Work Text:
Fifteen letters. Fifteen letters and still not a word in reply. Remus wrote the sixteenth anyway, because apparently he was a slow learner.
He wrote about the hole he’d ripped in the sleeve of his oldest jumper—the rust-coloured one with the fraying cuffs that Sirius used to tug whenever he wanted attention. How he’d caught it on the bent nail that jutted from the cottage doorframe, the nail he kept meaning to hammer flat and never did. He talked about his rickety kitchen table, how it was hard to keep it steady when he put too much weight on it. He described trying to brew a simple pain-relief potion for his headaches and botching it so badly the cauldron spewed greenish smoke for an hour. He left out the part where the headaches had started the same week Sirius stopped writing.
He mentioned, casually, that James had let slip about the motorbike. Said he’d like to see it when it was finished. Almost added ‘I still remember how you promised me a ride in sixth year’, but the words felt like handing over an invitation to his own demise, so he left them out.
He rolled the parchment tight, tied it with the same bit of twine he’d used for the last four letters, and watched his owl heave itself into the dusk.
The bird came back before midnight. No letter. Legs and beak empty. He didn’t even get the twine back this time.
Remus took one look, scratched the owl behind its head, and felt precisely… nothing. Just—nothing.
Good. Good, good, good. Numb was manageable. Numb meant he could get through the night without wondering whether Sirius was looking up at the same sky.
He told himself this was kinder, really. Distance had always been the only thing that kept the wanting from swallowing him whole. Close quarters at Hogwarts had been a special kind of torture: sharing a dormitory, a bathroom mirror, the same stifling air after lights-out. He’d learned to keep his face blank then, to laugh at the exact right volume when Sirius flung an arm around his shoulders and called him Moony like it was nothing.
Years of practice, and he’d still nearly ruined everything the night Sirius had leaned in, laughing, and he’d nearly closed the rest of the distance to kiss him.
Now the distance and silence did the work his self-control never could.
If Sirius ever came back into his life Remus planned to smile the same small, polite smile he gave shopkeepers and Ministry clerks. The smile he’d perfected just to get by.
He could do it. He could give that same distant smile to Sirius instead of the big smile that threatened to consume him every time he locked eyes with Sirius.
…Or could he?
Oh. Whatever. Future Remus could worry about how he’d handle himself in Sirius’s presence. Present Remus had potion ingredients to measure, a nail to hammer flat, and a jumper with one more hole than it had started the day with to mend.
He pulled the sleeves over his elbows, grabbed a hammer, and set out to fix the bent nail first.
* * *
The owl landed on the motorbike’s handlebars with a clatter of talons. Sirius didn’t want to stop what he was doing—he was elbow-deep in the brake assembly, and greasy satisfaction was finally drowning out the rest of his thoughts—but the owl gave him that commanding stare and hoot that meant drop everything and pay attention to me, peasant.
For such a small bird it was terribly demanding. He didn’t know where Remus had found the ruddy thing, but he must have specifically asked for the most annoying bird in the world just to torment him into receiving his letters.
With a sigh, he wiped his hands on a rag, smearing the worst of the oil away, and tugged the roll of parchment free from its leg. His oily fingerprints smeared the parchment.
The owl flapped over to the workbench, claiming the same dented tin it had adopted as its personal throne three weeks ago. It started preening, pretending it wasn’t waiting to see if it would need to haul its feathered arse back out into the sky with a letter. It wouldn’t, Sirius never sent replies, but it was a dutiful creature. And despite its terrible habit of bullying him until he accepted its deliveries, Sirius couldn’t be annoyed with it. It was only doing its job.
A job he sometimes wished it didn’t have to do.
The garage door creaked, and James sauntered in carrying a couple empty glasses and a bottle of firewhisky he had very obviously stolen from his parents’ stash—the label looked old and faded and Sirius was certain they’d be getting yelled at for drinking it.
He held the bottle aloft like he’d discovered treasure, letting the amber liquid slosh around dramatically before plonking everything onto the workbench. After pouring a couple drinks, he began doting on the owl, cooing at it and calling it ‘the prettiest, cleverest bird alive,’ right up until it bit him.
“Every bloody time,” James muttered, shaking his hand.
Sirius barely noticed James’s argument with the owl. He was reading, and the words were doing that thing they always did—curling straight into his bloodstream and pulling all the oxygen out of his lungs. He reached blindly for one of the glasses, craving the burn before he even tasted it, and took a long swallow as he read.
This needed to stop.
If it didn’t, he was going to lose his mind.
(He didn’t want it to stop. Not even a little.)
His mouth twitched at the line about the hole in Remus’s jumper. His heart did that stupid fluttery thing it had no business doing at the thought of him wearing it.
No.
Bad thoughts.
Completely unacceptable thoughts.
Sirius rolled the parchment up tight and shoved it into the metal toolbox he’d designated specifically for these letters—hidden among spare bolts and gaskets where no one would think to look.
“What’s that?” James asked, leaning over Sirius’s shoulder and being extremely obvious about trying to snoop.
“Nothing.” Sirius snapped the lid shut and sealed it with a handful of charms James hopefully wouldn’t break, because James was nothing if not annoyingly talented with charms.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” Sirius set the toolbox on the far end of the workbench, putting as much distance between it and James as he could.
James stared at him. Stared. Then took a single, exaggeratedly slow sip of firewhisky, maintaining eye contact. He drained the glass dry and set it down on the workbench with an unnecessarily loud clack.
The sound jolted Sirius enough that he retreated back to the safer territory of his bike. He plopped onto the stool beside the wheel, grabbed a spanner, and pretended to focus on the bolts. They were all already tightened as far as they would go, but he loosened and tightened them as if that made all the difference.
“Sirius.”
He didn’t look up. “What?”
“I’ve known you for years.”
“Sad, but true.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you act like this. Well, aside from that time in third year when you were weird for weeks…” James paused, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait. Are you going through puberty again?!”
Sirius flinched on instinct. Why did he always bring that up? It had been the worst year of his life—the year everything had shifted. The year he’d figured out far too many things about himself. The year he’d realised he liked—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
“Sod off, Potter.”
“Oi! You don’t get to come into my parents’ house, use my parents’ garage, and then tell me to sod off!”
“Fine,” Sirius said. “I won’t tell you to sod off.” He paused. “Fuck off instead.”
“Oi!” James glared.
