Flight 143

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31421180.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, james potter/lily evans potter (background),
Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes (background)
Character: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans Potter, Marlene
McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald, Peter Pettigrew,
Alphard Black
Additional Tags: Exes, Uncle Alphard Lives, Gay Alphard Black, reunited, Childhood
Love, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Welsh Remus Lupin, Gay
Sirius Black, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Modern Marauders (Harry Potter),
Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Sirius Black, Indian James
Potter, Happy Ending, Good Peter Pettigrew, chapters named after
taylor swift lyrics, sirius black fell in love first, he's crazy bout remus
lupin, as he should, Latina Marlene McKinnon, Brazilian Marlene
McKinnon, Getting Back Together, Welsh Dorcas Meadowes, This Gets
Deep lol, Blame Sirius Black For Loving Remus Lupin So Much,
Flashbacks, they are in love, When I say "In Love" I Mean IN LOVE, it's
crazy, They'd Easily Die For Each Other, These Bitches Are Soulmates
I'm Telling You, Exes to Lovers
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-05-20 Updated: 2021-09-17 Chapters: 14/16 Words:
66348

Flight 143
by thebiinbitch

Summary

They met when they were eleven. They fell in love when they were thirteen. When they are
twenty-five, they meet again after half a decade. The only thing is — they'll have to sit
together throughout an entire flight.

Notes

i think i subconsciously kinda got inspired by Liebestraum

by lunchbucket when i thought of this fic. it's my absolute favourite modern muggle au.
read it. i'm begging you.
the plot will be completely different, but i just thought i'd say this. :)

also!
- all chapters are named after taylor swift lyrics because i’m that kind of gay swiftie. leave
me aLONE.
- the flashbacks are always the ones in italics and on the center. they are in a backward
chronological order, so the first one is the most recent one, and so it goes. there are i
believe one or two chapters where the flashbacks in the middle of the chapters are not
chronological - but the ones in the beginning of the chapters will always follow after one
another.

that’s all! hope you enjoy :)

 I — We Were Both Young When I First Saw You

“He’s not coming back, James.”

“But Padfoot—”

“No.”

“Sirius, if you two just tal—”

“No. No, and no. He’s not coming back.”

Deep down, he thought he was.

But he never did.

***

Sirius Black is not the brightest person.

Well, perhaps he is being too hard on himself. Perhaps he’s being too humble.

He looks over to the mass of blonde hair laying on the pillow beside him.

Yeah, maybe sleeping with your next-door neighbour after getting wine drunk out of his mind
because—hypothetically—his laptop claimed to be out of storage and he had to go over all his
stuff. Deleting, deleting, keeping, deleting. And, maybe—not that it happened—but maybe he
stumbled across... pictures. And other pictures. And some others. Aaand a couple others. Maybe
that wasn't the smartest decision he has ever made.

Caradoc grumbles in his sleep beside him.

Yup, not the brightest person at all. Definitely not.

And maybe not the most responsible, either, being that his phone has been vibrating for the past
half hour and he hasn’t even bothered to grab it from his nightstand. Probably Marlene texting him
about the amazing hookup she had last night, like she always did.

He wishes he could say the same.

And then it starts ringing. He ignores it. And rings again. Nope. Ringing again. What the fuck does
Marlene want?! It’s probably, like, seven in the morning. Leave me alone in this misery.

And it rings again.

Fucking Christ.

PRONGS, it says. Hmph. 9:23AM, it says. Hmph, indeed.

“Hey.”

“Where the fuck are you?!” James demands.

“In... bed?” he says, frowning a bit in bemusement. “It’s not even ten in a Saturday morning.”
“Yes. And your flight is at eleven, you idiot.”

He sits up at the second. “What?!”

