Archive of Our Own

Remus wakes to the sound of soft footsteps near his bed. It's obvious that whoever just wandered into the dorm room is trying to lull their steps, trying to make as little noise as possible for Remus's consideration. He tries to figure out which of his friends would be that careful around him, but ultimately all three of them would do that. Apart from Sirius, maybe, if he's been drinking.

The footsteps stop at the side of Remus’s bed, and they pause for a good while. A long while, actually, the person just stands there doing nothing. Remus thinks he can hear them swaying back and forth on the spot, but that could just be the sound of the curtains. He decides there's no use guessing the identity of whomever it is - they'll wander back to their own bed eventually - and instead closes his eyes again. It's one of those nights where he can fall back asleep so seamlessly, so quickly and comforting that Remus probably won't remember being woken at all up by the morning.

He's seconds away from being back in that perfect deep sleep when the curtains are pulled back just ever so slightly, and a body fills the lack of empty space of the bed. Remus usually curls himself up into a ball when he sleeps but even then he's still just a bit too tall for the frame. There’s even less space with the tresspasser now in his bed.

“This isn't your bed.” Remus groans, trying to shove the intruder away.

It's obvious that one of his friends has come back late and forgot which bed was theirs. It wasn't really a forbidden accident to make, climbing into someone's bed unknowingly, but Remus was probably the least tolerant out of the four boys. He had only let James sleep at the end of the bed that one time in fifth year when Lily broke up with him, the same week wherein they both swore off dating each other ever again (though they were back to snogging in the common room by Wednesday). It's mostly likely James again now, he's always been the worst at drinking. The poor guy loses all sense of self respect by the second beer.

“I know that.” Oh, it's Sirius. “Now stop kicking my shins, you twat.”

Sirius was the last person Remus expected. Sirius Black, the one and only, crawling under the enemy territory of Remus’s covers was not typical of him. Sure he was clingy with James, and even Peter got a couple of those ‘arm over the shoulders’ side hugs every once in a while. But Sirius cuddling up with Remus? And literally cuddling for all intensive purposes. That hasn't happened since they were thirteen. Matter of the fact, Sirius doesn't tend to come near Remus at all. They're the least touchy with each other.

He's been missing out, Remus decides as Sirius makes himself comfortable by stealing half the pillow and stretching his limbs out to cross Remus's body. It's actually quite nice to have someone this close in the middle of the night, close when no one's around to judge the way Remus is looking at a boy - a boy that's meant to be his best friend, and nothing else.

“You would've loved tonight, mate. You should've come.” Sirius speaks into Remus's hair. “Why didn't you come?”

“Wasn't feeling well. The moon-”

“The full moon is weeks away, you don't usually become so grouchy until at least a few days before.”

Remus turns over so that he's facing the ceiling of his canopy bed, it shifts Sirius off him for a moment and Remus misses the pressure of someone else's body so close to his. For a minute he thinks Sirius won't put his arm back to where it was draped across Remus's chest. But Sirius does. Remus lets out a breath he didn't know was being held so tightly in.

“You just didn't want to come. You never want to do anything with us anymore.” Sirius continues.

“Well it doesn't look like you wanted to go either. You’re not exactly known for coming back this early, let alone without Prongs or Wormy in tow. Especially Wormy, he follows you everywhere like you're some sort of saint.”

“Am I not a saint?”

“Definitely not one when you're interrupting my sleep.” Remus tugs the covers away from Sirius to make a point.

As he's talking, Sirius sort of scrunches up into a ball beside him. He's curling in on himself, then rethinks for a split second before properly curling his arms around Remus's abdomen. He actually slides his hand under the fabric of the spare t-shirt Remus wears to sleep most nights and Remus… Well, he fully freaks out.

Unfortunately Remus has never been good in fight or flight situations. He tends to just freeze up entirely.

“The party got boring after the first two hours. There's only so many times you can sit there and watch Marlene try to do a handstand on a Hufflepuff because she had three too many fire whiskeys. And Wormy was too busy handsing up that girl he's obsessed with to notice me slip out.”

