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Remus is a light sleeper, something he’s had to come to terms with throughout the course of his life. He envies people who can sleep through thunderstorms, who can lie in on a Sunday morning, who can go to bed before everyone else because they can pass out through the sound of people talking.
It takes the smallest little sound for Remus to be pulled back into consciousness: the beep of a microwave, a sweeping car engine in the next street, the crickets in the tree outside. Anything that isn’t white background noise has Remus tossing and turning in bed until the early hours of the morning absolutely hating the fact that this is his life.
Experience has taught Remus that the only thing that helps is working himself to exhaustion and collapsing into bed in a zombie-like state. When he’s that tired, he’s usually capable of getting a somewhat decent night’s sleep, even though louder sounds still wake him up.
Which was why it’s so irritating that the night Remus finishes his new manuscript and is looking forward to the most restful night he’s had in months, a motorbike decides to stop right outside of his house. At twelve-sixteen in the morning.
Remus all but screams in frustration as he wakes up.
Thankfully the engine noise cuts out pretty quickly and Remus feels a brief glimmer of hope that somehow he’ll be able to get back to sleep, but then some prat outside (Remus assumes it’s the owner of the bike) starts singing. Loudly.
“I drove all niiiiiiiiiiight to get to you,” sings the bike-owning-sadist. “Is that alright?”
No, it’s not bloody alright and Remus has to strongly resist the urge to toss one of his heavier books out of the window at him.
“James? Are you there mate? Shit, hold on, I forgot you hate Celine Dion,” says the biker. He has a thick Glaswegian accent and Remus realises what must be happening. James, his neighbour and childhood friend, has mentioned before that his best friend at boarding school is Scottish, but why he’s shown up to see James when James is away in Spain at the moment is beyond him.
Remus briefly considers leaning out of the window to inform the poor guy of the situation but decides against it. Getting out of bed is a sure way to guarantee that he doesn’t get anymore sleep that night. Besides, when no one responds, the biker will eventually work it out.
He hasn’t banked on how persistent the man is though.
The biker launches into a loud and unpredictable medley of pop songs and eighties power ballads that’s so annoying and somehow also completely endearing. Despite himself, Remus finds himself giggling silently when the biker launches straight from ‘Hotline Bling’ into ‘Call Me’ by Blondie and has to strongly resist the urge to take a peek at him when he becomes the only person in the world to ever forget the lyrics to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.
He stops singing after a while and Remus can sense that he’s beginning to lose patience.
“Ah come on, Prongs, ya prick,” the biker huffs after a while. “You said that if I drove all the way to your house, picked up some chinese food on the way, stood outside your window and serenaded you, you’d finally introduce me to your hot writer friend. I’ve done everything you’ve asked so if you could let me in anytime this year I’d appreciate it.”
Remus’ heart pounds against his ribcage. He’s sure James would have mentioned if another of his friends was a writer, so does this mean that he’s the ‘hot writer friend’? And did this man really drive all the way to Surrey from Scotland on a motorbike just to meet him? No, he knows for a fact that James’ Scottish friend lives in London because that’s who he stays with whenever he goes there. London is still an hour’s drive from here though and the knowledge does funny things to Remus’ heart.
He knows that he can’t not go talk to the biker now and he swings himself out of bed to open his window.
“Ah thank fuck, I was beginning to think that you –” the biker cuts out as he realises his mistake. “You’re not James.”
“No, he lives next door,” Remus explains calmly. It’s a difficult thing because the biker turns out to be gorgeous. He has long dark hair, a faint dusting of stubble over a roguish smile and he’s wearing bike leathers. Remus is finding it very difficult to maintain composure.
“This is the address he gave me though,” says the biker. “Are you sure he doesn’t live here?”
“Pretty sure,” says Remus. “I’ve lived here my whole life and James has lived next door pretty much his whole life. Perhaps it was a typo?”
“Perhaps,” says the biker. “Which side next door did you say he was?”
“To the left at number sixteen, but he’s not here at the moment,” says Remus.
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“He’s on holiday in Spain,” says Remus. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, he definitely did not,” says the biker, pulling a hand down his face in frustration. “Well, for what it’s worth, my name is Sirius and it was nice to meet you.”
“Remus. It was nice to meet you too.”
Sirius, who was in the middle of turning to walk to his bike, freezes in place.