Sirius glared back.
Then they both cracked up, the laughter echoing through the garage.
James splashed more firewhisky into both glasses and held Sirius’s out to him. “Seriously. What are the letters about? Secret girlfriend?”
“No.” Sirius downed the firewhisky in one go, not even pretending to savour it as it scorched a path down his throat and lit up his chest.
James narrowed his eyes over the rim of his glass. “No? That’s it? Just ‘no’? That’s all you offer your best mate?”
Sirius shrugged, setting the empty glass on the ground beside him.
James hummed. He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered, pretending to be casual, towards the toolbox Sirius had just sealed. He set his glass down as he inspected the toolbox.
“James. Don’t.”
“I’m just looking!” James insisted, turning his head left and right as he examined the charms guarding the contents. “Looking is allowed, isn’t it?”
“No. Leave it be.”
James hummed again, then pulled out his wand and tapped the toolbox.
Click. The first charm dissolved in a puff of blue smoke.
Sirius was on his feet before he knew he’d moved. “I said don’t.”
James gave him a look, then sighed. “You’re being weird. I’ll be damned if I let some mystery woman make you act out.”
“I don’t have a mystery woman!”
“Then you won’t mind me looking.”
Click. The second charm dissolved in a puff of green smoke.
“James! Don’t you dare!” Sirius roared.
The wand tip touched the toolbox, flared—and Sirius launched himself at James. He didn’t just knock James back, he slammed him full-force into the workbench, tools and a tin of bolts clanging and rolling across the floor.
The owl hooted indignantly and flew up to the rafters.
“Sirius!” James shouted, struggling against Sirius’s grip. “Just let me take a look!”
Sirius shook violently, pushing the toolbox as far away from James as he could while holding James’s wand back from unlocking the final charm. “Stop!”
James stared at him.
Sirius stared right back.
Finally, James clicked his tongue and dropped his wand with a clatter to the workbench, holding his arms up in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll stop! I wasn’t actually going to read your love letters, mate. Relax.”
But Sirius couldn’t relax. Not when James had been one charm away from discovering everything he’d kept hidden.
He shoved James one more time for good measure, before staggering over to the toolbox and casting five more charms, glancing over his shoulder and then hiding the box from sight as he added another few layers of protection to it.
James rubbed his shoulder where Sirius had tackled him. He stared at Sirius—really stared at him. “Sirius.”
“Shut up.”
“What on earth do you have in there that made you react like—well, like I was about to uncover your deepest, darkest secret?”
“Nothing.”
“Sirius.”
“I said nothing, James!” Sirius ran a hand through his sweaty waves, frowning heavily as he remembered the oil slicking his fingers. “They’re just—they’re nothing.”
“Nothing?” James scoffed. “Yeah, I, too, keep my ‘nothing’ letters behind more layers of protection than Gringotts.”
Hoot.
Sirius glanced up at the bird, who was ruffling its feathers at him. “You can go.”
The owl gave an indignant hoot and then took off into the night.
“Seriously, Sirius, whose owl is that? Why have they written to you every night since we left Hogwarts? Why don’t you ever write them back?”
Sirius shook his head. “I’m not getting into this, James. My baby needs my attention. I’ve almost got her ready to be charmed to fly.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Stop being stuck in a past conversation and get with the times, Prongs.”
James sighed heavily. “Fine, be that way.”
Sirius continued to be that way, deflecting every attempt James made at prying for more information, until James eventually grew bored and returned to helping him fix the motorbike.
* * *
Days passed, and the letters kept coming. They arrived promptly every night, each one meticulously recounting Remus’s day. He read them, of course—despite a stubborn part of him that desperately didn’t want to. At first, he tucked them into his toolbox, but it soon bulged at the hinges, refusing to contain them any longer. So he found a more permanent home: the drawer of his bedside table, where, night after night, he read them before bed, like a ritual he couldn’t quite stop himself from keeping.
Another letter arrived early one morning, waking Sirius from a fretful, drunken slumber. At first, he didn’t think anything of it, until he remembered this was morning, not evening. He grumbled as he crawled out from under the covers and let the owl in. The owl nipped at his hand, probably frustrated it had been pecking at the window while it waited for him to wake up.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, unfurling the parchment. He was expecting another long-winded update on Remus’s life that he didn’t ask for but somehow looked forward to just the same.
Instead, there was a single line: I’m not upset. Don’t worry.
Sirius blinked at it. Turned the parchment over. Held it up to the light, as though invisible ink might reveal itself.
Nothing.
Not upset about what?
He scrubbed a hand over his aching face, then waved the owl off. “Go on, go—I’ve nothing for you.”
The owl nipped him one last time, clearly judging him, and shot out the window.
Sirius tossed the parchment onto the bed and folded forward, elbows on his knees, palms clutching his throbbing skull.
He couldn’t remember the night before. After the fifth glass of firewhisky everything had gone soft around the edges. By the bottom of the bottle… well, judging by the second opened one on the bedside table, he’d kept going. And judging by the shattered glass on the floor, he’d struggled to even drink from his cup.
He groaned, wrapping his arms around his unsettled stomach. He’d drunk far, far too much. His eyes drifted to the open bottle on the table.
Hair of the dog, he thought. Just a small sip to steady the shakes…
But before he could reach for it, the door slammed open so hard the wall rattled.
Sirius flinched violently, pain exploding behind his eyes. He nearly lost his stomach from the action and had to swallow hard to stop himself from losing it on the hardwood.
James stormed in, looking angrier than Sirius had ever seen him.
“Sirius! Where in Merlin’s name were you last night?!”
Sirius had to fight down a scream at the sheer volume.
“We waited as long as we could and you—you didn’t show!”
“What?” Sirius croaked. They hadn’t made plans. Had they? “What are you talking about? We didn’t have plans last night.”
“Didn’t have—?!” James’s voice cracked into an incredulous shout. He clenched his fists, jaw working furiously, then inhaled sharply, visibly wrestling himself into control before he spoke again—quiet, but venomous: “We have a standing plan every month. The full moon, remember?”
Sirius’s heart lurched, stuttering painfully before it seemed to stop entirely. “Oh—I—I forgot…”
No wonder he’d drunk himself senseless.
It had been easier than facing Remus.
“Forgot?!” James stepped closer, then stopped when the broken glass crunched under his shoes. He broke out in an incredulous laugh. “You—you chose drinking over Remus?” He charmed away the broken glass.
