Chapter Text
His hands clapped rhythmically, the bass thrumming through the bottom of his feet, travelling up his calves, and he glanced up at the mirrors along the walls to see both Meadowes and their back-up dancers following along. They shouldn’t have any trouble with this run-through. They’d been working four gruelling weeks, and the choreography was less than three minutes long. They were all professionals.
His hand went up, counting sharply. 3, 2, 1.
One sharp clap he could feel from fingers to his elbows, then his foot stepped out, head swinging down, arms up near his ears. He could feel the timing in his bare toes as they stomped along the hardwood flooring. His studio had been specially made so he could feel every shift in the tempo.
His legs moved, torso swinging forward from side to side, hips sharp and robotic. He could see them all following along, and a minute in, he abandoned the dance to turn and watch. Dori was better than the other dancers, but he was less fussed about that. He knew the director would put them where they were needed.
Dori was the main focus and they looked great. All spandex with a flowing blouse open along their shoulders. Their hair was tied back, wild, tips tinged blue. Their dark brown skin shone with sweat, making the expanse of their arms have an almost ethereal glow. But they were grinning.
Yeah. They had this. There was no question.
Remus adjusted the hem of his t-shirt, today’s reading Jesus Had Two Dads—an ironic Hanukkah gift from his ex who thought it was hilarious—and he clapped along. He signed out a few quick pointers, signs his dancers should have long since recognised, and they adjusted quickly.
Before long, the song was over and he was clapping his hands for them to fall in line. With a sigh, he reached up and switched on his processor, assaulted by the sounds of heavy breathing and the massive, humming fan at the edge of the room ghosting them with semi-cool air.
“Excellent job. You’re released. Go, be free my dancers.” Remus preferred to be voice-off, so his dancers and the singers he worked with knew his spoken words were rare.
Dori quickly hurried over, throwing their arms round his shoulders. “Thank you,” they said, then pulled back their hand to sign it.
Remus laughed, giving their cheek a fond pat before signing back, ‘Welcome. You looked gorgeous. Send me the video the moment it’s finished.’
Giving him a quick thumb’s up, Dori headed out of the room to change, and Remus let out a sigh of relief. He was done, at least with this, for likely a few months. He only worked with a handful of singers presently, Dori being the most famous. They were a sudden popstar sensation topping the charts with both songs and advocacy for the trans community. No one expected the fame they got, but it happened. And when they started looking for a choreographer for their videos, Remus’ name came up.
He was a bit of an anomaly in the dance community. He started off running a small dance school for Deaf and Hard of Hearing, but his moves were legendary. He was discovered on YouTube, a sign cover he did of Pharell’s Happy. The thing of it was, dancing came naturally to Remus, as natural as breathing. Beats and vibrations travelled through his limbs and he couldn’t really explain it.
His Deafness worked against him, only because no hearing teacher ever wanted to take him on as a student, so for most of his life he’d been self-taught. He’d been given a cochlear implant when he was a baby, the one and only resentment he held against his parents, and his way of rebelling had been refusing to turn the processor on, and the moment he could protest, refusing to continue his vocal therapy.
His parents loved him, but they were intimidated by the Deaf Community. They’d taken to him coming out as trans better than they has as him coming out as Deaf—capital D—and proud. Their fear led him to becoming a Deaf Rights activist at University. He deeply envied the Americans and the fact that they had an entire Uni for the Deaf, something Europe was sorely lacking. His life was full of audism and oralism and he would be damned if he bowed to that.
When he took up dancing, and choreography, no one wanted to trust him. After all, how could a Deaf man actually know what it was like to hear the music. To experience it the way they did. How could Remus understand the profound impact of lyrics and melody.
He pitied them, most of the time. The lack of silence, the lack of distractions. Getting to choose what got his attention, and when. Getting to feel the music in his entire body, from toes to the top of his head and become one with it.
Eventually he started making a name for himself. Although most directors were hesitant to trust, through YouTube and his small school, he was gaining some traction. He was starting to become an internet sensation in a way, which could lead to fame.