“Your flight. That you’re taking. This morning. In an hour.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget,” James says. Sirius could practically hear him sliding his glasses up his
forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sirius scoffs, already drawing his legs out of bed. The moment his feet hit the floor, all his insides
churned. So much for buying all types of expensive wines when he still drinks the same £1.75 one
from Tesco. Yes, £1.75. Leave him alone. “Of course I didn’t forget! I was just... confused for a
mere second.”

Silence.

And then, “Who’s on your bed right now?”

“My neighbour.”

“Across or down the hall?”

“Across.”

“Figured.”

Sirius almost laughs. Maybe he would’ve if he wasn’t too preoccupied with being late to the
airport, hungover, with someone to kick out— packing. Holy fucking shit, packing.

“I packed for you on Thursday,” James tells through the phone, reading his mind. “The luggage is
inside your closet, just pack a backpack. I trust you can do that in less than fifteen minutes?”

Sirius sighs with relief, almost crying with thankfulness for his best friend. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I’m down here. Just come already.”

Clicks off the phone. Runs a hand through his hair. It feels frizzy, and messy, and full of knots, and
he doesn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror.

He practically jumps inside the pair of black jeans and black t-shirt that were scattered on the
ground from the previous night, and heads to the bathroom.

What. The. Fuck.

And he won’t even have time to shower.

If God actually exists like Mother used to claim so much, he definitely has his favourites. Sirius is
not one of them.

He grabs all his cosmetics, that thank fuck were already in the bag he always keeps in his
bathroom, so he didn’t have to organize anything. Grabs his laptop, chargers, wallet, his dignity,
and shoves everything inside his backpack.
Puts on the same old black pair of black Vans, grabs his leather jacket, and heads to the door.

And he forgot there was someone sleeping on his fucking bed, yes. Someone who hasn’t moved a
muscle throughout all this chaos.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s not gonna bother waking the bloke up. He grabs a notepad on his kitchen
counter.

Had to leave. I have a flight to catch LOL. Eat something if you’d like, though there’s not much I
reckon. You can use the loo, too. You’ve been here before, you know where everything is. Just
don’t steal anything. Pretty please. Cheers.

(Please leave the key under the mat.) (For god ’s sake don’t throw a party while I’m away.)

– Sirius.

And leaves.

“What train ran over you?” James asks teasingly once Sirius steps on the sidewalk, but when Sirius
raises an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes, “Forget I asked.”

He climbs inside the passenger seat of James’ BMW. “Let’s hit the road, babe!”

“Funny,” James says, starting the car, not laughing a single bit.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“I’ve been here for over an hour waiting for you like a bloody chauffeur.”

“You were the one who volunteered to take me to the airport,” Sirius says. “I could’ve just gone on
my bike.”

“And just leave it on the parking lot for two weeks?” James raises an eyebrow.

Sirius shrugs. “Could’ve gotten a taxi.”

James looks over at him, his smile forming dimples. “But I’m a good friend.”

Sirius grins. “You sure are, Prongsie.”

James sighs, returning his eyes to the road. “A good friend that will be killed by his fiancée if he
gets a ticket.”

He tuts, “Lilibeth won’t kill you. This is an emergency.”

“Caused by your lack of responsibility.”

“You’re such a dad already.”

James points a stern finger at him, while still not taking his eyes off the road before him, and
switches his voice into a very earnest one. “You are in great trouble, mister.”

Sirius squints, a smirk already blooming on his lips. “Eh, you’ll have to leave the scolding to Lily.”

James snorts, and they remain in silence. Sirius hates silence when driving.

He pulls out the AUX cord, and plugs his phone in.
“Nothing too punk rock,” James warns. “Really not in the mood.”

“I’m not playing Katy Perry.”

“Phoebe Bridgers?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

James grunts, and sighs. “Fine. But nothing too punk rock.”

“Yes, dad.”

He decides to just shuffle through his songs. To James’ luck, Everybody Wants To Rule The World
by Tears For Fears plays through the car’s speakers.

And James grins that cat-who-just-got-the-cream grin, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel,
singing incredibly out of tune, word for word.

