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Uncharted Territory
Sirius Black had always been good at following a plan.
Not his own, of course. His parents’ plan. The one they had set out for him before he was old enough to realize he had a choice.
He was supposed to be polished, well-spoken, and composed. A law student with an impeccable record, prestigious internships, and a carefully curated social circle. Every decision, every move, every friendship—calculated. Controlled.
And yet, here he was, sitting on the hood of an old, beat-up car that smelled like cigarette smoke, watching Remus Lupin flick open a lighter with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.
Sirius exhaled slowly, trying not to let his nerves show as he studied Remus out of the corner of his eye.
Everything about him was the opposite of what Sirius had been taught to admire. Remus didn’t wear designer suits or expensive watches—he wore thrift store sweaters stretched out at the elbows, rings on his fingers that clinked when he tapped them against his lighter, and combat boots that had seen better days. His jeans were ripped—not in a fashionable way, but in a I’ve-had-these-for-years-and-don’t-give-a-shit kind of way.
And Sirius was absolutely, hopelessly fascinated.
It had started as an accident.
A series of moments that shouldn’t have led anywhere but somehow did.
James had been the one to introduce them. Of course, he had. James had a habit of collecting people, forming friendships where others wouldn’t bother, and Remus was one of those people. A punk with a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. The first time Sirius saw him, he was arguing with a professor about a grading system that favored wealthy students, his voice steady despite the thinly veiled threat of detention.
Sirius had never seen anyone stand their ground like that before. He had been raised to obey, to accept the system because that’s just the way things are. But Remus didn’t accept anything. He challenged, questioned, pushed back.
And Sirius?
Sirius wanted to know what it felt like to be that fearless.
Which was probably how he had ended up here, sitting in an abandoned parking lot at one in the morning, listening to a mixtape Remus had made with songs Sirius’ family would probably call absolute garbage.
“You’re quiet,” Remus said suddenly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the night air. “Thinking too hard again?”
Sirius blinked, pulled out of his thoughts. “What, am I not allowed to think?”
Remus turned his head slightly, studying him. The glow of the streetlamp made his cheekbones look sharper, his eyes gold instead of brown.
“You’re allowed,” Remus said. “You just tend to overthink things that don’t need overthinking.”
Sirius snorted. “And you’d know?”
Remus smirked, tapping his cigarette against the edge of the car. “I’ve been watching you do it for months.”
Sirius felt his face heat. He looked away, letting his gaze drift to the city skyline in the distance. The problem with Remus was that he noticed things. Sirius had spent years perfecting the art of being unreadable, of keeping his emotions locked away where no one could reach them.
But Remus saw right through him.
Sirius’ grip tightened on the edge of the car. “And what, exactly, do you think I’m overthinking right now?”
Remus let out a soft huff of laughter. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, voice teasing. “Maybe the fact that you snuck out of your fancy apartment in the middle of the night just to sit in a parking lot with me?”
Sirius stiffened.
Remus wasn’t wrong.
And that was the problem.
He had snuck out. He had lied to his family, said he was crashing at James’ place instead of admitting the truth.
Because this—whatever this was—wasn’t something he could explain to them. His parents had made their expectations clear, and a friendship with a weird punk who spent his weekends at underground concerts and graffiti-covered skate parks was not part of the plan.
A relationship?
Not even remotely in the plan.
And yet, Sirius was still here.
Remus was watching him now, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.
“You know,” Remus said, voice softer, “you don’t have to have everything figured out.”
Sirius swallowed hard. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Is it?” Remus flicked his cigarette away, crossing his arms. “You think I know what I’m doing?”
Sirius hesitated. “You always seem like you do.”
Remus let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just good at pretending.”
That surprised Sirius.
Remus always seemed so sure of himself, so unapologetic. It had never occurred to Sirius that maybe—just maybe—Remus was just as lost as he was.
The thought made his chest ache.
“Maybe,” Sirius said slowly, “I want to stop pretending.”
Remus didn’t reply right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out another cigarette, but he didn’t light it. Just rolled it between his fingers, thoughtful.
Then, without warning, he turned to Sirius and said, “Then do it.”
Sirius exhaled sharply. “It’s not that simple.”
Remus shrugged. “Maybe it is.”
Sirius let out a frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand.”
Remus tilted his head. “So explain it to me.”
Sirius opened his mouth. Then closed it again.
Because how was he supposed to explain that everything in his life had been leading him in one direction, and this—this strange, intoxicating, terrifying thing—was pulling him in another?
How was he supposed to explain that every time Remus looked at him like this, he felt like he was standing at the edge of something he didn’t have the words for?
He didn’t realize he had moved until he was close enough to see the freckles on Remus’ nose. Close enough to count the rings on his fingers.
Close enough to do something really stupid.
“Tell me to stop,” Sirius said, voice barely above a whisper.
Remus’ eyes flickered to his lips. Then back up.
“I won’t.”
Sirius barely had time to breathe before Remus leaned in.
It wasn’t rushed or hesitant—it was steady, deliberate. Warm. Remus kissed him like he had been waiting for it, like it was inevitable. And maybe it was.
Sirius’ heart was pounding so hard he thought it might give him away, but when Remus pulled back, there was no teasing smirk, no sarcastic comment. Just a quiet understanding.
Sirius swallowed, his throat tight. “This isn’t in the plan.”
Remus smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Sirius’ ear. “Then maybe it’s time to make a new one.”
And for the first time in his life, Sirius thought that maybe—just maybe—he wanted to.