Something that also made him nervous, seeing as he had a child to think about.
Teddy was eight, nearly nine. He’d come from a short but comfortable fling Remus had with Nym—she’d been hired as his interpreter as she was getting her Graduate degree, for one of his lectures. Remus, who’d always been a bit of a rebel, had ignored all professional protocol.
The relationship ended with laughter and friendship. And a baby.
Remus waited until everyone was gone before heading into the changing room. He slipped out of his dance clothes and shrugged on a pair of boxers. Walking to the small sink in the corner, he wet a flannel and swiped down over the back of his neck, arms, and down his chest. His dark-tawny curls were a bit stiff with sweat, but a shower could wait.
He had to stop by Nym’s and rearrange his schedule with her to pick up Ted. He had Benjy coming by to help with sorting out his latest video, and he was filling in for one of the other teachers for the tot class on Friday who was poorly. Remus suspected morning sickness, but she was still refusing to say.
I’m heading to mine. Be there soon?
He fired off the text to Ben, then slipped into jeans and a loose t-shirt. He slipped his processor off, and into his pack before shoving thick, monstrous-sized headphones over his ears, plugging them into his iPod. He was feeling out the beats to a few of the latest hits, trying to decide which he wanted to do next for his videos. He had enough subscribers now that he was actually making a bit of money off his YouTube venture, but it meant more responsibility. It meant getting better equipment and keeping up with what the kids thought was cool.
Not that Remus was old, by any means. He wasn’t quite at thirty yet, though close. But damn it if he’d succumb to the stigma of being that old dude trying to stay hip.
God, did kids these days even say hip anymore?
Shaking his head, Remus grabbed his pack and keys, locking up the studio on his way out. He was two steps from the door when he felt a presence behind him, and he turned to see the perky, pinched face of a woman in cat-eye glasses, blonde curls, holding what looked like an alligator-skin handbag. He blinked at her, and she smiled.
He gave her a tense smile back, and them she mimed him taking off the headphones.
On reflex, he did, realising what was happening about halfway through the motion, but she’d already begun to speak.
“…to…word…later…you?” Her smile was large, but her lips seemed a bit stiff and along with the fact that his speech-reading skills were absolute crap, it was even worse.
Remus sighed, then reached into the side of his pack to pull out a small notepad and dull pencil.
Sorry I’m Deaf and can’t understand you.
She started to speak again, this time slower, and Remus made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat before thrusting the pencil and paper at her. The woman looked almost as though touching it would put her at risk for Deafness—and sometimes he wished it did for how ridiculous hearing people could be—but eventually she took it up.
I’m Rita Skeeter, work for Daily Prophet, surely you know us? I was hoping to get an exclusive with you.
Remus blinked at the words she’d scribbled down. What? Why
You’re working with Meadowes. Your name is becoming synonymous with popstars of a…shall we say different demographic. My editor has me on a piece where we want to highlight the idea of a deaf choreographer.
Remus grit his teeth together because he wasn’t a fucking gimmick. He was working with Dori because he was bloody good at his job and it wasn’t in spite of being Deaf. Hell, if anything, he was better than other people in his field because of it.
But he knew pissing off this woman who very clearly worked for a wide-spread publication was not on his list of things he should do whilst trying to build a name for himself. He took the pencil up with a tired sigh.
I need to get in touch with my terp. I don’t want to do the whole thing in writing. It’s exhausting.
The woman—Rita—waved her hand and took the pencil back. The Prophet will provide one, of course, as a thank you for giving us the exclusive before the release of Meadowes’ newest album. I’m sure she’s going to hit the top of the charts.
Remus glowered down at the words. I’m sure they are. They always do. And does your publication have an agency to hire a terp?
He could see Rita’s whole body shaking with her laugh, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Something about her put him off, but it could be good press. It could be great for the dance academy as well.
Of course we do. We have several language interpreters. We work with stars all across the globe.