“Remus?” he asks. “As in Remus Lupin, James’ writer friend?”
“I’m pretty sure,” says Remus, and in a sudden rush of boldness he tries his hand at flirting. “Although I think the term you used earlier was ‘hot writer friend’. Unless you’ve changed your mind now that you’ve seen me in person?”
“No, no of course not, I just didn’t recognise you in the…” says Sirius and his eyes grow wide as he realises what he’s just said. “Shit, you heard me say that just then?”
“You sort of preluded it with a bout of ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ from Grease,” says Remus with an apologetic grin. “It was a bit hard to miss.”
“Oh god, I’ve just worked out what’s happening and James is an evil genius,” says Sirius and when Remus gives him a confused look, Sirius continues. “Don’t you see? All of this was done on purpose. Getting me here even though he’s in bloody Spain, giving me the wrong address. Telling me to serenade him. Even the fucking Chinese food. I should have known when he asked for beef chow mein instead of sweet-and-sour pork.”
“Beef chow mein?” asks Remus. “He hates it. I keep trying to get him to try it because it’s my favourite. I don’t see why… oh.”
The penny drops and Remus realises that despite Remus’ insistence over the years that he hates being set-up, that’s exactly what James has done anyway.
“Fuck. Give me a second, I’m coming down,” says Remus, throwing on a hoodie and slippers and rushing down to the front door. He opens it to see an awkwardly-smiling Sirius, even more gorgeous up close. He's feeling nervous and giddy and it’s heightened by the smell of the food from the plastic bag Sirius is clutching.
Remus’ stomach rumbles loudly and he realises that he had been so busy before he went to bed that he’d completely forgotten to eat.
“Hungry?” Sirius chuckles and Remus nods. “Look, you really can say no if you’d rather not, but I’ve got all this food now and it’s going to be cold by the time I get home. Would you…? I mean, not that I’m trying to just invite myself into your house, I’ll go if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I’d love some,” smiles Remus, taking the bag from Sirius. “Come inside.”
He takes the food through to the living room, offers Sirius tea and the two of them settle onto Remus’ comfortable sofa. From there it’s almost like magic. They couldn’t be more different and yet somehow their taste in music, series and movies is so similar. Though they talk about anything and everything, Remus learns that Sirius is a musician and that he’s working two jobs to support his dream. Remus, in turn, tells Sirius about why being a writer means to much to him. Sirius talks about breaking ties with his emotionally abusive parents. Remus tells Sirius that his parents left him the house in their will.
There’s a natural rhythm to their conversation and the more they talk, the more grateful he is for James being a devious bastard. Who knows if this would have happened without his help?
When Remus glances at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s quarter to four, he wonders if he’s ever experienced a quicker three-and-a-half hours in his life.
“Oh god, is that the time?” says Sirius, standing up from the sofa in Remus’ living room after his fourth or fifth cup of tea. “You should have said something! I’m sure you’re ready to get rid of me so you can actually get some sleep. You’ve been amazing, though, thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” says Remus warmly and then frowns concernedly. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright driving home so late though? It’s nearly four in the morning.”
“Yeah,” shrugs Sirius. “The ride home won’t take long.”
“It’s an hour away and you look exhausted,” says Remus. “Seriously, I’d rather you just kipped on my couch and drove through tomorrow. I’ll even throw in some breakfast if that helps.”
“I… alright, yeah,” smiles Sirius. “That’d be great, thanks.”
He gets Sirius some spare sleep clothes, a toothbrush and a towel and shows him where the bathroom is, wondering if letting a relative stranger sleep in his house is proof that the sleep deprivation is actually turning him crazy. However, when Sirius emerges from the bathroom a short while later, with damp hair and Remus’ old white T-shirt stretched tightly across his much broader chest, he decides he doesn’t care.
“I, er, I’ve set out a few blankets and a pillow for you,” says Remus, struggling to look anywhere but the massive expanse of Sirius’ torso. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I’ll be sure to. Goodnight, Remus,” says Sirius. And with a small, nervous smile he leans forward and gives Remus a chaste kiss. It’s over as suddenly as it happens and before Remus has a chance to respond, Sirius is downstairs. He traces his fingers over his lips with an incredulous smile, hardly daring to believe that any of that just happened.
He owes James big time.
Remus practically floats back to his bed, climbs under his covers, falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow and, in a lifetime first, sleeps straight through till noon.