Sirius shrugged helplessly. He didn’t want to get into this, didn’t want to think about this. He just wanted to drink himself back into the comforting arms of nothingness and forget everything.
James breathed angrily. “What is going on with you? Why are you acting like this? First the letters, then the drinking, now you’ve even missed the full moon! What is going on?!”
“Stop—stop yelling,” Sirius said, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. “My head is killing me.”
“I don’t care!”
Sirius reached for the firewhisky and took a long swig. It was stale, missing the bright, fiery bite of a fresh bottle, but it still burned enough on the way down to numb some of the unpleasantness.
“Remus asked about you.”
Sirius went rigid mid-gulp; the firewhisky kept coming, so he had to choke down another mouthful before he could yank the bottle away and thunk it onto the bedside table. He didn’t respond. He wasn’t touching that comment with a ten metre stick.
“Asked if you’d been all right. If you were still working on your bike. And now why—why, I ask—would Remus be asking me how you’re doing?”
Sirius lifted a shoulder, gaze darting anywhere but James’s face.
“Imagine how Peter and I felt when we found out you’ve been ignoring him. Oh, but Remus said he didn’t want to cause a fuss—said it was fine, you were probably busy.” James dropped onto the bed beside him with a dramatic huff. “Why the fuck haven’t you talked to him? Why are you avoiding Remus?”
“I’m not…” Sirius said weakly, his voice breaking with the lie.
James snorted loudly. “Right, and I’m the King of bloody England.”
Sirius normally would have responded with a derisive your majesty, but he just didn’t have it in him. He was feeling decidedly too miserable to do anything but feel miserable.
“Mate.”
“James, you should go,” Sirius said, standing abruptly.
James grabbed his shirt and yanked him back down onto the bed. “Nope. Nothing doing. We’re going to talk, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me!”
“A lot is wrong with you! I’d reckon you’re well on your way to getting institutionalised.”
Sirius snubbed him and reached for the bottle again. He was far too sober—and far too hungover—to deal with this.
James flicked his wand, levitating the bottle neatly out of Sirius’s grasp and into his own hand. “No more for you. You need to sober up.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“Someone has to. Left on your own, you’d probably drink yourself to death.” With a deft twist of his wrist, James vanished the bottle before Sirius could even think about lunging for it.
Sirius growled under his breath, crossing his arms and turning away like a petulant teenager. “I forgot about the full moon, alright? It was an accident.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re ignoring Remus.”
“I’m not ignoring Remus!”
James went quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that stretched thin and tight, needling at Sirius’s nerves until he wanted to fill it just to make it stop. But his stubborn streak clamped his jaw shut.
Finally, James said, very casually, “You know, Sirius, I saw something interesting at Remus’s place.”
Sirius glowered at the opposite wall. He was not taking the bait. Not a chance.
“He’s adopted himself a feathery little menace,” James went on. “Bit me, actually. Flew across the forest just to clamp onto my arm—like it was personally offended on Remus’s behalf that you weren’t answering your mail.”
Sirius’s stomach promptly fell through the floor. Lovely. He’d traded hangover nausea for sheer, suffocating anxiety.
“I reckon you know exactly what I’m getting at.”
“James—”
“Oh, don’t ‘James’ me.” His voice sharpened. “Why are you hiding Moony’s letters in a bloody toolbox? Why aren’t you answering him?”
Sirius risked a quick glance at James and regretted it instantly. That expression was lethal.
Stupid James.
Stupid, perceptive James.
“Sod off,” Sirius muttered.
“Not a chance,” James shot back.
The silence stretched again.
Eventually, James cleared his throat and said, almost too casually, “You know… Lily mentioned something to me.”
Sirius didn’t rise to it. He was not—absolutely not—getting dragged into a long conversation about Lily Evans right now.
“She said she’s always thought you and Remus were rather… close.”
Sirius did not like where this was heading. His heart slammed against his ribs—warning, warning, warning—but he schooled his face into bored indifference. All he allowed himself was a flat, “Uh huh.”
“She had this funny idea,” James went on, “that you two were into each other.”
Sirius’s nose crinkled. “Wh—what?”
James hummed, then said, “I told her she was being ridiculous.”
“Of course she’s being ridiculous!” Sirius blurted, with his whole chest, his whole body, his whole entire being—except his heart, which was now pounding liar, liar, liar so loudly he was certain James could hear it.
“But then I thought about it.”
Oh no. James thinking was actually the fucking worst. Sirius nearly groaned as James continued.
“And I realised she might’ve been onto something. I kept thinking about the way you two act around each other. Don’t get me wrong—you and I, we’re thick as thieves. But you and Remus…” James shook his head, incredulous. “I doubt anyone could wedge themselves between you. Except maybe one feathery little menace currently trying very hard to play cupid.”
Sirius screwed up his face in as much disgust as he could muster.
“James, I’m not—I’m not fucking queer for Remus.”
“You’re not?” James asked, brows lifting in mild surprise.
“No! I like girls. Women. Birds. People of the female persuasion. Not—not men. Not Remus.”
“Uh huh.”
“I like women,” Sirius insisted. He wanted to throw up.
“Sure.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes at him.
James only raised his eyebrows higher, calm as can be.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Sirius felt it crawling over his skin, squeezing at his throat. And once the discomfort settled in, he couldn’t stop himself—he kept talking, babbling really, launching into an entire defensive monologue about how much he liked women, how utterly ridiculous Lily’s ‘little joke’ was, how absurd, preposterous, insane, delusional it would be to think he and Remus were into each other.
James nodded through the whole thing with an infuriating little quirk at the corner of his mouth—just enough to be smug, not enough to be punchable, though Sirius’s fist was debating it.
Sirius finally ran out of breath.
James stared at him for a long moment. “That’s a lot of words just to say you’re not into Remus.”
“Because I’m not,” Sirius wheezed, already sounding like he was running out of oxygen.
“Mm. See, that’s the thing,” James said. “It’s a lot of words. A suspiciously extensive amount of them. I joked with Peter last night that he fancied Remus, and do you know what he did?”
“What?”
“He punched me.” James shrugged. “And I believed him immediately. No doubts. Now tell me why you—who just gave me a bloody essay in denial—are somehow harder to believe?”
Sirius opened his mouth, closed it, then forced out, “…You should believe me.”
