Work Text:
The first person Remus goes to about the little things Sirius does, is Lily.
It’s raining lightly—not enough to be annoying, but enough to settle into everything. The pavement is darkened with moisture, slick beneath his boots, the sky a dull, heavy grey that presses low over the street.
The cold seeps through his jacket no matter how tightly it’s zipped, working its way into his bones the way winter always does. Remus shudders despite himself, rubbing his gloved hands together, breath fogging faintly in front of his face as he tries—and fails—to will the chill away.
By the time he steps up to the front of the café, his shoulders are tense, his jaw tight. Then, suddenly, a wave of déjà vu crashes into him so hard it almost stops him in place.
It’s like he’s sixteen all over again. Meeting with Lily at a café, simply talking to her about his crush on Sirius, how he actually got asked out.
The memory hits him warm and sharp all at once—nervous laughter, too-sweet hot chocolate, the way his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest every time Sirius’s name had come up. The thought pulls a small, helpless smile from him, easing something tight in his chest as he reaches for the door.
The bell chimes softly when he pulls it open, warmth washing over him in an instant. The smell of coffee and baked goods wraps around him, familiar and grounding, and just like that, his sour mood shifts. His shoulders loosen as he steps inside, blinking against the sudden brightness.
Remus scans the café out of habit, eyes flicking over occupied tables, couples leaning close, laptops and half-finished drinks—until they settle on a familiar mop of straight, dark red hair. Relief settles low in his chest.
He moves toward Lily, shrugging off his jacket as he goes, sliding into the booth directly across from her. The vinyl seat squeaks softly beneath him.
Lily glances up, her face lighting immediately. She smiles warmly. “Remus,” she says, pushing a cup of coffee toward him.
He smiles gratefully at her, wrapping both hands around the mug. “Thanks,” Remus says, taking a sip of his drink. The heat seeps into his palms, down his throat, blooming warmly through his chest. His body relaxes almost instantly, the cold retreating at last.
“So,” Lily begins, eyeing him carefully over the rim of her cup. “Are you going to tell me why you wanted to come here?”
Remus sets his mug down, fingers lingering against the ceramic. “Jumping right to the point, I see.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Lily nods. “So, tell me—what’s up?”
Remus exhales slowly, gathering himself. “I’ve umm… well, I’ve noticed somethings about Sirius—”
“Oh?” Lily asks, her eyebrow raised, interest sharpening her expression.
Remus hums, nodding. “Yeah—the thing is… I think—” He sighs, frustration tightening his chest as the words refuse to come. “There’s a lot he does for me—have you ever noticed that?”
Lily tilts her head, thoughtful. “Yes, I have. But, in what way?”
“Romance, I guess,” he shrugs half-heartedly, one shoulder lifting before dropping again.
Lily hums. “Oh yeah, definitely—he’s very open, vocal about it.”
“Yeah,” he nods, staring down at the surface of his coffee. “I suppose he is.”
“Mm—” Lily agrees. “So, what exactly—”
“I think he’s insecure—” Remus admits, cutting Lily off.
Lily’s jaw drops at the admission. “I’m sorry?” she asks, genuinely baffled, like her thoughts are scrambling to catch up. “You think—”
“Yes, I think Sirius is insecure—about our relationship, that is,” he clarifies with a nod, the words heavy but certain.
“Right,” Lily says slowly, skepticism written across her face as she takes a sip of her drink. “And, what made you get to this conclusion?”
Remus sighs, his heart aching in a way that feels both familiar and newly sharp. “Well, for starters, he acts… I don’t know…” He huffs, annoyed with himself more than anything. His gaze drops to his mug, thumbs tracing the rim as he searches for the right words. “It’s like he’s… waiting for me to leave—to find someone better than him.”
Lily nods, listening intently, not interrupting. The silence encourages him, and Remus continues.
“We’ve been together for seven years now, Lils—” he admits, a soft, fond smile pulling at his lips despite the ache. “And… I would at least thought we’d—I don’t know—be engaged by now. Or, at the very least, had several conversations about… our future… long term…” His voice trails off, the weight of it settling heavily in his chest.