Well it made sense at the very least, and although he didn’t particularly like this woman, she worked for a high-end press and that meant something. Shrugging, he handed off his name card to her and scribbled down to send him a text with the details. I have my son on Saturday to Monday, so any days besides those are fine.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said, or he assumed she said as she slipped the card into her bag and snapped it shut. She offered out her hand, complete with over-long, violently pink nails, and he took it. They scraped against his palm unpleasantly, but he managed a smile before she wandered off, her hips shaking with the stop of her heels on pavement. Remus swore he could feel the vibrations of her steps in his jaw.
That done, he hurried off to meet Benjy, wondering if this was the start to something big.
***
Sirius glowered down at the pale hand slowly snaking up the length of his jeans. His grip on the eyeliner pencil had gone too tight, and his wrist was aching, trembling a bit. “What are you doing?”
The blond sat just under him grinned, his too-bright, too-plastic smile shone stretched across his face. “Nothing at all, love.”
Sirius let out a slow, careful breath. “Your hand is on my thigh.”
Gilderoy looked down, then back up at Sirius, batting his still-naked lashes up at the makeup artist. “So it is. Funny, that.”
“And I suggest you remove it,” Sirius replied.
“Is it bothering you that much?” Gilderoy crept his hand higher until Sirius’ went down, squeezing over Gilderoy’s wrist. Hard.
“Listen, darling,” he drawled, “it’s not the best idea to be sexually harassing the person who’s got a very sharp, pointed eyeliner pencil hovering just above your eyeball. As far as I know, it’s only that lovely voice of yours that’s insured by your producer.”
Gilderoy swallowed and removed his hand, but his smile didn’t leave as he closed his eyes and allowed Sirius to apply the liner. “I’m just saying, we’d be fairly cute together.”
“Your long, sordid history is not appealing to me.”
“Slut shaming is not on, you know. At least that’s what all the kids are saying.”
Sirius smudged the liner, then grabbed the shadow brush. “You know what else isn’t on? Sexually harassing your employees. You know what else isn’t on, Gil? Dragging the name of everyone you’ve ever shagged into your disgusting little memoir. You can put your prick wherever you want it and that’s your business. More power to you. But I have no intention of being a mention in your sequel.”
He finished up with the shadow, then grabbed the setting spray and gave his entire face a long spritz. When he was done, he remove the pieces of tissue from his collar, and used the comb to re-set his fringe.
“Sorted.”
Gilderoy was wearing a small pout as he slid off the makeup chair and looked in the mirror. “I wish you weren’t so good at your job. I’d sack you for your clever little mouth.”
Sirius snorted. “You don’t employ me, and you won’t find anyone better. Break a leg out there.” Sirius began to pack up as Gilderoy sauntered away, and he muttered to himself, “Really. Please break it.”
“Talking to yourself isn’t a good sign, Padfoot,” came a voice from behind him.
Sirius spun, his face breaking out into a massive smile and he threw himself into the arms of his best mate and current flatmate. “Jamie, what the hell are you doing here. I thought you were in Bulgaria. Oh god, don’t tell me you…”
“No, nothing happened,” James said, cupping Sirius’ cheek to kiss him. “There was some terror threat and we were all sent home. Match was rescheduled, which Lily’s over the moon about because they’ve just put her on overnights which means Reg is working double-time with Hari.”
Sirius wave his hand. “I’m actually done with this shite for a few weeks now. When you’re heading back, I can take over.”
James’ smile softened and he put his hand on the back of Sirius’ neck. “Good. That ponce going on tour?”
Sirius rolled his eyes as he turned away, finishing up packing his tools. “Yes. Thank fucking all the gods in every pantheon to ever exist. He tried to get them to send me, but you know I don’t tour.”
James chuckled and slid into the makeup chair as Sirius got his hair tools sorted. “Well some day they’re going to have someone going on a ridiculous tour like…Hawaii or something. Then you can triple-charge your normal fee and have some tropical holiday.”