“Oh, I’d love to,” James said cheerfully. “Really, I would. But what’s the phrase? The lady doth protest too much?” He grinned. “In this case, Sirius Black protests far, far too much.”
“I—I don’t!”
“Really? Because you just protested a lot.” James paused. “Like I said, Peter just punched me and called it good. But you—”
“If I fucking punch you will you leave me alone?” Sirius growled.
James didn’t even flinch. “Look, mate, you can talk to me about anything. I’ll always be there for you.”
A muscle twitched in Sirius’s jaw. “I’ve nothing to talk to you about.”
James breathed a bit, then gave a tight-lipped nod. “Right. Talk to Remus about this, not me.”
“Shut up.”
“Fine, fine.” James lifted his hands in surrender. “I won’t say another word.” He mimed zipping his lips shut, locking them, and tossing away the key.
Sirius waited for the inevitable breach, but it never came. So he sighed, looking away as his stomach danced in the back of his throat.
He thought he’d hidden this shameful part of himself. He’d been careful—so careful—but Lily of all people had noticed? He felt sick at the very thought of Lily and James discussing his sexuality behind his back, like that was something they were just allowed to do. The thought of anyone looking at him and seeing the thing he couldn’t even name without wanting to claw his own skin off—
Sirius slapped a hand over his mouth and rocketed off the bed.
He barely made it to the toilet before he was on his knees, retching violently into the toilet.
James appeared in the doorway, then reached forward to gather Sirius’s hair back the same way he’d done since Sirius first discovered the wonderful bliss that was firewhisky. “Maybe ease up on the firewhisky next time, yeah?”
Sirius flipped him a crude hand gesture, then heaved again.
He stared into the swirling water as the toilet flushed, bile burning the back of his throat, and felt the shame hit harder than the nausea. He spat, wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, and hated himself.
He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was Sirius Black. Sirius Black. The bloke every girl sighed over in Hogwarts.
He wasn’t supposed to want like this.
Not a boy.
Not Remus.
And yet, here he was, on his knees in his flat’s toilet, heaving up firewhisky and the last scraps of the lie he’d been swallowing since third year. The lie that he liked girls. The lie that he didn’t look at Remus the way he did. The lie that it wasn’t killing him slowly.
He hated this.
Hated the burning behind his eyes.
Hated the way the water was getting blurrier by the second and the way James’s hand was calmly stroking his back.
Another wave of sickness rose, but he had nothing to bring up. All he had were the painful, wrenching spasms of a body trying to expel a truth it couldn’t stomach.
* * *
There were too many letters. The bedside table had long since surrendered, its drawer bulging so badly it wouldn’t shut no matter how much of Sirius’s weight he leaned into it. With a muttered curse, he abandoned the effort and started relocating the letters elsewhere, stuffing them into a kitchen drawer until that, too, refused to close. Eventually he stopped pretending he could hide them at all, letting the rolls of parchment colonise every flat surface in his home.
James dropped by often enough to notice. During those times Sirius would try and hide them from James, gathering them in his arms and taking them to his room.
James always made some comment about how weirdly protective Sirius was of his mail—comments that earned him an automatic eye roll but little more. Thankfully, unlike the time James tried to break through the protective charms on the toolbox, he hadn’t attempted to read through any of the letters.
During one visit, James’s gaze snagged on a letter left unfurled on the coffee table.
The moment Sirius registered what was happening, James snapped his attention away and told Sirius, sternly, to put it somewhere safe before he accidentally read something he shouldn’t.
Sirius snatched the letter off the table and folded it tight.
James levelled Sirius with a flat stare. “You should write him back. At least a single word to let him know you’re alive.”
“He knows I’m alive.”
“Only because I told him you were.” James flopped down onto the couch, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.
Sirius frowned at James, then turned on his heel and walked the letter into his bedroom. He left it on his bedside table, treating it like it was fragile glass. When he returned to the sitting room, James had made himself entirely too comfortable on his couch, to the point there was no room for Sirius to sit.
So Sirius dropped into the chair beside the couch, elbows braced on his knees. “What are you even doing here? Isn’t tonight date night with Lily?”
“It was,” James said, utterly unbothered, “but she told me I wasn’t allowed to take her out until I talked to you.”
Sirius went rigid, fingers curling into tight fists. “...Come again?”
James adopted a tone that was far too solemn for comfort. “Sirius, I need you to know I’ll always be your best mate.”
“Oh, don’t be fucking weird.”
James pressed on anyway. “I may not understand your… attraction to Remus.”
Sirius’s stomach lurched; he glared daggers at James, bile prickling at the back of his throat.
“But I’ll always be your best mate,” James repeated, earnest as anything. “It’s all right if you’re queer, you know. You’re still you. Still Sirius. Still the same idiot who made Hogwarts the best years of my life.”
“First off, fuck off,” Sirius snapped. “Second, stop being weird. I’m not queer. I don’t like Remus. And third, you promised never to bring this up again. You literally mimed sealing your lips shut.”
“Yeah, well,” James said with a shrug, “that was then. This is now. And right now Lily says I’m not allowed to go on a date with her until I talk to you, and I desperately want to go on a date with her, so we’re talking about this.”
Sirius sunk his fingernails into his palm. “We’re not talking about this.”
James wagged his finger lazily towards Sirius. “We are.”
“Just fucking lie to her that we talked about this and shut up already.”
James sighed a long-suffering sigh, like Sirius was the one being difficult. “She’ll be able to tell I’m lying. It’s like she can look straight through my eyes into my soul and see it’s full of shit. Then she’ll hex my eyebrows off.”
“You deserve to lose your eyebrows.”
“Oi!”
Sirius glared. James glared right back.
Then James shifted on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something uncomfortably gentle. “Look, I’m not asking you to confess your undying love or whatever.” He paused. “I’m just saying… you don’t have to be alone in this.”
“In what?” Sirius frowned. “There is no this. There’s me, and there’s Remus, and there’s literally nothing between us.”
“Mate,” James said, a tragic amount of pity in his eyes, “do you not remember the way you used to stare at him in Hogwarts? The way you treated him? You’re so in love it makes my attraction to Lily look like fucking puppy love.”
“I am not in love with Remus!” Sirius barked, his heart slamming against his ribs so hard he swore he heard one crack.