Sirius glances at the time on his phone. 9:57AM.

“James, bloody floor this bitch, I won’t get there in time.”

And he does, and they’re practically flying through the cars, so much that Sirius has to hold onto
his seat while James mumbles, “Lily’s gonna kill me, Lily’s gonna kill me,” under his breath.

“How’s Pete?” he asks after a couple minutes once they got used to the speed, and Planet Telex by
Radiohead is playing. Sirius remembers not liking Radiohead, even when he was first introduced to
it. But then it grew on him, throughout the years. Well, maybe it wasn’t specifically the band that
had grown on him. Maybe he just liked the smile that he saw every time he played their music.

He almost changes the song.

“He’s good,” James answers. “Came over last night. Wants to adopt another cat.”

Sirius chuckles. “Does he?”

“Yup. You know how he is. If he could, he would have a whole bloody zoo inside his flat. Never
seen someone love animals as much as he does.”

“Sweet thing. He really would.”

Sirius pulls out his phone, which was buzzing inside his pocket.

Texts from Marlene.

Marlene: good morning pumpkin

Marlene: had great sex last night

Marlene: thought i’d let you know

Sirius: thanks for the info, cherry pie

Marlene: are u at the airport yet? u should be boarding soon right

 Sirius: uh...

Marlene: jesus christ you’re so irresponsible

Sirius: james already had his go at me for that, thanks

Marlene: always knew potter had at least one decent brain cell

Marlene: text me when you land

Sirius: awww she careees

Marlene: fuck off

Marlene: xx

“Oh no, not a fucking twenty-three minute song,” James complains. Sirius clicks his phone off,
sliding it back inside his pocket and glancing up at the car’s display. He goes cold. Echoes, by Pink
Floyd.

He loved Pink Floyd. Sirius has been avoiding Pink Floyd songs for the past five years for that
same reason.

“Put another one,” James says. “We’re almost there anyway.”

Sirius immediately does. It would be my pleasure.

He needs to do a good cleansing through his songs on Spotify.

Sometimes he would allow himself to listen to his favourites songs. He never told anyone, not even
James, not even Marlene. They would find him pathetic. Maybe he was a bit pathetic.

They all had already got over his leaving. It’s been five years, after all. And Sirius did too, don’t
get him wrong, but sometimes—and only sometimes, when he was looking through old pictures on
his laptop, for example—his chest would hurt, and his stomach would go hollow, as if his bags had
just passed through the doorway, and he had just shut the door after him.

Yes, maybe he really was a bit pathetic.

You Only Live Once by The Strokes played next, and he breathes a long, and deep breath.

They were almost at Heathrow Airport, and he would get to spend two weeks with his uncle in
New York. He would be fine. He’s been fine.

The clock marks 10:27 when James parks the car. They get his luggage out of the trunk, hug
goodbye, Sirius promises to call and text and let James know when he lands. And then he runs. He
runs like he’s never run in his entire life, because fucking Christ why is the terminal at the other
fucking side of the airport.

“This is the last call for Flight 143, destining to JFK, New York City.”

Fucking hell. He is still going through security.

And he runs. And runs more. He really should start working out.
He reaches the gate. But they’re closing it.

“Please, please, just let me in,” he begs the attendant.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the we can’t let anyone else in anymore.”

“Please. My uncle is sick. I have to visit him. I can’t miss it. This might be my last opportunity to
see him.” Pfft. Liar. Alphard has never been so healthy.

But.

“Sir, I really can't—”

“Please.”

The attendant analyses him, and he tucks his hair behind his ear, flashes her a coy smile. He knows
he's charming, and he knows she'll give in.

Sirius Black has learned very early on how he can get anything he wants by a bat of eyelashes.

And she sighs, opening the door. “Ok. Ok, just let me see your ticket.”

And he’s in. He’s in. Jesus Christ, he’s in.

He hopes Alphard doesn’t suddenly get sick now. That would be funny, at the very least.