Sirius picked up his massive, too-fluffy powder brush and swiped it across James’ face, making him scrunch up behind his glasses. “You’re an idiot. But yes, if that happens, I’m absolutely going. You four can freeze your arses off in ugly old London.”
“How dare you insult our great city,” James said, putting a hand to his heart.
“Shut up, you don’t even like it here. You’re planning on retiring in Delhi.”
James shrugged and grinned. “And you’re coming with me.”
Pursing his lips, Sirius slung his makeup pack over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here. We can swing by that Moroccan place. I would give my left pinky for some lamb mouchi right now.”
“How about give no fingers or toes, and I’ll buy. I’m in a good mood since I get a few weeks to be home.” James slung an arm round Sirius’ shoulders and pulled him along.
Sirius never felt more content than he was with James and their small family. Maybe a bit lonely. It got tough on days he got to watch James with his boyfriend and his wife and it had been ages since Sirius had found anyone who piqued his interest.
Part of him blamed his family for his inability to connect to anyone, which made the fact that he was demisexual even harder. His dating history was slim to none. He’d acquired a rather amusing reputation at school, even. One that sent his parents reeling even after they’d disowned and disinherited him. Bit of a slag. Sleeping with anyone who crossed his path.
Sirius half wished he would have, only because adding truth to the rumours would have been the cherry on the sundae of pissing off his family. But instead it was the fact that he enjoyed being feminine and rather liked men—when he liked anyone at all—that had done it. It was enough for Walburga and Orion to spend the rest of Sirius’ life up to this point pretending as though they didn’t have a first born.
They put all their efforts into Regulus, but at eighteen he showed up on Sirius’ doorstep, dishevelled, a bit worse for the wear, and asking for a place to stay. There was not a thing on the earth which could make Sirius turn away from his baby brother.
When James started to fall for him, things got awkward. Lily was pregnant with Harry, and they had been in a bad way. James was staying on Sirius’ sofa at the time, and with Regulus in the mix, Sirius thought things would go straight to hell.
He caught James and Regulus together one rainy evening, and the row lasted weeks. But eventually, it worked itself out.
It wasn’t perfect. Even in the house now, their personalities clashed. Lily was brash and straightforward. She didn’t sugar-coat or soften the blow when she was upset or bothered. Regulus was stoic, tucking everything inside just as Sirius had done growing up, and the Black siblings were never great at expressing themselves until it all boiled over and seared everyone within a five metre range.
James was the glue, really, that held them together. The posh, spoilt boy who grew into a man who had far too much love for one human being. Footie mad and disillusioned with British colonialism, and absolutely the best cuddler on the planet. It was when Lily realised that James had enough love for her, Regulus, Sirius, and the baby that she found her real place in the family.
Regulus had never stopped being hesitant about his spot there. Like he could be chucked at any moment. Even seven years later having helped raise Harry and referred to as a parent, and so absolutely and completely loved by both James and Lily. Sirius understood him, and sat by his side during the worst of those insecure moments. And Regulus did the same for him.
They had a flat now, huge and posh and cosy. Room for all of them to live together without being in each other’s business. And they were happy.
Mostly.
Sirius was mostly happy.
He had a good job, he had some fame—enough to piss off his family, but not so much he couldn’t head down to the local and have a pint if he felt like it without being papped.
Tonight he could go down to his favourite Moroccan place with James and get some food and take it home…and feel like he belonged somewhere.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, love,” James said, nudging him.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “What, that’s a crime now?”
“No. But usually when you get done with a bit of work like this and a holiday in front of you, you’re a little more…enthused.”
Sirius sighed. It was true, he was a bit more morose than usual. But life was weighing on him. He was getting ready to celebrate twenty-nine this year and what did he have to show for it, exactly? Yes his career was alright, but what did that make him? His father had dedicated every second of his time to his bloody job and it left him now with children who hated him, and a wife who blamed him for it, and a country who thought his views were outdated and cruel—which they were.