“You are,” James insisted. “And honestly? It’s fine. It’s more than fine, even. Remus is brilliant. He’s kind. He’s endlessly patient with your dramatics. He’s just what you need to behave like a normal member of society.”
“Truly, fuck you.”
James held his hands up in surrender, straightening his back. “I’m only saying it because I care.”
“You’re only saying it because you want to go on a date with Lily.”
“There’s that, too. But I really do want you to know that I am fine with your being queer and in love with Remus. You’ll always be my best mate, questionable life choices aside.”
“It’s not…”
“Not?”
“It’s not a fucking choice, alright?!” Sirius yelled. “Do you think anyone would choose this?”
“Choose what?” James smiled in an obnoxiously punchable way. “What didn’t you choose?”
Sirius snapped his mouth shut.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. He’d said too much. He’d practically grabbed the spade and dug his own grave. Damn it. Fuck. Son of a—
Sirius let out a frustrated sound and ran his fingers through his hair. He dropped his arm to his lap and shouted, “Fine! Just—fuck—fine! I’m queer for Remus! You happy now? Is this what you wanted?!”
James nodded. “There you go. Knew you could do it.”
“Shut up. Fuck you. Piss off.”
“Keep going,” James said, smiling. “Love hearing you sputter angrily at me.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Yep, that’s the Sirius I know and love.” James rose from the couch and crossed to Sirius. He leaned down and grabbed Sirius’s hand, yanking him to his feet. “And I do love you, in a strictly platonic, non-queer, brotherly way.” He threw his arms around Sirius and hugged him tight. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. Now I can finally go on my date with Lily.”
“Oh, fuck right off,” Sirius muttered, twisting uselessly against James’s ironclad grip. When it became clear he wasn’t escaping, he slumped, all fight draining from his shoulders. In a much smaller voice, he asked, “...You’re not going to tell Lily, are you?”
“I’m just going to tell her we talked,” James said lightly.
“...Good.”
James eased back, keeping his hands on Sirius’s shoulders, studying him with that unbearably earnest expression. “I’m proud of you, you know. For being honest with me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too,” James said cheerfully. Then, with the same bright, idiotic optimism Sirius adored and despised in equal measure, he added, “Now you just have to tell Remus you like him and we can put all this behind us.”
Sirius snorted so hard it sounded painful. “I am not telling Remus I have a”—he leaned forward and hissed the word like it was classified information—“a crush on him.”
“Why not? I think he’d be tickled pink to hear you have feelings for him.”
“Fuck off.”
James sighed and patted Sirius’s shoulder. “Look, Sirius, I’ve watched the two of you interact for years. I’m telling you, he has a crush on you, too.”
“That’s extremely fucking unlikely.”
“I’m telling you it’s true.” James’s grin turned smug. “In fact, I’ll bet you five galleons he likes you.”
“I’m not taking that bet.”
James raised a brow. “Why? Afraid you’d lose?”
Sirius froze. “I’m—”
“Because the Sirius I know,” James continued, “would take that bet.”
“Fuck you,” Sirius muttered.
“So,” James said, eyes glittering with challenge, “are you taking the bet?”
“...You’re going to owe me double if I win.”
James grinned with all his teeth flashing obnoxiously white. “Can’t wait for you to lose.”
* * *
Time slipped by, more letters piling up by the day, but Sirius’s silence held. Every time he tried to write back, the words shrivelled in his throat. So instead he buried himself in the one thing he could control: his bike. He worked on it obsessively, restlessly, until at last—after countless late nights and scraped knuckles—it purred beneath his hands in absolute, hard-won perfection.
He gazed at his motorbike with the kind of fondness most people reserved for newborn children. He’d actually done it. He’d taken a perfectly ordinary Muggle machine, gutted it, rebuilt it, charmed it, and turned it into something that could fly. All it had required was a bit of mechanical genius, and an irresponsible amount of magic.
“Well done, mate!” James crowed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to jolt him. “Thought you’d never finish. Only took you, what, almost four months?”
Sirius shoved him off with a scowl he didn’t mean, then turned back to the bike, unable to stop grinning. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“She is,” James agreed, before ruining it by adding, “now get her out of my parents’ garage. And clean up all the oil you’ve spilled. Mum’s already threatened to hex you.”
Sirius waved him off, still drinking in the sight of his creation.
Hoot!
Shit. He’d forgotten it was getting close to that time of night.
“If it isn’t our prettiest little feathered friend!” James said, beaming as he nudged Sirius in the ribs. “Wonder what Remus wrote this time?”
The warmth in Sirius’s chest evaporated in an instant. The triumph of finishing the bike dissolved like smoke. He frowned at his bike as the letter landed on his handlebars.
Sirius stuck his hand out. “Well, get on with it.”
The owl dropped the letter in his hand. It flew over to James, nipped him, then landed on the dented tin.
“Fiend!” James shouted, rubbing at his bitten hand. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t respond! Bite him! Him!”
Sirius sighed and unrolled the parchment.
*
Sirius,
This is the hundredth letter I’ve written to you since we left Hogwarts. Don’t ask why I’m counting. I honestly couldn’t tell you. I just noticed, and now the number won’t leave my head.
There won’t be anymore going forward.
Not because I don’t want to write to you. I do. More than I should, probably. But I’ve realised I’m likely bothering you with all of this, and I don’t want to keep taking up space in your life if you don’t want me there.
Sorry you had to endure a hundred of my rambling, ridiculous letters.
Remus
*
Sirius’s hand flew to his chest as if something had physically struck him, his lungs suddenly refusing to draw in air. He’d known, of course he’d known, that this would happen eventually. Remus would stop writing. Remus would move on. Remus would realise Sirius wasn’t worth the effort.
But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.
Why now?
Why after a hundred letters?
If he could write a hundred, why couldn’t he write a hundred more?
Unbelievable.
Sure, he hadn’t responded to a single one. And no, he hadn’t visited during any of the full moons since they’d left Hogwarts. But that didn’t mean he wanted Remus out of his life. He’d just been keeping his distance so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Like kissing him. Because that wasn’t something one should want to do to their mate.
James leaned into his line of sight and waved a hand obnoxiously in front of his face. “Oi. What’s happening? You still alive in there?”
“He’s—” Sirius’s voice cracked, the word strangled before it even formed. He shook his head, fingers tightening around the parchment so hard it crumpled. Merlin, why was the room spinning the way it was? Why was it so blurry?