The airplane is full. Exploding. Could not take another person. As soon as he steps inside the craft,
he can already hear two babies crying. Two. Jesus Christ.

Ok. Seat 22D. Window. The seat is at the back of the plane, which he loathes, because it’s where
you feel the turbulence the most, but at least he has the window.

There are still a few people in the aisle, settling into their seats and arranging their luggages in the
overhead compartment.

It seems to take him forever to get to his seat, making his way through, “Sorry,” “Excuse me,” and
“Can you, please— thank you.”

As he gets to his seat, he can see someone is sitting at it. Great. They probably thought it was
empty, and claimed it for themself. He already prepared himself for the awkward, “Uh, this is my
seat,” and the rather embarrassing shuffling in the aisle.

The Seat-Claimer is bent over, their head hidden between seat 21D and their legs. Probably getting
something in their back, Sirius figures. And well, while that takes place, he settles for getting his
backpack inside the locker overhead. That’ll be easier.

And the compartment is full. Wonderful. Just marvellous. So he shifts, shuffles, arranges stranger’s
luggages and bags around. Come on, there’s no way there isn’t a place for a fucking backpack. It’s
not even that big.

From the corner of his eye, he can see the Seat-Claimer has sat up straighter. It seems to be a guy.

Shuffling, tottering, rearranging—

“Sirius?”
His heart stopped. Everything stopped. Because he knows that voice. He would recognize it
anywhere.

It all happens too fast, and his head snaps at his direction, his eyes bulge out, and— “Remus?” He
bangs his forehead against the compartment.

This is not happening. It’s a dream. Hah, hah. What did he drink last night? Did he just drink? He
must be hallucinating. There’s no possible way.

But suddenly there is, because Remus fucking Lupin, bloody Seat-Claimer is now standing up,
hunched down in the low height of the row’s ceiling.

And, fuck, his forehead hurts. And he looks like an absolute mess. He didn’t even shower. And
Remus Lupin. And Remus Lupin. And Remus, Remus, Remus, and Moony.

Moony.

Oh god, he’s gonna pass out.

“Sirius.”

Yup, he’s absolutely gonna pass out. Maybe when he wakes up he won’t be there anymore. Should
he try it? Maybe he could just fake it. Fake it ‘til you make it, isn’t that what they say? Does it
work when you want—when you need—to pass out? There must be a way—

“Sirius, are you ok?”

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to, please, take your seat.”

Oh, ok, there’s suddenly a flight attendant here too. Ok. No, ok, fine. Hah, hah.

Seat.

“You’re on my seat,” he croaks out, much higher than he had intended to.

“What?”

“My seat. I’m on 22D.” He pulls out his ticket—like a fucking idiot—and points to where “22D” is
written.

Remus blinks, and confusion takes over his face, but only for a quick moment, and then he blinks
again, “Oh. Oh, y-yeah, right.”

Awkward shuffling. With Remus Lupin.

God doesn’t exist, Mother. This is the proof.

Yeah.

And what now? He should, what, just sit? He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back inside the
airport, apologize profusely to the attendant who let him in the flight, “I’m so sorry. You should’ve
made me lose the flight. My uncle is not even sick! He’s not dying! I’m sorry. Can you open the
gates again?”

But he sits. He slumps pathetically down on the seat. And he doesn’t know what to do with
himself. And Remus is still standing in the aisle, looking down at him.
He’s not gonna look up at him, he’s not gonna look up at him, he’s gonna look up at h— he looks
up at him.

God. He hasn’t changed a single bit, now has he.

Sirius Black met Remus Lupin when they were eleven years old. At first, Remus Lupin was
awkward waves, and flushed cheeks and short words. And then, one time Sirius Black told him a
joke — the silliest of all. An eleven year-old boy joke. And Remus Lupin laughed an eleven year-
old boy laugh. And he laughed, and he laughed more, and Sirius Black couldn’t understand what
was so funny. I mean, he thought the joke was funny, but not that funny. And Remus Lupin turned
into big smiles and twinkling eyes. He never lost the flushed cheeks, though.