Remus is torn between wanting to shove Sirius onto the floor and magic the curtains shut permanently, and wanting to relax into Sirius's touch. Suddenly the way Sirius is mumbling every word into the back of his hair doesn't feel so innocent anymore. Though being around Sirius has never been that innocent. There's this glint of hope in Remus that begs for James to come back to the dorm, to make as much noise as possible and wake up the entire Gryffindor tower, but the stronger part of Remus's brain shuts down that idea so fast he's not sure the thought even properly formed.

“Last I saw James, that div, he was trying to get everyone to play strip poker,” Sirius continues, chatting away as if he's not even aware of where he is, or who he's with. “And I didn't really fancy showing my tits off tonight, y'know? Sometimes I'm just not feeling it, but Prongs is always up for showing off.”

“You're voice is so fucking annoying, Padfoot. Shut up and let me sleep.” Remus deflects.

He's good at deflecting. It's always been a natural talent of his, always been a way of coping with the unspoken horrors he doesn't want to talk about. He deflects when McGonagall gives the four of them detention for something Remus wasn't ever involved in, he deflects when James comes up to him with the name of yet another boy who's ‘willing to date an old wolf like you’, and he deflects whenever the moon glows with that terrifying light every month. He deflects now with Sirius lying in the same bed as him. Remus knows he wants Sirius to leave - he can feel the way his body wants to escape from the attention of another person - but at the same time he might sob if he's left alone again.

“You never call me Padfoot anymore.”

Remus sits up straight now, Sirius's limbs untangling and separating the pair of boys.

What're you getting at?” Remus asks.

“You're always calling me ‘Sirius’. You never call me Padfoot. And all ‘cos you see ‘Pads’ as a friend, and ‘Sirius’ as some tosser who needs to be put in his place.”

“That's not-”

“You're always calling me ‘Sirius’ ‘cos you're always telling me to stop fucking around, telling me to shut up, or get out of trouble. I'm this- this charity case to you!”

Sirius is sitting up now too, gone is his casual demeanor. Gone is that warm feeling Remus had in the soft centre of his bones. He doesn't look back to face Sirius; doesn't want to look Sirius in the eye.

“Don't make it out to be something it's not-” Remus is cut off again.

“You're doing it now! Fucking downplaying what I’m saying, what I'm trying to tell you.”

Remus wants it to go back to how it was. With their heads on the same pillow. He wants Sirius’s hands back on his skin, under his shirt, and he wants the panicked feeling of being touched back. Not this. He doesn't want this - this accusation being lobbed at him with Sirius's strongest arm.

It's an accident when he looks at Sirius. An accident when he sees the sad glint in his best friend's eyes. Sirius is red in the face - from drinking, Remus supposes - and his hair is loose falling around his ears and to his shoulders, shoulders that are hunched up in this protective stance. Merlin, he's even wearing that ragged David Bowie t-shirt that Peter bought him a few years ago. Remus always wanted that t-shirt, but he's the one who suggested to Pete to get it for Sirius.

“What the fuck do you want from me then?” Remus bites.

“I want you to call me Padfoot again.” Sirius drops his head into his hands, groaning slightly. “Call me Pads again, or Puddifoot in that fucking mummy dearest tone. Merlin, call me Snuffles for all I care. You sound like my fucking mother whenever you call me Sirius.”

Remus hesitates for a short moment. Then, softly…

“Padfoot…”

And Sirius turns almost green in the face. He looks sick, like he's about to throw up the half pint of beer from an hour ago. Remus hopes he doesn't - he has to sleep with these sheets after all.

“That's not what I meant. You don't mean it.” Sirius replies.

Dealing with Sirius is like forced, unpaid child care of a toddler hopped up on sugar quills. Maybe it's worse with Sirius because he's been alcohol dependent ever since puberty hit. Maybe it's because Sirius smokes too many packs of cigarettes a week that even Pomfrey had started scolding him, but that Remus liked the smell of it all too much to nag him to quit. And now Remus deals with the consequences of his own actions. He thinks, in a way, he's the reason for why Sirius is this way. Sirius Black - a sick creation from the twisted minds of Walburga Black and Remus Lupin (separately, of course).

“It's a fucking name, how am I meant to mean it?” Remus's voice cracks slightly.