Lily stares at him, her emerald green eyes shining with something thoughtful and unwavering.
“Why haven’t you proposed, then?”
The question hits him from out of nowhere, sharp and sudden.
Remus looks at her, eyes wide. He… doesn’t know how to respond to that—he doesn’t know how to answer the question either.
Would he even be allowed to do that? Propose to Sirius? Remus is definitely not the open romantic type—unlike Sirius. He could’ve sworn Sirius would be the one to propose.
He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Would—could—should I even…” he trails off, still reeling, mostly confused.
Lily’s expression softens immediately. She reaches across the table and takes one of his hands, squeezing it tightly, grounding him. “You wanna hear my opinion?” she asks determinedly. Remus nods desperately. Lily continues. “I think you should.”
Remus opens his mouth to respond, but Lily cuts him off.
“I think part of the problem—the one with Sirius being potentially insecure—is that… you aren’t the great romantic gestures kind of guy. To be honest, you aren’t really much of anything. I think—for Sirius to believe you truly love him—I think you have to be the one to propose.”
Remus nods slowly, her words sinking in piece by piece. Sirius does a lot for him. Constantly. In ways both loud and impossibly tender—always reaching, always reassuring, always loving without restraint. Remus swallows hard as the realization settles in. He never understood—well, not until now—how much he’d been taking Sirius’s open affection for granted.
If he’s going to do this—really do this—it has to be perfect. It has to be the biggest, largest, open display of affection Remus can muster.
He has to do this. For Sirius.
Because Remus loves him, and he needs Sirius to know that.
Since Remus’s conversation with Lily, he’s been in what he’d call planning mode.
Ask literally anyone else, and they’d say Remus has been running around like a headless chicken—even Sirius is worried about him, and Remus certainly cannot have that.
The concern in Sirius’s eyes every time Remus snaps a little too quickly or forgets to respond to a question fast enough sits heavy in his chest. That alone is enough motivation to force himself to slow down. Or, at the very least, look like he has it together.
Talking with Lily had been great, really it had. For, Remus was able to see just how poorly he’s been doing—on the relationship front, that is. So he’s decided to start doing things. Small things, but noticeable ones. Things Sirius can see and feel without Remus having to trip over his words.
On his way home, from chatting with Lily, Remus had stumbled across a florist.
The flowers inside had been just to die for, the smell intoxicating to say the least. It had hit him the moment he stepped through the door—layered and overwhelming, petals and greenery and damp earth all mixed together. If Sirius were to step in here, he’d probably throw up, Remus noted at the time. Poor fella had a sensitive nose. A shame, really.
Remus had wandered through the shop aimlessly, hands tucked into his coat pockets, spending way too long inside the building. He’d realised, then, with a pang of guilt, that he had no idea what Sirius’s favourite flowers were—or, if he even had favourite flowers.
Come to think of it, Remus hardly remembered if they’d even talked about flowers at all.
That thought alone had made his stomach twist.
Shaking his head, Remus had picked up the first lot of flowers he could see—just a simple bouquet of roses. Safe. Traditional. Something that at least meant something. Maybe he’d get tulips next, he’d thought vaguely, clutching the bouquet like it might disappear if he let go.
When Remus did reach home, with the flowers in hand, his heart shattered within his chest.
The sight of Sirius’s expression shifting between confusion and shock was something Remus wished to never see again. Sirius had stood frozen just inside the doorway, eyes flicking from Remus’s face to the flowers and back again, like he was waiting for a punchline that never came. His brows had drawn together, mouth parting slightly, hands hovering uselessly at his sides.
He really needs to do better. Getting flowers for his partner is not supposed to be shocking.
“Here—” Remus said, handing over the bouquet of flowers to Sirius. “Thought you’d like some flowers,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know red roses are a bit of a cliche—”
Sirius hadn’t taken them straight away. He’d stared, blinking rapidly, throat bobbing as if he couldn’t quite swallow.
“No—” Sirius said, effectively cutting him off.
Remus had shut his mouth immediately, a wave of confusion flooding through him. Had he done something wrong? Too much? Too late? Sirius had finally looked at him then, eyes glassy, already teary.
“These are beautiful,” he managed to whisper out. “Thank you.”