“Breathe, mate,” James said gently. “Come on. Just breathe.”
Sirius just shook violently and stepped back away from James. He swiped his eyes dry on the back of his sleeve and then looked at the letter again to confirm that—yes, Remus had said he wasn’t writing anymore. “I’ve got to go.”
James stared at him, then gave a curt nod while splaying his hand towards the motorbike. “Your chariot awaits, lover boy. Take her for a test flight.”
“Fuck—right off,” Sirius spat, shoving the letter in his back pocket.
James lifted his hands in surrender and backed away. “I’m fucking off right now.”
“Oi, bird-brain,” Sirius called to the owl. “Lead me to your owner.”
The owl hooted.
* * *
Remus was in the middle of a book about Boggarts when a sound outside the window made him freeze. A low growl, like the Muggle automobiles he’d seen over the years. Ridiculous. He was in the middle of an isolated forest, with no roads for kilometres.
The noise grew louder, swelling into a thunderous roar that rattled the panes. Heart pounding, he leapt from his chair, wand at the ready, and crept toward the window. And there he was—Sirius, perched casually on a black motorbike.
Relief and disbelief collided. He lowered his wand and tried, desperately, to control the grin threatening to split his face.
No.
No big smiles.
Calm. Polite. Small. Neutral.
He squared his shoulders and moved toward the door. By the time he’d slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, the motorbike’s roar had softened to nothing, and Sirius was dismounting.
“Sirius?” Remus said, catching himself on the word, surprised at the hope lacing his voice. He pinched himself on a whim—flinching as sudden pain shot through his arm—half-wishing he were still dreaming.
His heart hammered in his chest, pumping so violently it felt as though blood was reaching places it hadn’t touched in weeks.
Sirius removed his helmet and set it on the handlebars. When his grey eyes lifted to meet Remus’s—oh. In the amber wash of the setting sun they looked unreal, like some storm-soft autumn sky.
Remus nearly shook his head to fling the thought away. His heart was hammering, loud enough to warn him: danger, danger, danger.
Sirius said nothing.
Remus cleared his throat. “Ah… do you want a cuppa? I’ve just boiled the kettle…” He turned on his heel and hurried back into the cottage, grateful for the brief escape before he blurted something stupid like I missed you.
The door clicked shut behind Sirius. Remus swallowed hard and focused on pouring two cups. He kept the chipped one for himself, and set out the good, unbroken cup, the one he only ever used when his father visited, for Sirius.
“I got your letter.”
Remus jerked, hot liquid sloshing across his fingers. “Ouch—” He sucked the burn, then glanced back.
Sirius was suddenly right there, too close, worry etched across his face. “You burnt yourself.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Remus muttered, turning back to the cups before he could stare at him like an idiot. “So… you got my letter. Did you get the rest of them?”
“…I did.”
Remus nodded, slowly. And then, before he could stop himself, the words broke out—soft, aching, hurt. “Then why did you never write back…?”
Sirius was quiet for a long time. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“Oh.”
Just oh.
Not: You always knew what to say before.
Remus risked another look—Sirius with his wild helmet-hair, his frown, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets—then turned back to the cups. He couldn’t pretend to fuss with the tea any longer. He picked them up and carried them to the small, rickety table he still hadn’t fixed, partly because it gave him something, anything, to write to Sirius about.
Sirius approached, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded roll of parchment from it. He set it on the table. “Tell me it’s a lie.”
Remus looked from the parchment to Sirius’s face, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “Tell you what’s a lie?”
“That you’re not going to write me anymore.”
“...Oh.” Remus sat at the table, holding the hot cup in his hands. “I don’t want to bother you anymore. I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you so much. I know you don’t want me in your life anymore. Not after—not after what I did to you. Well, what I almost did to you.”
Sirius let out a puzzled sound. “What?”
“You know—when I almost kissed you that time—” Remus stopped, freezing at the blank shock on Sirius’s face. “Oh Merlin. You didn’t know, did you?”
Sirius slowly shook his head. “When did you—why did you—what?”
Remus dropped his forehead to the table with a thud. Tea sloshed over the rim and splashed his wrist, hot enough to sting, but he didn’t care. “Please just forget I said anything. I did not just say that.”
“Oh, no. No, I don’t think I can.” Sirius slid into the chair opposite him. “I need to know what you’re talking about.”
Remus muttered apologies into the wood. The table accepted them; Sirius did not.
“I get that you’re sorry,” Sirius said quietly. “I just don’t know what you’re sorry for. So… tell me. When. And more importantly—why.”
Remus dragged in a breath and lifted his head, though he couldn’t look at him. He fixed his eyes on the ripples in his tea, on the warped reflection staring back. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”
Silence.
“It was just before we left Hogwarts. The night we were celebrating Peter’s birthday. I’d had too much to drink, and you had too. You slung your arm over my shoulder, and when you leaned in to whisper something—I almost… I mean, I—”
“You almost kissed me.”
Not a question. A statement. Not angry, not upset—just bewildered.
He only managed a nod, his throat too tight to let anything else out.
“…I didn’t know,” Sirius said quietly.
“I gathered that.” He took another sip of tea hot enough to sting his tongue, welcoming the burn. “You stopped really talking to me after that. And then… with the letters…”
“You assumed it was because of that.”
Remus nodded again. What else was he supposed to have thought? Every silence, every unanswered letter had felt like confirmation.
“Well, it wasn’t,” Sirius said. “Because I must’ve been too pissed to even notice you trying to kiss me. And I assure you, if I’d known… if I’d realised what you were doing, I would have—” He cut himself off abruptly, as if the end of that sentence was too dangerous to voice.
Remus’s stomach twisted. He stared down at the tea rippling in his cup, the tremor of his own hands distorting his reflection. “You would have punched me,” he said quietly. “It’s fine. I would have deserved it.”
“No, I—”
“It’s alright, Sirius.” He didn’t look up. He couldn’t.
“No, Remus, that’s not—”
Remus lifted a hand, stopping him before he could say whatever awful truth was waiting. His voice came out small, frayed at the edges. “Please. Don’t. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Sirius’s hand rose hesitantly, fingers sliding between Remus’s. “Remus. Listen to me.”
Remus’s gaze flicked from their joined hands to Sirius’s face. His heart gave a traitorous thud at the softness there—far too gentle, far too kind for what he deserved.