He watches - in horror at first - at Sirius's face shifts, changing from ghostly anger to a shit eating grin. He laughs, barks more like it, and sort of curls in on himself trying not to be too loud. Remus doesn't understand the attempt, it's not like anyone else is in the room. It's contagious, too, and Remus is laughing along with him before he even catches up to what’s happening.

“What's so funny?” Remus asks between laughs.

Sirius lies back down on the bed, his arms bent to cushion his head, but he's still grinning down at Remus. He still has that look in his eye that reminds Remus of when they were thirteen, of when he and his three best friends got up to more mischief than any of the professors could handle. He thinks about when it stopped; when had it turned from pranking Snivellus to getting drunk and touching up whichever girl looked at them for long enough. Remus can't remember when they stopped being kids.

“You try too hard to make me happy, y'know. It's awfully posh of you, despite how scummy you think people think you are - filthy Northerner. But all I have to do is ask,” Sirius pauses, he emphasises the last word. “And you'll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Maybe your voice just goes through me and I'm only doing what you ask to make you shut up.” Remus jokes back.

“Maybe. But maybe, and here's a thought, you've got a bloody soft spot for me. You're such an old man.”

Remus goes absolutely silent when Sirius accentuates with a jab of his finger to the middle of Remus’s chest.

He has a soft spot for Sirius. Oh, he's got a very large soft spot for the eldest son of the Black family. A gaping wound in his heart that is shaped perfectly for Padfoot, and Padfoot only. He's got a soft spot.

Remus has a blind spot.

Seventh year was meant to be about studying, sitting exams, fucking around with his mates for one last year before everyone goes off to be normal adults. Seventh year was meant to be some sort of closing point for Remus, where he could wrap up everything in such a neat little bow that the box would never have to be revisited ever again. But here he is developing feelings for his best friend. Here is Sirius Black lying on his bed and calling him names; not out of hate, but out of adoration. Remus didn't think having Sirius's hands reach out to touch the strands of hair on the back of his neck would be part of seventh year. He's only seventeen. And it's some sort of hex on him that Sirius is just a boy. Walburga can choke on a chocolate frog if she thinks Sirius could ever come back from this.

“You've gone quiet, mate.” Sirius says, he's gently twisting some of the strands of hair between his fingers.

Remus's hair is getting too long - nowhere near as long compared to the horrific shag on Sirius - but it doesn't bother him as much as the stubble on his chin. He thinks back to Lily the other week, all of them sitting at the Gryffindor table one breakfast morning, and how she slagged off James for how he didn't shave, nor did he cut his hair or fix the tilt in his glasses. Would Sirius say the same to Remus? He thinks about it, thinks about if Sirius would like how Remus looks when he's a day away from turning under the moon, and his eye bags have doubled their usual size. And would Sirius like it?

Remus really has gone quiet, between the internal panic of ‘Sirius has never been this comfortable around me’ as well as the mantra of ‘I like how Sirius looks, does he like the way I look?’ that circling his head far louder than any other thought that crossed Remus's mind in the recent weeks.

He gets caught up in these silly feelings about a boy. Caught up in thinking about holding Sirius's hand, kissing him in the doorway in the mornings, or simply sitting closer to him on the common room arm chair. Then that familiar voice creeps into his mind, closer to his heart as it squeezes the blood vessels together in a tight fist, and whispers ‘don't be daft, Remus, you're a werewolf. Werewolves don't get to love anybody.’ And just as quickly Remus had leant into the touch of his best friend, he had moved away to the edge of the bed. Remus feels the bile rise in his throat, and the clamp in his chest becoming ever so tighter. Remus was this great monster confined to a shack with chains, he was a werewolf fit for slaughter just because of the mere threat of hurting another student. Sirius didn't look at Remus with adoration - it was fear, hatred, if fifth year was enough evidence.

Sirius and Remus had never had the same close relationship that Sirius had with James. They're practically brothers at the end of the day. But whatever friendship they did have seemed to shatter into pieces the moment Sirius told Severus about the shack, about how to find Remus during the full moon.

He inches further away when Sirius tries to put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Stop thinking badly about yourself, Moony.” Sirius says.

All of his friends have the ability to tell when Remus has fallen down some self deprecating rabbit hole. Even Lily's friends call him out on it. Though it's always been Sirius who really gets Remus to think straight again.

