse.”
Remus drags his eyes down to Sirius’s face, steadfastly ignoring the way the firelight twinkles in a golden halo behind Sirius. “I’m reading.”
“But you’ve read that a miiiiillion times,” Sirius whines, looking at Remus’s battered copy of the Iliad.
“It’s my faaaavorite book,” Remus replies, half mockingly.
Sirius rolls his eyes, making a tch sound. It takes everything in Remus’s power not to curl towards the feeling of Sirius shifting in his lap. “What’s so interesting about some old book about some fake old war and why do you like it so so much more than hanging out with me?”
Because of Patroclus. Because while he wasn’t as clever as Odysseus, or as big as Ajax, or as wise as Nestor, or as influential as Agamemnon, he still made a difference. Because he loved, and he was loved. Because in an ancient story of rage and war and gods and death and suffocating male emotions, what really made the difference in the end was Patroclus, and his love for Achilles. Achilles, who was loved and hated by so many, who outshone the stars and got everything he ever wanted, the best of the Greeks, who was so full of pride and stubbornness that he let the war rage and his allies die just out of pure spite, who could not be moved by the cleverness of Odysseus or the quiet ferocity of Ajax or the wisdom of Nestor or the influence of Agamemnon…but was moved by his love. Who said fuck you to fate and death and his mother and who fought a god and won, who thought he would die for glory and who died for vengeance but really, really he died for love. Because he didn’t want to be in a world that didn’t have Patroclus in it. Because Achilles mourned as a lover and willingly threw himself into the path of death’s arrow and had his ashes mixed with Patroclus’s. Because while Achilles mattered to everyone, only Patroclus mattered to him, in the end.
Remus looks up from his book. He blinks.
“Well?” Sirius is still glaring at him, one painted fingernail flicking the cover of the book.
“Because of Patroclus,” Remus responds simply. And adds, as if it’s an afterthought, “And Achilles.” Because he knows Sirius will never read the Iliad, will only know the characters as characters in an old book that Remus loves, will never know how Remus aches in his soul for his Achilles to love him back.
Sirius shrugs. “Weird names. Anyway. Come on!” He tries to yank the worn book from Remus’s hands, but Remus has known him for six years and only tightens his grip.
“You know I don’t like these sorts of ‘parties’,” he says, overplaying the exhaustion in his voice. He knows it likely won’t work; more often than not, Remus ends up trailing after Sirius anyway and sitting against the wall pretending to drink something awful while his friends make a racket. Because he would follow Sirius anywhere. To the moon even, no matter how much he hates it. Or maybe, if he were on the moon, it wouldn’t be able to affect him, because you can’t see a full moon from the moon, and whatever phase it’s in sort of depends on where you’re standing, and maybe if Remus built a little space hut on the dark side of the moon so he wasn’t in the light, then—
“Are you coming?” Sirius snaps him out of the thought, as he so often does.
Remus sighs. He carefully closes his book. “I won’t be forced to reveal any horrible truths, and I won’t be kissing anyone.”
Sirius rolls his eyes, because these are Remus’s rules every time, and he must reassure him every time. Remus scowls back, making as if to reopen his book. His friends are particularly fond of stupid sleepover games, or whatever you want to call them, like Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle, and Remus would rather live under a perpetual full moon than be forced into any of that. Well, not really, but it’s a nice way to be dramatic about it if his friends ask. Maybe if the bottle was charmed in such a way it was forced to land on Sirius and Remus in succession, but no that’s cheating, and Remus wouldn’t ever cheat.
“Fine, of course, none of that, just a little harmless fun,” Sirius says, sitting up, and Remus wants to keen at the sudden loss of warmth against his thigh. “Just us and the girls, and a few drinks, and nothing else. Promise.”
And, oh, oh, Remus can’t say no to him.
***
The Gryffindor boys’ dorm is alive with music and laughter. Someone (probably Marlene) has managed to smuggle in firewhiskey, and the bottles are being passed around freely.