Sirius had taken the bouquet with a reverence that nearly broke Remus in two—cradling the stems carefully, fingers brushing over the petals like they might bruise under too much pressure. He’d sniffed them cautiously, pulling back at the scent, then laughed softly at himself, shaking his head like he didn’t quite believe this was real.
From that point forward, Remus has made it an effort to get Sirius flowers.
Sure it isn’t much, but the way Sirius handled that first bouquet of roses with such care and dignity—it makes him want to hit himself over and over for not seeing it sooner.
He continues to get Sirius flowers—twice a month. Every time
he does, Sirius’s face shifts from confusion to shock, not a single hint of delight or joy in his initial reaction. Sometimes Sirius asks, hesitant, “What’s the occasion?” Other times he just stares, brows furrowed, murmuring, “Remus… you didn’t have to.” It still breaks Remus’s heart.
Now, Remus sits at the kitchen table, glancing over all the brochures and pamphlets he could find. His laptop is opened in front of him, several tabs littering the screen, all dedicated to one thing, and one thing only.
Sirius.
His proposal to Sirius.
He sighs, long and harsh, scrubbing a hand down his face. It’s exhausting. Remus is exhausted. He has no idea what he wants to do, and everything surrounding him makes his chest feel tight, his thoughts overlapping until none of them make sense.
There are so many options, so many ideas to go with. Remus doesn’t want to seem like he copied someone else, he wants to be original, he wants to make Sirius feel special. He wants—
A knock at the apartment door snaps him from his thoughts.
He exhales sharply, pushing his chair back and forcing himself to stand. His legs feel stiff as he crosses the apartment, opening the door to find Mary standing there.
“Mary,” he says, pleasantly surprised, yet shocked. “Umm… what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t want to sound rude by any means, but he certainly didn’t invite Mary over.
“Sirius is out,” he states simply, glancing down the hallway as if Sirius might appear. Maybe Sirius forgot he had plans—it’s quite like him, to forget.
Mary waves him off. “I’m not here for Sirius—” she admits with a smile.
“Oh… you're not?”
Mary shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Ah,” Remus replies, still sounding perplexed. “Then, why—”
“Lily told me about how you're planning to propose.”
Remus sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Of course she did.”
“Mmm,” Mary responds with a nod of her head. “I’m here to help you. Sirius deserves the best.”
Remus looks at her for a long moment, then nods slowly. Sirius does deserve the best. He deserves everything he could ever want or ask for. Remus even knows Sirius deserves a better version of himself—that’s something Remus has been trying to do.
He will make sure of it.
He has to.
Because Remus loves him.
“Come on in—” Remus gestures Mary into the apartment. He closes the door behind her, turning to find her staring openly at the chaos spread across the kitchen.
Mary grimaces. “I see you’ve… started.”
Remus sinks back into his chair, letting out a weak snort. “Barely,” he says. “It’s all—”
“A lot,” Mary fills in.
Remus nods. “Yeah,” he responds quietly. His gaze darts from paper to paper. “It’s not what I want, either,” he admits after a moment. “None of these… examples are… us.”
He looks up at her then. Mary’s dark brown eyes search him, attentive and gentle.
She nods. “Okay then,” she says softly. “Tell me what you do want—and we can make it happen.”
Remus lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “I—I need this proposal to show Sirius just how deeply I love him,” he begins. Mary nods, encouraging him to go on. “He deserves to know how loved he is—I’m not very… good at expressing it. This proposal needs to show him that…”
“He’s the love of your life,” Mary fills in.
He hums. “Yeah.”
Mary glances at the scattered papers, then back at him, a slow smile forming. “I think I have just the thing,” she says.
Remus has been searching—searching for the right ring.
He hasn’t stopped looking. Browsing through his phone late into the night, scrolling through endless catalogs, clicking through jeweller websites until the words blur together—anything he can get his hands on has been searched through, thoroughly. He knows the price ranges by heart now. He knows which styles make his chest sink and which ones almost, almost feel right before falling short.
And, the thing is, none of the rings he’s found are any good.