“I'm not.” A quick, short answer which Remus hopes will send Sirius the message.

“You've got that look on your face, mate,” Sirius does not get the message. “Whatever it is that's fucking around in that head of yours, tell it to piss off will you?”

“Merlin, Pads, I'm not thinking about anything! Nothing at all, it's all empty up here.” Remus knocks on his forehead to emphasise his point.

All that effort to inch away from Sirius was useless in the end. Sirius takes Remus's hand away from his head and - instead of letting go, like Remus thinks - holds it in his lap. He, too, sits on the edge of the bed with his feet dangling off the side. It's a mimicry of Remus, though it's also a sign of company in Sirius's own way. Meeting Sirius's eye again makes those voices in Remus's head quieten almost immediately, and the sound of silence truly fills his head again. It would be silent, really, if not for the hushed lull of a tune Sirius's was humming. Remus didn't recognise the song, though he didn't think he needed to.

“I don't think that cranium of yours has ever been empty.” Sirius smiles, and he brushes Remus's hair out of his face.

Maybe he's right. But in this moment everything, past and present, goes blank in Remus's head. Sirius looks… tranquil. He looks so quiet, soft even. It's nothing akin to the boisterous personality usually worn by the eldest Black son, and Remus can't even remember the last time he saw Sirius look so calm. It's nothing to do with the isolation of their dorm, of Remus’s bed hidden by Gryffindor curtains, they've sat here countless nights letting their insecurities and fears fill the air. How come Sirius looks so different tonight? He begins to analyse everything to a horrific extent; the light twitches in Sirius's grip, the shadows cast on Sirius's face, even the loud silence of their breathing syncing without either intending for it. Pete once said Remus had this nasty habit of noticing too much about people, and supposedly Pete is right about the nasty part.

Looking at how gentle Sirius has become makes Remus feel more like a monster now than when the moon became bright.

“What else happened tonight, then?” Remus asks, wanting to end the silence between them.

“Ah, so, Prongs got his fist stuck in a pint glass within the first twenty minutes. He'd necked that thing like it was Lily's face on the other end, amirite, and Wormy pretty much pissed himself at the sight of the poor git.”

Remus allowed himself to relax further back onto the bed, his legs no longer hanging off the side with the threat of running away. Sirius seems apprehensive to move back, though; he watches Remus with hesitation, as if he's figuring out where to go and what not to touch so that his friend doesn't try to inch away again. There's a gap between them now. A gap that reminds Remus of that hand underneath his shirt, and the dizzying feeling it caused.

Near the end of fifth year Sirius had kissed one of the sixth year girls in the common room, late one night after too many drinks and smuggled in paraphernalia. Remus remembers watching the pair of them, obviously infatuated with the girl - he couldn't remember her name, she'd left school the second her seventeenth birthday hit - and how desperately he wanted to be in Sirius's place. How desperate Remus had been to touch a girl like that, all too indecently for a place where the first years could walk in whenever they pleased.

The memory hits Remus now, and he realises he didn't care for the girl one bit.

“Macdonald's got such a shit taste in music, she's rivaling Wormtail to be fair. My ears were bleeding, mate, that's why I had to get out of there.” Sirius continues. “Drinking wasn't even worth it at that point.”

Remus is feckless. He's irresponsible and caught up in all sorts of hexes. He paints himself as this perfect student whenever McGonagall passes in the corridors, whenever he's sitting across from Dumbledore after another of James's genius ideas gone wrong, but in all fairness Remus has always been just as bad as his friends. If anything, he's worse.

‘Worse’ manifests itself in the flesh when Remus kisses Sirius.

It's less than a second, less than half the effort anyone would ever put into kissing someone else. Remus pulls back, drops his hand from Sirius's grip, quicker than he had leaned in. He's so used to the feeling of regret that the sudden rush of it caught him off guard.

The litany of ‘don't look at him, don't look, don't look, don't look’ is cut in half like a wizard's chess piece placed on the wrong tile.