Remus isn’t much of a drinker, but tonight, Lily and Mary managed to get their hands on several bottles of red wine, and if that isn’t Remus’s biggest vice besides cigarettes…so he allows himself a few glasses, just enough to dull the ache in his chest when Sirius inevitably finds someone to flirt with.
But then someone suggests Truth or Dare. Because of course they do.
“I’m too old for this,” Remus murmurs to Lily, who is nursing her own glass of wine beside him.
“You’re seventeen,” she points out.
“Exactly."
“Well, I think it’s fun,” Lily replies, grinning up at him.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Sure, so you can kiss Mary without everyone thinking it’s a thing.”
Lily coughs on her sip of wine. “Well, maybe you could too, without everyone thinking it’s a thing, finally get to kiss your secret crush.”
Remus immediately covers his face with his free hand, wincing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lily’s peals of laughter strike through the room like a gunshot. “I think everyone knows what—or who—I’m talking about, except maybe the man himself.”
Remus downs the rest of his wine in one fell swoop. “I hate you, you know that, Evans?” There’s no malice in his voice.
“Love you, too, sweet Moony.” Lily grins at him, a sly, knowing grin, and reaches over to the table near her for the bottle of wine, pouring them each a generous glass. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else loves you too. In a different way, y’know. Just give him a chance, yeah?”
Remus doesn’t respond. While she’s the only one here who truly knows of his feelings for Sirius, he doesn’t feel like pouring out his sad sap insecurities on Lily tonight, not when he’s finally letting loose and having fun. He opts for a simple, biting, “funny joke,” before gulping down half his new glass of wine. He doesn’t notice Lily looking at him sadly, knowingly.
The rest of the group has started forming a haphazard circle, clearly readying for this stupid game. Remus turns to leave, to escape back down into the safety of the common room, but before he can, Sirius grabs his, pulling him down onto the closest free spot of carpet with a wicked grin.
“Not so fast, Moony. You’re playing.”
Remus sighs. “I’m not. You know I’m not. I never do.”
Sirius giggles –actually giggles, and Remus’s heart turns over in his chest at the sound—and leans his head drunkenly onto Remus’s chest. “You are tonight. No excuses. There won’t be many of these parties left, not when we’re all graduated and old and in the working world and you’ll regret not playing these games with us.”
“Some of us will be in the working world, but not Mr. Trust Fund His Parents Can’t Figure Out How to Rescind,” Remus says, the snark in his words softened by the immense amount of wine he’s consumed tonight, and, fuck, he could sit here forever, head floating, Sirius’s warmth pressed against him.
“You’re playing,” Sirius says, and that’s that.
The game starts off harmless—Marlene hexes James’s quill so it writes embarrassing things about himself, Peter has to wear a cursed hat that makes him speak in rhymes, and Lily, after much persuasion, gives James a peck on the cheek (he nearly dies on the spot). They really are much more partial to dares than truths. Maybe, after almost seven years living and studying together, they feel as if they couldn’t possibly have any secrets amongst them anymore. It gives Remus a malicious bit of satisfaction, that he’s kept his stupid feelings so secret for so long.
And then.
James smirks, looking directly at Sirius.
“I dare you to kiss Moony.”
The world goes silent.
Remus’s stomach drops.
Sirius, however, grins. “Easy.”
And before Remus can protest, before he can even think, Sirius leans in and kisses him. And it’s not casual. It’s open-mouthed, wet, hot, with one of Sirius’s hands gripping the back of Remus’s neck. And Sirius is warm. His lips are soft, slightly chapped, tasting faintly of firewhiskey. And for a single, suspended moment, Remus allows himself to feel it.
And then Sirius pulls back, still grinning—except there’s something off in his eyes, and Remus is desperately trying not to overthink it. “See, Moony? Best kiss of your life.”
Remus doesn’t breathe.
The room explodes with cheers and whistles, but it’s all muffled, distant, drowned out by the sound of Remus’s racing heart.
Sirius laughs, shaking his head like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t just wrecked Remus entirely.
Remus flees.