Sirius didn’t want to be that. He wanted a little more than just a job to show for how far he’d come.
“It’s just…it’s nothing,” Sirius said. He reached up and pulled the tie from the bottom of his plait, tucking the small ribbon into his pocket. He shook his hair out, the soft waves falling round his shoulder, and he sighed. The air was getting chilly, impending autumn promising a frigid winter, and that idea of Hawaii was sounding really nice right about now.
A fresh start.
He glanced at James and nearly laughed because he realised there was no way he could leave this family, even if he wanted to.
“Come on, you giant baby. Let’s get you some delicious take-away. And how about a sweet to go along with it, eh? Always cheers you up.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, but nuzzled into James’ side. “Yeah. It does.”
***
Remus grinned at the camera. Sweat was pouring down the back of his neck, and he ended the final shot on his knees. His hair was falling in tight ringlets over his forehead, and his hands were buzzing from the rapid signing to the song. But he liked it. They’d done damn good and Benjy had a great eye for the camera.
Rising up, Remus grabbed a dry flannel from the stool near one of his lights and swiped it across his forehead.
‘Nice,’ Ben signed. ‘Go again?’
Remus shook his head. ‘I’ll look over the footage tonight and if we need any new shots, I’ll text you.’
Ben clapped him on the shoulder, then held his fingers over his palm, drawing them in a rapid circle. ‘Pizza?’
Remus grimaced, patting his stomach. ‘Too many calories.’
‘Ponce,’ Benny said. ‘One pizza night won’t kill you.’
‘It might. My dad has a shit heart,’ Remus argued, elbowing Benny as they headed out of the filming room and into the lounge. It was far cooler in there, the windows wide and the lights soft and forgiving. He collapsed on the sofa just under a breeze coming in off the terrace, and he flopped his head back on a cushion. His wrists were tired, making his signs lazy. ‘You win. I can’t cook.’
Benny grinned. ‘Victory. I’ll go pick it up so you can shower and skype the kid. You want anything else?’
‘Fizzy drinks,’ Remus said with a flick of his wrist. ‘If we’re being bad.’
Benny rolled his eyes, but clapped Remus on the knee before grabbing the keys and darting out the door. The slamming vibrated through his one bare foot that was pressed to the hardwood, and he let out a long sigh, feeling it ease some of the tension in his chest.
His mind was half on a shower, and half on the upcoming, potential article by that Skeeter woman. He couldn’t shake the ick in his bones, but the idea of being able to draw attention to his school was a big deal. Remus was sick and tired of constantly having to explain himself to the hearing world.
The same questions over and over again.
“How do you hear the music?”
“Some of us have hearing, some don’t. But we don’t necessarily need to hear it to enjoy it.”
“But how can you enjoy it if you can’t hear it. It’s music.”
Even when he gave them proper, scientific answers about the vibrations and how they moved from the breastbone through his limbs, down to his toes, they didn’t get it. They didn’t get that he was sensitive to it, growing up without hearing made that so. And it was nice. He didn’t need to hear tones and words in order to let it flow through his limbs. In order to get enjoyment out of dancing.
“What’s the point,” they always always asked. “What’s the point of dancing to music you can’t hear?”
Sometimes he hated them so much.
Remus switched on the shower, hot enough to steam the mirror round the sides, and he stripped down. He glanced briefly at his top-surgery scars, the flesh now pale against his olive skin, and much thinner than they had been several years ago when he finally had the money to go through with it.
He had a love-hate relationship with the idea of body modification. He hated conforming himself to the standards of other people. Mostly because he’d been given his CI before he was old enough to decide whether or not he wanted it. But he never wore them, or when he did, he kept the processor off, and he was quite happy in his life.
He had decent relationships and good sex, and his egg implanted in the belly of his ex made a gorgeous baby he couldn’t get enough of. Teddy was the light of his life, really. And as lonely as he was sometimes, what he sacrificed for parenting made it all worth it.