They’re either too bulky or too flashy, too plain or too impersonal. Some feel wrong in his hands even through a screen, like they belong to someone else entirely. Someone louder. Someone who isn’t Sirius—but also isn’t him.
To top it all off, there’s… a limited collection of male engagement rings.
The thought makes Remus a little sad, disheartened too. The idea that something so monumental, something meant to represent a lifetime, is reduced to a handful of options shoved into a corner display case makes his chest ache. But he pushes through it, straightening his spine, forcing himself to keep going.
He will find the ring. The perfect ring.
James is with him, walking a careful half-step behind, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Officially, he’s here to help Remus choose the perfect ring. More accurately—and realistically—James is here to stop him from going completely insane. Indefinitely insane.
They walk slowly around the ring shop, the polished floors gleaming under bright lights, glass cases lining the walls. Remus peers into each one, hands clasped tightly in front of him, eyes darting from band to band. At this point, he’s genuinely wondering whether he should just go online and custom order one. Something designed with intention. Something theirs.
“James?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than intended. Partly because he wants to know the answer, and partly because he thinks what he’s planning is—for lack of a better word—stupid. “Do you think proposing on Valentine’s day is… cheesy?”
Remus grimaces at his own question. Why did he let Mary talk him into it?
James slows, turning to face him fully. He tilts his head to the side, lips pursing as a soft, low hum works its way out of his throat—in that very explicit Potter is thinking way that Lily calls it.
His hazel eyes study Remus for a long moment. “Mmm, I don’t think so, no,” James says eventually.
“You don’t?” Remus questions, genuine surprise colouring his tone.
Because he is surprised. To say the least.
Surprised to find James—the person who would literally do anything for Lily, except propose on Valentine’s Day like everyone assumed he would—telling him that he doesn’t think proposing on Valentine’s Day is cheesy.
James shakes his head. “No, I don’t—well, I do, but…”
“But?” Remus prompts, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing it softly as his anxiety resurfaces.
“But—” James responds, emphasising the word deliberately. “It’s you and Sirius.”
Remus rolls his eyes. Well, that’s just great. Thanks, Potter.
James scoffs. “You know what I mean.”
“No, James, I really don’t,” Remus says, irritation bleeding through despite his best efforts to contain it. The stress, the doubt, the fear—it’s all sitting too close to the surface lately.
James sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You and Sirius—you’re like… two completely opposite people, yet not.”
Remus raises an eyebrow at him, sceptical, but James keeps going.
“Sirius is open about the way he loves you. He shows you how much you love him. And you’re—well, you’re private, Remus. You’re private in the way you express your love to him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be openly affectionate toward him—bar a few cuddles—but my point still stands. You’re private, Sirius isn’t. He thinks you don’t love him as much, all because he can’t see it. He’s different from us—we were raised with open love, he wasn’t.”
James steps closer, placing a firm hand on Remus’s shoulder. The weight of it makes Remus sway slightly, grounding and heavy in a way that feels intentional.
“So—” James continues, voice steady and sincere. “By you doing this—by you proposing on Valentine’s Day—it’s like the ultimate declaration in his eyes. I truly think Sirius’ll stop questioning whether you love him or not, just by doing this.”
Remus swallows thickly, throat tight. “Just—just by proposing on… Valentine’s day?” he asks, voice cracking under the pressure of everything he’s holding in.
Sadness and pain swell deep within his chest, old and aching. Remus fights to keep it contained, but the familiar stinging sensation—less a sting and more a burning, roaring fire—flares behind his eyes.
James looks at him, his own eyes glassy with sympathy. He nods once. “Yeah, it will.”
Remus nods back, squeezing his eyes shut as he forces the emotion down. He breathes in slowly, rolls one shoulder, grounding himself the way he’s learned to. When he opens his eyes again, he notices how red James’s are, and that alone nearly undoes him.
He clears his throat. “So, there aren’t any good ones here—”
James gestures to the painfully small display case beside them. “You head back to mine and design one to order?”
Remus nods without hesitation, resolve settling into his bones. “Yes, absolutely.”
Remus is home, visiting his parents.