“I didn’t know you’d tried to kiss me,” Sirius said. “And I promise you, that’s not why I stopped writing. I wouldn’t have punched you. Even if you had kissed me.” He grimaced faintly. “I might’ve balked. I might’ve handled it terribly. But not for the reasons you think.”
Remus looked down again, unable not to notice Sirius’s thumb brushing slow, steady arcs across his skin. That tiny motion sent sparks up his arm, making his thoughts scatter.
“I—” Sirius exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand over his face, though his other hand stayed right where it was, still stroking Remus’s knuckles in that maddening, impossibly tender way. “Merlin, I’m sorry. This is… really hard to say.”
“Sirius—”
“I would have—you back,” Sirius blurted. “At least—I hope I would’ve. I probably would’ve said something horrible right after, something I’d regret for years, because I—I have a hard enough time accepting that I’m—” He broke off, swallowed, tried again. “I don’t know if I could handle someone else knowing I’m—and just the thought of—” He shook his head helplessly. “It’s hard. It’s really bloody hard.”
Remus blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.
Had he… had he heard that correctly? Sirius wasn’t exactly being clear, but the implication hovered between them like a held breath.
“Sirius,” he said softly, “do you like blokes…?”
Sirius flinched as if struck. He gave a small, miserable nod, eyes dropping to the table like he was confessing a crime.
“Oh.” Remus swallowed sharply, his heart pounding away in his chest. His palms felt sweaty, and he was distinctly aware of the touch still shared between his one hand and Sirius’s. He tried to pull back, to hide his trembling fingers—but Sirius’s grip didn’t loosen.
“Remus… please. Don’t pull away.”
“I’m not—”
“Please,” Sirius’s voice cracked, ragged and urgent. “I can’t… anyone else, fine. But not you.”
Remus froze. His chest tightened. “…Alright, Sirius.”
Sirius’s shoulders sagged, as if the effort of staying upright had finally become too much. “Remus, I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise…”
“But I should.” His voice cracked. “I should have written back. Should have explained everything. But I—I couldn’t. I’m a coward… I’m such a bloody coward…”
“You’re not a coward,” Remus said softly.
Sirius huffed a bitter little sound. “I am. I’ve spent years terrified of who—of what I am. Terrified someone would find out. Merlin, I was especially terrified of you knowing. Because if you knew, and you pushed me away…” His throat bobbed hard, once, twice. “I didn’t think I’d survive that. So I put distance between us. Built a wall. Thought it’d keep me safe.”
He sounded so young suddenly—small, fragile, voice splintering like it belonged to a boy still wrestling with the first cracks of adolescence. When he scrubbed at his eyes, Remus felt a sharp pang of worry.
Oh. Sirius.
Hiding himself like this. Carrying that kind of shame.
Remus knew that hell intimately. He’d lived in it too—the twisting guilt, the sick lurch in his stomach whenever his gaze lingered where it shouldn’t, the desperate instinct to hide it from everyone, especially the people closest to him.
But he’d had an easier time accepting it. He was already ashamed of being a werewolf, what was one more wrong thing about him?
Sirius, though. He would have fought it tooth and nail. He would’ve torn himself apart before admitting it. It must have gnawed at him every waking moment, stalked him through every dream.
What escape could he possibly have from a truth he didn’t want to face?
Poor Sirius.
“Hey,” Remus murmured, tightening his grip around Sirius’s hand. “Look at me.”
It took a moment, but Sirius’s grey eyes met Remus’s. The look on his face was so naked, so achingly fragile, that Remus had to swallow hard to steady himself.
“You’re alright. It’ll be alright. It’s—it’s okay.”
Sirius shook his head, a small, disbelieving movement. “How can it be? I’ve wrecked everything. I hurt you. I shoved you away over and over. I thought if I pretended hard enough—if I pushed you far enough—maybe it’d all just… disappear. Maybe I’d wake up one morning different. Normal.”
“It is normal—”
“It isn’t!” Sirius burst out, the words cracking like a whip. Then his voice crumpled into something hoarse and thin, his gaze sinking back to their joined hands. “It’s really not. Every day—every bloody day—I feel it in me. Like a curse I can’t shake. Like something rotten under my skin I can’t carve out. I keep thinking if I tear myself open far enough I’ll find the part that’s poisoned. But it’s all of me. I’m exactly what my parents always said I was.”
Remus tightened his grip without thinking—tight enough that Sirius gasped and tried to yank his hand back. Remus held on, meeting his startled, pained stare, and only then eased his hold.
“Sirius,” he said, “you’re not rotten. You’re not cursed. And I hate that you’ve been made to believe you are.” He leaned in slightly, willing Sirius to hear every word. “You’re normal. Whatever your parents drilled into you—they were wrong. They’ve always been wrong.”
His thumb swept once across Sirius’s trembling knuckles.
Sirius shuddered.
“And you,” Remus added, softer now, “you’re good. Whether you believe it yet or not.”
Sirius met his eyes briefly, then looked away. “You, uh, you never told me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why did you try to kiss me? Was it because you were drunk?”
“Oh.” Remus swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”
“...Ah.” Sirius tried withdrawing his hand again, but Remus yanked it towards him.
“I wanted to do it,” he said, low and earnest. “Normally I can restrain myself, but after a few shots of firewhisky I’d lost any hope of that. Because I do like you, Sirius. I hope you know that.”
Sirius went very still, and very, very pale. “You… like me. As in—actually like me? Not as mates?”
Remus’s heart thudded against his milky bones. “More than you can imagine.”
Sirius gave a strangled laugh, then lowered his face into his hand. “You must be joking.”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
Sirius’s gaze lifted towards him, quickly, like he was checking for the punchline to a terrible joke. But there was no joke.
Remus just stared back, softly, patiently, waiting for the moment when it penetrated that he was being serious, for the moment his feelings came through.
“You—you can’t. I mean, you shouldn’t. I’ve been awful to you.”
“You’ve been scared,” Remus corrected, squeezing Sirius’s hand. “I understand.”
“You shouldn’t,” Sirius muttered, eyes shifting to their joined hands.
“I do.”
Sirius let out a shaky exhale. “Remus—”
Remus sighed loud enough to cut Sirius off before he could argue further. “You keep acting like you’ve committed some unforgivable sin in trying to protect yourself. You haven’t.”