Teddy was the reason he’d started the dance school in the first place. He’d been content with his YouTube hobby and the occasional choreography job. But one day his son was watching him practise and toddled into the room, pressing his hands first to the floor, then went face down and giggled and giggled at the feeling of the vibrations running through him.
Remus took out Teddy’s hearing aids, then turned up the bass as loud as he could without blowing the speakers. Together they danced and moved and Remus realised he wanted to do this for more children. So he talked to Nym and her parents offered them a loan, and the school was born.
Now he had several teachers working with several age-ranges. Remus was full-time owner, part-time teacher, and he’d never been more proud of his progress. Even his parents who had shied away from the Deaf community most of his life got involved.
They learnt more sign when they realised Teddy was going to be sign-first, English second, and voice-off when he was home with Remus. If they wouldn’t do it for him, Remus conceded, at least they’d do it for their grandchild.
The shower was quick, and Remus felt better as he stepped out, dried off, and slipped into a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. He grabbed his laptop on the way out, flopping back on the sofa, and he switched it on. As it booted, he sent a text off to Nym, who said she was already waiting, and Remus hurried to start up the app.
Moments later, Teddy’s face appeared on the screen with a wide grin. ‘Hi!’ his small fingers flew through the signs. ‘I had a good day at school, and mummy bought me more paints for my HAs.’ He turned his head to the side to show off his hearing aids which now looked like they were moulded out of glitter itself.
Remus snorted a laugh. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, exaggerating the way his fingers moved away from his mouth. ‘You ready to come on Saturday?’
Teddy nodded. ‘I’m skipping practise on Friday though because mummy wants me to go to Shabbat with her.’
Remus nodded, waving his hand. ‘That’s fine, love. I have to take Mary’s class for her, so I'll pick you up straight after.’
Teddy, who was used to that, shrugged. ‘Can we do the cinemas this weekend? I want to see the film with the fox and the rabbit.’
Remus grinned and nodded. ‘Yeah. Anything you want. It’s close to your bedtime though, so let’s say goodnight.’
Teddy pressed his cheek to the camera, and Remus leant forward, giving his own camera a smacking kiss. ‘Night, dad.’
‘Love you,’ Remus signed. ‘Tell your mum to text me later, okay?’
Teddy agreed, then rang off, and the screen went dark.
Remus shut the laptop, laying back and feeling rather pleased with himself. He was doing the best he could by his child, and he could only hope Teddy never went through life feeling as outside the world as he had. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but damn it, he was going to try. Even if it meant ignoring the lonely ache in his gut until his boy was grown. It was a worthy sacrifice.
***
Sirius stepped out of the shower, his hair tied up in a high bun. He slid into the silk pyjama bottoms Lily had gotten him for his last birthday, and pulled on a threadbare t-shirt with the writing all peeled away. He was tired, still morose, and although he was full of delicious food and pleased to be relieved from working for a couple of weeks, it didn’t take the edge off. Not really.
Padding down to the telly room, Sirius poked his head round the door and saw James and Regulus sat on their most comfy sofa. There was something on in the background, but the sound was off. It was an intimate moment—sweet, as James’ intimate moments always were. He was spread out on the sofa, with Regulus lying between his legs, head all tucked up under James’ chin. James was gently brushing through Reg’s hair, talking quietly into his ear. Regulus’ eyes were closed, and he had a soft smile playing round his lips. His Just for James smile, that rarely came out when others were around.
Harry was in the room as well, headphones secure over his ears, plugged into whatever video game he was lost in. Sirius gave his head a fond pat as he came into the room, then took one look at the couple and fell to his knees.
He fell all the way forward, dramatic as ever, his face falling into the soft, shaggy carpet just in front of the sofa, and he let out a small noise somewhere between a whinge and a groan. There was a pause, and when nothing happened, when no one jumped up to comfort and spoil him, he made it again.
After a moment, there was a very distinct James chuckle. “Padfoot?”
“No,” Sirius said.