Sirius Black reaches out his hand to Remus's neck, pulling his head down and closer to where he's made himself a home in the bed sheets. He kisses Remus; it's longer, better, than what Remus had attempted - if even that was an attempt in the first place. He kisses first with a gentle movement, then second with a slight change in pressure that says ‘c'mon Remus, this is actually happening’ and he waits for the lanky kid to finally catch up.

He's watching Sirius so intently, with such infatuation and attention to every movement and detail. That old litany lays forgotten, instead replaced with Sirius's name cycled on repeat. He gets too caught up with it, so much so that Sirius has to bring his hand to Remus's face to gently close his eyes. Remus felt a pang of loss now that he couldn't see what was happening, but actually this was so much better. He'll have to thank Sirius some time. Or perhaps he should thank whichever Hufflepuff didn't come through with the right alcohol to live up to Sirius's standards.

Remus has kissed people before, don't get him wrong, but none were like this. He'd never kissed anyone with the looming thoughts of actually liking them romantically, and the fragility of an already rocky friendship.

“Padfoot…” Remus spoke when there came a natural pause between kisses.

Sirius sort of dissolves in Remus's lap - when had he ended up there? - and rested his head in the space between neck and shoulder. Sirius is smiling there, against Remus's skin.

“That's how I meant it.” He says, recalling back to their initial conversation.

It takes Remus aback, thinking, did Sirius really mean it in this way? This whole time, this entire conversation, this business of climbing into his bed…was it all with the envisioned ending of kissing Remus?

For how long, Remus wants to ask. The words spike up in his throat, his skin itches with it, but ultimately he holds it back. It feels wrong to ask it now, as if Remus could break the mirage of it all.

“You're thinking too much again.” Sirius speaks, bringing Remus back to reality.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be. I've learnt by now you can't help that shit.”

“Why bring it up then?”

Sirius shrugs in reply to Remus. He leans to kiss Remus again, and again until he feels satisfied enough. There's never any rhyme or reason to how Sirius acts, speaks, what he means or tries to say. He's brash, childish, confrontational at the worst of times. It's all the same now with how he lies in Remus's bed and tangles one hand in his hair, the other hand going back to where it's touch was missed under Remus's t-shirt. But he's quiet, and albeit nice. It's a side of Sirius that Remus - nor the other boys - has ever really seen. He imagines the Black family at large has never seen it either, unless Sirius was too young to hide it like he does now.

In many ways, the two are more similar than either likes to admit.

“Ow, shit-” Sirius groans when his knee jabs against the wooden bed frame.

“Careful, Pads.” Remus laughs, then pulls Sirius back as if this kiss had never broken.

Remus is comfortable here. This is his solace, his peace. The well deserved reward after more than a decade of cracking his bones to form a foreign skeleton underneath his skin. He thanks whatever fate led him to Sirius, even if the path it took him on was worse than hell.

The time is forgotten, much like how Remus's shirt is now forgotten on the floor. He's clawing at the button's on Sirius's shirt once the tosser finally stops trying to crack endless jokes.

“Wait- Hang on.” Remus pauses at Sirius's words.

He's fucked up. He must have done something wrong. Sirius wants to leave, wants to abandon Remus all over again. This wasn't something after all, just another prank that's gone too far and now Sirius is ready to end it. Remus's heart races with the overwhelming anxiety of it all.

But Sirius doesn't leave. He just stills.

“I hear someone coming.” Sirius whispers.

Remus hears it too, the familiar sound of footsteps approaching their room, and the giggles in a pitch only Peter could produce. James's voice is as clear as day. Both Remus and Sirius don't move, scared to make even the slightest of sounds. He's convinced it'll all go to shit if their two friends find out, and from the look on Sirius's face he seems to assume the same. Wide eyes, pale face, Sirius is terrified. Remus grabs him around the waist when Sirius tries to climb off to escape.

“Don't.” Remus whispers, and it sounds too desperate. “It's too late, they'll see you.”

“I'm one of the fastest quidditch players in the school, Moons, I'll make it to my bed without them seeing.”

“James is faster than you, twat. Just stay here.” Remus argues.

The last two marauders made their way - loudly - into the room before Sirius could disagree and make a run for it. He was stuck here in Remus's canopy bed as vulnerable as a lamb. If Remus wasn't occupied with fear of his friends then maybe he'd focus more on that strange feeling of possessiveness at the thought of keeping Sirius right where he was.