Home smells like old books and lemon dish soap and something warm baking in the oven—comforting in a way that settles low in his chest, even as his shoulders remain tight. Life has been a little crazy, to say the least. Between planning a proposal, buying—and paying off—the ring, making sure everything is ready for the holiday cheer—Remus has been, in other words, stressed.
Not overtly, no, he wouldn’t say that.
But, if he is being honest with himself, he has been… snappish, recently.
And, poor Sirius has felt the brunt of it.
The thought twists uncomfortably in his chest as snow drifts lazily past the kitchen window, thick flakes clinging to the glass before melting away. The house is quiet in that familiar, lived-in way—radiators ticking softly, the hum of electricity under everything.
The sound of the tap running fills the kitchen as his father stands near the sink, sleeves rolled up, methodically rinsing plates. Remus stands beside him with a tea towel slung over one shoulder, drying the clean dishes and stacking them neatly.
He hums under his breath without realizing it, a tune ingrained so deeply in him it feels like muscle memory. His father pauses, listens, then joins in seamlessly. They duet the song—a song he can’t quite remember, but knows thoroughly, as it was a prominent fixture of his childhood—gets sung together.
It steadies him, the sound of their voices blending, the rhythm of something familiar and safe. For a moment, the tension in his spine eases.
Then hurried footsteps thunder through the house, sharp and sudden.
Remus turns at the noise, heart skipping as his mother appears in the doorway to the kitchen, breathless, one hand braced against the frame.
“Remus—” she says, sounding puffed, more so out of breath. “What is this?”
All the colour drains from his face. His eyes lock onto the object in her hands. A small, black, velvet box—too familiar, too incriminating—is held up, unmistakable.
The world tilts.
“Are you engaged?” his father asks, turning fully to face him, dish forgotten in his hands.
Remus opens and closes his mouth several times, soundlessly, his brain stalling completely. His pulse roars in his ears.
“We would’ve heard—or at least seen something about it, wouldn’t we?” Lyall asks, brow furrowed, genuinely confused rather than accusing.
Remus nods shakily. “Yeah—umm…” He lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping as the truth presses in. “You see,” Remus begins, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, nerves buzzing under his skin. “Sirius and I—we aren’t exactly… engaged yet.”
“Oh,” his mother responds, eyebrows lifting. “I see.”
“Yeah… I’m… planning on proposing… soon,” he admits sheepishly, gaze dropping to the counter.
For a heartbeat, he braces himself.
Instead, both his parents’ faces light up, warmth flooding the room so quickly it makes his chest ache. Pride and love swell inside him, thick and overwhelming. Remus is so lucky to have his parents, his loving, supportive parents. Not many people have that.
“Oh, Remus,” Hope breathes, her voice breaking just a little.
Lyall lets out a soft laugh of surprise. “Well, that explains it.”
Before he can respond, Remus is enveloped in a hug—first his mother, arms tight and fierce around his shoulders, then his father joining in, solid and grounding. He hugs them back just as hard, laughter bubbling up despite himself as relief washes through him. A smile dissolves across his face, unbidden and wide.
Eventually, they pull back, though Hope keeps her hands on his arms, like she isn’t quite ready to let go.
“We are so happy for you, sweetheart,” Hope says, tears gathering in her eyes. “This is wonderful news.”
He blushes immediately, heat creeping up his cheeks. “Thanks, Mum.”
Lyall nods, clapping a hand firmly against Remus’s shoulder. “We really are happy for you son—”
“I know, Dad—” Remus states, cutting his father off, voice soft but sure.
His father hums, withdrawing his hand. “I always thought Sirius would be the one to ask,” he admits thoughtfully.
Hope nods along. “Same here—he seems like the type that would.”
Remus’s heart aches all over again, sharp and familiar. The memories of his conversations with his friends fill his mind—Lily’s persuasion, Mary’s teasing, James’s awkward shovel talk, the quiet truth underneath all of it. He exhales slowly, grounding himself.
“Yeah, well—” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing it lightly as he gathers the courage to say it out loud. “Sirius openly declares his love for me, every single day. I thought that—maybe—I could show him how much I love him.”
His parents exchange a look before turning back to him, their smiles soft, touched, a little sad in the way that speaks of understanding rather than disappointment. They nod.