James sighed, then there was a shuffling, and warm hands gripping him under his arms, dragging him to the sofa. His head was pillowed in James’ lap, his feet in Regulus’ much to his younger brother’s dismay, but he didn’t care. Regulus had a firm grip on his calf, and he turned so he could nuzzle his face into James’ stomach.
“Everything is awful.”
James’ fingers undid the bobble holding up his bun, than began to detangle his wet hair. “No it isn’t.”
“You’re just being a dramatic brat,” Regulus supplied.
Sirius gave him a soft kick to the ribs. “Shut up. You wrote the book on fucking dramatic.”
“Learnt from the best, you mean,” Regulus shot back.
Sirius whinged again. “Your stupid boyfriend is so mean to me all the time.”
“Be nice,” James said mildly.
“No,” Regulus replied.
James snorted. “Well, that’s all I can do, Sirius. Sorry. Surely you’ve learnt to cope after all these years.”
Sirius growled and curled his fingers into James’ shirt, tugging on it. “I’m lonely. My job is great, but I’m so lonely and I’m starting to wonder if I really am that shite of a person that no one wants to date me.”
“You are,” Regulus said.
This time James reached over and thwaped him on the arm because when Sirius talked like this, often times it meant he was going to spiral. It meant he really didn’t think he was worth loving. James had seen it before, several times during the years. Sirius couldn’t help it, really. The product of an abusive childhood made his self-esteem fickle and weak.
“You’re not shite. You’re wonderful and you’ll find someone who appreciates you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve got two of them,” Sirius groaned, feeling his chest get tighter and tighter. He clutched at James harder. “Jamie…honestly though, what if I’m just meant to be alone.”
“You won’t be,” Regulus said. “You’ll be inflicting yourself on our happy little home forever. I’ve made my peace with it.”
Sirius felt his throat tighten along with his fingers, and James sighed. “Reg, my love, will you go take Harry out for some ice cream.”
The word ice cream miraculously filtered through Harry’s video game noises, and he wrenched his headphones off. “Oh! Can we go to Florean’s?”
Reg rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.” He rose, holding out his hand, and Harry grabbed it with a happy hum. “You two want anything?”
“No,” Sirius said at the same time as James said, “See if that have that Cashew Milk one.”
Regulus bent down to kiss James softly, then a kiss to Sirius’ cheek. “You’re not shite, you know,” he said very quietly. “And I like it when you’re here.”
Sirius felt warmth spread through him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know, but confirmation was sometimes necessary. He closed his eyes and listened to Harry and Regulus amble off, and when they were alone, he rolled his head up to look at James. “Sorry I’m so…” He waved his hand dismissively, not quite sure about the word.
James shook his head and carded his fingers into Sirius’ hair again. “You’re allowed to be that, Pads. I know it’s hard. And I know you’re lonely. But you really have got us.”
“S’not the same. I mean would life have been easier if I’d fallen in love with you? Sure.”
James rolled his eyes. “Ponce.”
“Well it’s true, and you know it. We’d be off somewhere on some tropical island and I’d be doing your makeup and we’d be all lazy and it would be glorious. But that’s not what happened.”
James cupped his cheek. “No, I suppose not.”
“And I just…want someone to love me for who I am and I know it’s so morose and stupid…”
“It really isn’t. You deserve it. And I know you’re feeling down, but I still believe it’ll happen. Someone unexpected and random and…it’ll be really great.”
Sirius sighed and pushed his face into James thigh. “You think?”
“Yes, I do.”
Sirius let his eyes close and he felt himself get sleepy. “Will you sing to me?”
James laughed, but his hand drifted to Sirius’ shoulder and he knead at the muscles gently. “Beatles?”
Sirius hummed. “Yeah. That would be really lovely.”
So James did. And Sirius eventually found himself drifting off to the quiet, crooning sounds of James’ tenor, and hoping that his best mate was right. He would wait as long as it took, so long as he knew whatever it was, was waiting for him too.