“I'm telling you those slytherin bastards were there!” Pete, slurring his words, exclaims.

“If that dodgy one - Barty? Stupid name - was sulking around in the kitchens I would've fucking smelt him out, Wormy. You're just seeing things, lightweight.” James replies.

He doesn't sound in any better shape than Peter does, though Remus would never admit that James was the worst at holding his liquor. That's a fast way to get castrated.

“Yous lot were just busy faffing around staring at Lily's tits.”

“Oi, I was not faffing around,” James pauses for a second, obviously trying to remember where his shoes were meant to go. “I was simply admiring her skin care. Lils has lovely skin, absolutely cracking good skin.”

Remus cringes at the words, at James as a whole, and Sirius tries not to let out an audible laugh in response. He's settled closer to Remus now, having climbed off him and tucked himself next to Remus under the covers. The warmth is nice, and Remus wishes he could savour the moment more without the chaos of James just metres away. Remus wants to kiss Sirius again. He wishes James and Peter would just sod off.

“I dun't want to hear about Lily's skin, Prongs. I'm pure done in now, let me sleep.” Pete complains.

“Hang on…Where's Padfoot?” James asks, and the pair go stock still again even though he can't see them.

Pete just groans and this isn't sufficient enough of an answer for James. Remus hates how curious the guy is, and how he has to know everything about everyone all the time. Remus curses himself for forgetting his wand on the bedside table, he can't spell the curtains closed and even if he could James would find it suspicious enough to investigate.

“He said he was off to bed ages ago. Where the fuck is the prat?”

“Probably wanking in a dark corner somewhere, I don't know, I don't bloody care!” Peter's voice is muffled, his pillow over his head to block out James.

After another minute or two of the ambient sounds of James looking for Sirius - like he's just going to pop out of a trunk spontaneously - it goes quiet in the room. Remus thinks it's safe, almost. Until James pipes up one last time.

“You're probably right about the wanking thing. That Black family can't get off unless it's all creepy around them.”

Sirius laughs, more of a snort, and Remus shoots his hand out to cover the sound. His hand pressed against Sirius's mouth and a fervent look in his eyes. At least Sirius thought it was funny, rather than going into a blind rage and exposing whatever this was between them to the room. Remus doesn't know the exact time, but he does know it's too late - or early - to explain why Sirius was in his bed. Sirius gets the idea, he culls the laughter. And Merlin, Sirius is clingy in bed. He wraps his arms across Remus's chest, locks his leg around Remus's knee so that neither can really move, and settles his head on Remus's shoulder - ‘it's proper boney here, Moons’ Sirius had murmured. Remus can't help but feel the warmth in his chest. Though he doesn't exactly recognise what it means.

He could stay here forever, he sure as much wants to. But Remus knows mornings are always the polar opposite of nights, he's had enough of those horrors in the shack to be an expert. Sirius in his bed, kissing him, is just the same as the werewolf he becomes every month. It's a temporary situation that feels so real, so violently real that Remus can't distinguish between each side of him, and Sirius is now just another layer of it all. Sirius is this person in the dark of night, but in the morning it'll change. They'll be different people sitting around the table eating breakfast while James reels in agony with a hangover. This whole thing - these feelings - about Sirius is just another of Remus’s transformations.

“Remus.” Sirius mutters.

“Hm?”

He doesn't expect Sirius to quickly push himself up and kiss Remus. It's the last thing Remus thought of; even at the beginning of the night he couldn't picture this scenario as the ending. It makes the buzzing in his head, his chest, lull into a silence again though. Sirius has that nice effect on him. Remus would like to get used to it, he hopes it sticks around.

Remus has been able to deal with werewolf transformations every month for almost his entire life. He lives with it, adapts, deflects. Surely he could deal with Sirius in just the same way. Better, possibly, less painfully. Sirius isn't exactly a transformation after all - he's more of a constant, a welcomed and loved aspect of Remus’s life just as he's always been.

“Prongs might kill you in the morning.” Remus says after listening to James's snores for a while.

“I know.” Sirius kisses him again, he smiles into it. “Worth it though.”