“And, there’s nothing against that, dear,” his mother says gently. “I’m just… very proud of you.”
Emotion lodges thickly in his throat. He smiles at her, small but sincere.
“Thanks, Mum.”
The snow keeps falling outside, quiet and steady, and for the first time in days, Remus feels like he can breathe.
Remus is running around the flat absolutely petrified. He’s scurrying from room to room, heart hammering wildly in his chest, checking and rechecking every little thing—straightening cushions that are already straight, adjusting candles by millimetres, fussing over details no one but him would ever notice.
Everything has to be perfect. It needs to be perfect.
He stops abruptly, breath catching, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror by the wardrobe. For a second, he barely recognises the man staring back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit jacket, neatly pressed, a light grey knitted sweater underneath, black pants, and his brown leather boots polished to a soft shine. His hair is tidy, parted carefully, curls behaving for once.
Remus hopes he looks nice. He’s never really been into fashion the way Sirius is. Sirius usually picks out all his clothes for him anyway—hovering nearby, tilting his head, making sure everything matches just right.
But Sirius isn’t here—not yet, at least. He’s still on his way home from work, and Remus has to surprise him with… well. Everything.
Letting out a shaky breath, Remus smooths his palms down the front of his jacket, grounding himself in the texture of the fabric. He gives his reflection one last, uncertain look before turning away and exiting the bedroom. He stops at the bedside table, fingers hovering for half a second before reaching into the drawer and pulling out the small black velvet box. The weight of it in his hand feels enormous.
His heart begins to race, faster now. The palms of his hands sweat. His nerves spike sharply, anxiety curling tight in his chest. Everything’s going to be fine, Remus reassures himself. Everything is going to be just fine.
Though he’s not entirely sure he believes it.
Stepping out of their shared bedroom, Remus makes his way into the kitchen. The flat is quiet, almost eerily so, every sound amplified by his nerves. He glances down at his watch—the one his father gave him—eyes flicking over the time. Sirius is going to be home any minute.
Any minute now.
Remus reaches for the bouquet of flowers he bought on the way home, fingers curling carefully around the stems, then grabs the box of fancy French chocolates beside it. He knows Sirius is going to love them. He hopes Sirius is going to love them.
He stands there awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, flowers in one hand, chocolates in the other, staring at the front door of their flat. Waiting. Just waiting. His foot taps lightly against the floor without him realising it.
The sound of a key sliding into the lock pulls Remus sharply from his thoughts. His head snaps up, breath catching in his throat as the door opens.
Sirius steps inside—and Remus’s heart stutters painfully in his chest.
He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it. The most stunning, breath-taking man Remus has ever met—and will ever meet. Sirius pauses just inside the doorway, bag still slung over his shoulder, coat half shrugged off.
Then he stops completely.
His brows knit together as he studies Remus, confusion flickering across his face. The look alone is enough to dull Remus’s confidence, doubt sinking its teeth in. Still, he forces himself to smile—wide, enthusiastic, hopeful.
“Happy Valentine’s day, love,” Remus says, his voice shaking slightly with nerves as he pushes the flowers and chocolates toward Sirius.
Sirius stares at the items in his hands, blinking once, then twice. He looks back up at Remus, shock written plainly across his face. He smiles softly, but it looks almost staged—like he isn’t quite sure what expression he’s meant to wear.
That manages to shatter Remus’s heart.
“I—what?” Sirius responds, clearly confused. He steps forward, carefully taking the flowers and chocolates from Remus’s hands. “What’s all this—” He cuts himself off, eyes lifting to Remus’s face, searching. “You’ve never celebrated Valentine’s day before…” Sirius trails off, mumbling more to himself than to Remus.
Remus nods slowly, a small ache blooming in his chest. He feels disheartened by Sirius’s reaction—but he pushes through it anyway. He has to.
“I know,” he admits softly, catching Sirius’s gaze and holding it. “I know I’ve never done anything for Valentine’s day for you—and, for that, I’m sorry.”
Sirius looks at him in a way Remus knows he’ll never forget. Something raw and tender flickers in his grey eyes.