“Haven’t I? I pushed you away only to get upset when you tried to move on.”
A small smile came to Remus’s face. “You made my night by getting upset enough to show up.”
Sirius let out a strangled sound of confusion.
“I didn’t write you that letter expecting anything back. You showing up on my doorstep?” Remus gave a small, disbelieving laugh, smiling down at his cup. “That was unexpected. But Merlin, was it welcome.”
“I thought you’d hate me,” Sirius murmured. “Missing all those full moons…”
Remus shrugged lightly. “I figured you had your reasons.”
“I didn’t, I was just being a coward.”
“You’re being brave right now.”
Sirius let out a quiet snort.
Remus brushed his thumb across the back of Sirius’s hand. “I missed you.”
“...I missed you too.”
Remus’s heart fluttered at that—at the simple proof that the distance hadn’t been one-sided, that the empty space between them had weighed on Sirius just as heavily.
Sirius’s fingers tightened around Remus’s until his knuckles bled white. “I used to practise what I’d say…” he whispered to the table, “if I ever worked up the courage to answer one of your letters. Wrote whole speeches in my head while I was elbow-deep in engine grease. Every night I told myself I’d write you. And every morning I woke up hating myself just a little more for being a liar.”
“Sirius…”
Sirius’s eyes flicked up, red-rimmed, storm-grey, and frightened. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you think, even for a second, that my world was better off without you in it. I’m so in love with you it kills me inside. I’m just—I’m just such a coward.”
Love. Love.
Remus’s heart thudded against his ribcage, screaming yes, yes, yes with each push of blood. He released Sirius’s hand and stood, the chair scraping against the floor, and rounded the little table in two strides.
Sirius rose at the same time, unsteady, eyes skittering everywhere except Remus’s face.
Remus cupped Sirius’s cheek, thumb brushing the damp trail beneath one eye. “Sirius, I love you, too.”
Sirius leaned into the touch and finally met his gaze.
Remus could feel the tremor running through Sirius’s jaw, the frantic flutter at his throat. Slowly, deliberately, he tilted Sirius’s face and pressed the softest kiss imaginable to his lips, barely more than shared breath.
Sirius inhaled as if he’d been drowning and someone had just broken the surface for him. For one suspended second he stayed perfectly still, tasting the moment, memorising it. Then a broken sound escaped him and he kissed back.
It was clumsy at first, both of them too overwhelmed to find rhythm. The clumsiness only made it more honest. Sirius’s hands came up to fist in Remus’s worn jumper like he was afraid Remus might disappear if he let go. Remus slid his fingers into Sirius’s hair, angling him gently, and the kiss deepened until they both had to break apart for air.
For a bit Remus just breathed Sirius’s warm air, lingering in the aftermath of their kiss.
“...Oh,” Sirius murmured against Remus’s lips. “Oh, so… yeah, I’m… I’m absolutely in love with you.”
Remus’s heart fluttered against his ribs. “Are you?”
Sirius nodded awkwardly, his nose bumping Remus’s. “Um… sorry.”
“Sorry?” Remus repeated, puzzled. “For—?”
“I sort of…” Sirius trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I sort of bet James that you didn’t like me.”
“Ah. That was rather stupid of you.”
Sirius snorted. “I know.”
“Because I’m completely in love with you.”
Sirius froze—then broke into a helpless, crooked smile before leaning in to kiss him again.
Remus felt like he was flying, like his feet were no longer tethered by gravity. All those weeks of patience, of writing letter after letter with shaking hands and stubborn hope—they’d led to this. Sirius was in his arms, kissing him like he’d waited just as long.
Merlin, nothing in the world compared.
“Still want that ride I promised you?” Sirius asked against his lips.
Remus smiled. “You remembered.”
Sirius nodded, twisting his fingers in Remus’s jumper more. “Of course I remembered… How could I forget? I’ve wanted nothing more than to give you a ride since I first started fixing her up.”
Remus’s cheeks ached, joy overflowing through his veins. “You’re sweet.”
“...Shut up,” Sirius mumbled, looking suitably embarrassed.
“I’d love a ride. Take me as high as she’ll go. I want to pretend I’m the moon in the sky.”
Sirius grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the cottage.
It had grown darker outside, the pale palette of dusk faded into the inky darkness of night. The motorbike sat in a shaft of light from the window, like it was on display.
Neither of them bothered with helmets. They were too desperate, too eager, too alive to waste even a moment.
Sirius swung on, and Remus climbed up behind him. The engine thundered to life, the vibration thrumming between Remus’s thighs. He wrapped his arms around Sirius’s waist, resting his cheek against the worn leather of Sirius’s jacket, grinning so wide his face hurt.
Sirius twisted the throttle.
The bike surged forward, wheels skimming the grass before lifting into the open sky. Higher and higher they climbed, until the cottage was nothing but a tiny, glowing pinprick beneath them. Until the dark line of the forest shrank to a faint scribble. Until all that existed were stars and wind and the fierce, exultant sound of Sirius’s laughter in his ear.
Remus tightened his hold—on Sirius, on the moment, on the overwhelming joy that threatened to spill out of him. He closed his eyes, breathing in cold air and leather, letting the night swallow them whole.
They flew until the wind stung Remus’s cheeks red, until his teeth chattered from the mix of cold and sheer reckless joy, until Sirius’s laughter faded.
Sirius tipped the bike into a sudden dive that stole Remus’s stomach and breath in one swoop. Remus clung tighter, burying his face in the warm leather of Sirius’s jacket, refusing to loosen his grip until the tyres finally kissed grass.
When Sirius cut the engine, silence slammed into them—thick, ringing, somehow louder than the roar that had come before.
Remus climbed off first, his legs shaking slightly, then tried to get a good look at Sirius’s face, which was made harder by Sirius looking away from him.
Sirius dismounted. He stood before Remus, nervously rubbing at his arms as he looked everywhere but at Remus. “...I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For cutting the ride short.”
“That’s alright.”
“I just—” Sirius stepped closer, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Not with you holding onto me like that.”
Remus’s skin burnt.
Before Remus could reply, Sirius reached out, cupping Remus’s face with both hands. “I’m going to kiss you now. And I’m never going to stop.”
Remus’s heart slammed against his ribs. His voice came out rough, unguarded. “Go ahead. Kiss me as much as you want. Suffocate me with your kisses.”
So Sirius did.