“That’s okay, Remus,” Sirius replies, voice barely above a whisper. He looks back down at the flowers and chocolates, fingers tightening slightly around them. He smiles to himself then—small and genuine, the kind of smile that always makes Remus’s heart soar.
“I was hoping to change that,” Remus adds, adjusting his suit jacket, straightening his back as he steels himself.
Grey eyes lift again. Sirius raises an eyebrow, like he’s only just now really seeing Remus. His gaze drags slowly—painfully slowly—down his body and back up again, taking in every detail.
He smirks. “Well, don’t you look nice.”
Remus chuckles warmly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “You better look this good too, you only have—” He glances down at his watch again, then back up. “Forty minutes before we leave.”
Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding,” he says, excitement creeping into his tone.
Remus shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not. So, hurry up.”
Sirius nods immediately, carefully placing the flowers into a vase and setting them on the counter before darting off toward their room, excitement practically buzzing off him as he goes.
Forty-two minutes pass before Sirius finally emerges from their bedroom.
Remus barely registers the sound of the door opening. When he looks up and actually sees him, the breath is punched clean from his lungs. His heart stutters painfully, like it forgets how to beat.
Sirius stands there, framed by the hallway light, looking like he’s stepped straight out of one of Remus’s dreams.
Remus’s eyes trail helplessly down Sirius’s body, drinking him in. The way his clothes sit just right, the way confidence clings to him without ever tipping into arrogance. He looks… good. Too good. Beautiful, sexy—every good-looking word used to describe something, Sirius is it. He embodies it. Absolutely gorgeous.
Remus doesn’t even realise he’s staring until his chest tightens and the words tumble out of him, unfiltered.
“Wow,” Remus says, sounding breathless. “Don’t you look…”
“Good?” Sirius fills in, practically buzzing with excitement, a grin already pulling at his lips.
Remus chuckles lightly, nodding once. “Better than good.”
Sirius’s smile softens at that. Remus’s gaze settles on his face, lingering there like it always does. A flush creeps across Sirius’s porcelain cheeks, dusting over the bridge of his nose, along his jaw, blooming all the way to his ears. He looks adorable—radiant and shy and impossibly loved all at once.
Remus feels something warm curl low in his chest. He stretches out an arm for Sirius to take. “Ready to go?”
Sirius doesn’t hesitate. “Yep,” he says, immediately looping his arm through Remus’s.
Remus grabs their coats, helps Sirius into his, fussing just enough to earn an amused huff. He wraps the scarf snugly around Sirius’s neck, fingers lingering there for half a second longer than necessary. He knows the weather’s colder than it should be. He also knows Sirius lets him do this because it’s Remus.
Remus opens the door for him, watching Sirius step out of the flat with the biggest smile on his face, like the night is already everything he hoped it would be.
Dinner at the restaurant is loud, warm, overflowing with people. Remus still cannot believe he had to book this restaurant months in advance. It’s completely ridiculous. Candlelight flickers between them, reflecting in Sirius’s eyes every time he laughs, every time he talks animatedly with his hands.
Remus memorises it all.
He watches Sirius take the final sip of his wine, their plates long since cleared. His own stomach is pleasantly full, but it’s worth every penny. Seeing Sirius’s face light up when they walked in—eyes wide, mouth parted in awe—that image is burned permanently into Remus’s heart.
“Would you like to go get some dessert?” Remus asks, folding over the cheque book and handing it back to the waiter.
Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up, not for the first time that night. “Dessert? Really?”
Remus nods easily. “Yeah, of course. Where would you like to go?”
“Mmm,” Sirius hums, tilting his head as he thinks. “Oh! How about that small little ice cream parlor?”
Remus chuckles, already picturing it. “Alright,” he says, standing and offering his hand. “Let’s go.”
They leave the ice cream parlor with cold fingers and warm hands, cones clutched carefully. Remus gets a scoop of mint choc chip and a scoop of chocolate; Sirius gets two scoops of strawberry, grinning like it’s the best decision he’s made all day.
They walk arm-in-arm, the quiet hum of the city wrapping around them, sharing bites of laughter between mouthfuls of ice cream.
“Thank you,” Sirius says quietly.
Remus swallows his bite. “Whatever for?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Sirius stops walking, turning to stare at him with wide eyes, like Remus has completely missed something obvious. “For tonight. It’s been fun.”
Remus’s heart engulfs in flames. The warmth spreads fast and suffocating, burning away every fear he’s been carrying up until this point.
“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he says simply. “I wanted to do this. I’m just glad you had fun.”
Sirius smiles, and the expression is soft and conflicted—joy tangled with something tender and aching. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Remus smiles back, threading his arm through Sirius’s again. They keep walking, the sound of passing cars and distant laughter filling the spaces between them.
When their ice creams are finished, Remus takes Sirius’s hand in his own. Their gloved fingers interlock, holding tight, grounding. He guides them into the park, the path illuminated by soft lamplight and moonshine.
The sky above them is impossibly clear.
“Look—” Remus says, pointing upward. “Clear night.”
Sirius hums, tilting his head back. “It is, isn’t it?”
Remus pulls his gaze from the sky and looks at Sirius instead. Grey eyes sparkle under the full moon, bright and endless and home. As Remus stares at him, something settles deep in his bones.
This is where he wants to be.
He takes Sirius’s hands, drawing his attention away from the stars. Sirius looks at him, confused but trusting.
It’s now or never.
“Sirius—” Remus starts, every carefully rehearsed word evaporating instantly. “I need you to know just how much you mean to me.”
Sirius’s eyebrows furrow. “Of course I know how much I mean to you,” he says, confusion threading his voice.
Remus exhales, shaking his head. He lifts a hand to cup Sirius’s cheek. “No, I don’t think you do—”
“What—” Sirius stops short, grey eyes going wide.
Remus drops to one knee.
The world seems to go very, very still.
His hand leaves Sirius’s face and slips into his pocket, fingers trembling as they find the small black box. When he pulls it free, Sirius’s breath audibly catches.
Sirius’s mouth parts, stunned. His eyes fill immediately, glassy with an emotion so raw it nearly knocks Remus over.
“Remus,” Sirius whispers, voice breaking—but Remus cuts him off.
He takes Sirius’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Sirius,” he says, swallowing hard. “You… are everything I could ever dream of. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for me. I will never not know, the depth of your love—”
He opens the ring box.
The silver ring catches the moonlight, simple and perfect and Sirius. Remus looks from it back up to Sirius, watching his eyes flicker wildly between the ring and his face, like he can’t quite believe either of them are real.
“But, I know you still question every single action of mine. I know you think I don’t love you—or, not nearly as much as you. And, this, right here—” Remus gestures to the box. “Is proof against that. This is proof of how much I love you. This is proof that I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Growing old with you. Spending every last second with you.”
Tears spill freely now, tracking down Sirius’s flushed cheeks. His hand shakes in Remus’s grip.
“I don’t want anyone else Sirius, but you. Nobody can make me happier than you do. Loving you brings me more joy, more life, than I ever thought possible. This is proof of that. This is proof, I love you, Sirius. Because I love you so, so much.”
Remus exhales, shakily, feeling everything all at once. His voice is thick with emotions.
“So, I am asking, will you marry me?”
Sirius doesn’t hesitate—not really. His breath hitches, chest rising sharply, and he nods, fast and desperate, like his body answers before his heart can fully catch up.
“Yes,” he says, voice breaking. “Yes, Remus. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The relief that crashes through Remus is dizzying.
He stands quickly, hands shaking as he slides the ring free. Sirius pulls off his glove without being asked, offering his hand like it’s sacred. Remus slips the ring onto his finger, sealing something that’s been true for a long time.
Sirius looks up at him, eyes shining, cheeks wet with tears.
“I love you,” Remus whispers.
“I love you, too,” Sirius replies, laughing through tears.
Remus cups Sirius’s face, his other hand settling at his waist. Sirius grips the front of Remus’s jacket, the other hand curling behind his neck, pulling him close.
Their lips meet, soft and attainable. With so much love pouring between them, pouring deep into the kiss. Sealing it, with everything they have.
They kiss under the stars, no longer as boyfriends, but as fiancés.
The proof of their love, settling in the space between them.