And Sirius Black had decided, right there and then, he wanted to give him the sun— no, no, not the
sun. The moon. The sun was too boring. Unoriginal. Everyone wanted the sun.

But Remus Lupin deserved the moon. And Sirius Black was determined to give it to him. For
fuck’s sake, he would’ve climbed up to the fucking sky and grabbed the moon himself.

Because there was always something about Remus Lupin that reminded Sirius Black of the moon.
How it hung differently from the sky every night. How it was the most beautiful at the latest of the
night, without the pollution of window lights, when all bodies were asleep. No one would really
get to see the moon shine the entire night. Few cared enough. Though, as for Sirius Black, he
would’ve stayed awake. Sleep be damned. He wanted to stare at the moon. He wanted to stare at
his Moony.

Sirius Black was supposed to be the stars—Canis Major, the Dog Star. But Remus Lupin had given
him the sun, too. The sun shone through him, inside of him, since he were eleven years old.

Remus blinks, as if he has finally woken up, and mumbles a, “yeah,” taking his seat.

Why are the rows so fucking narrow? An inch, and they would be touching. Perhaps touching
Remus Lupin would burn, or electrify you. Sirius doesn’t know if he’d mind.

Sirius fastens his seatbelt, but he doesn’t think it’s only for the flight.
 II — Just Because You're Clean Don't Mean You Don't Miss It
Chapter Notes

thank you so much for the love i've been receiving on this! i love all of u sm <3

“I’m not coming back, Sirius. If I leave now, I won’t come back,” he said, voice carrying all the
tears his eyes wouldn’t let fall.

Sirius tapped his foot against the hardwood floor, arms folded across his chest. “Then? Leave.”

And he did. Remus picked up his bags, and left, shutting the door after him with a hard bang.

And Sirius didn’t allow himself to cry, or mourn. Because of course Remus would come back.

He would.

Wouldn’t he?

***

Silence. Fuck, so much silence.

The plane took off. About thirty bloody minutes ago. And none of them has said a single word
since. Not even a syllable. Not even a noise.

Sirius glances up at the screen on the back of the seat in front of him. A seven and a half hour
flight. Kill him. Please, just kill him. Where’s the emergency exit? Could he be sued if he just
opened it and jumped out? I mean, he’d be dead, so he couldn’t exactly be sued. Oh, he could jump
out and then they would want to sue him but he’d be dead so they’d have to go after his family.
Oooh, that would be cool. The instructions to open it must be somewhere in the little pamphlet in
the fold—

“So.” Oh, no. “Coincidence.”

He’s trying to make small talk. Remus John Lupin. Small talk.

He always hated sharing the lift with neighbours, taking a taxi with a talkative driver or when
Sirius couldn’t find his wallet to pay the pizza delivery guy and Remus had to distract him while
Sirius hunted about the flat. Sirius secretly always loved it. Remus could come up with the most
insanely random topics to talk about, and Sirius could just listen to him rambling for hours about
how he believes one day we’ll be able to find microcospic extraterrestrial life in our solar system,
and how aliens are probably not as weird looking as Hollywood made us believe them to be.

And now, Sirius suddenly realises, he’s a neighbour. A taxi driver. A pizza delivery guy.

A stranger in the seat next to him in a flight.

He looks up at him, and can see how uncomfortable Remus is, just as him. How his eyebrows are
slightly drawn in, forming a crease in-between them; how his lips are quirked up at the side, but
not in the charming, mischievous way as ever — there’s a difference, Sirius had learned when they
were about fourteen; how his honey eyes—Jesus Christ, his eyes. How could he have forgotten
them?—are a tad out of focus, and darting about, that Remus doesn’t quite know where to look.

He could say so much. He could say, “Coincidence? Mere coincidence, now is it. Coincidence that
you’re here, in London. What the fuck are you doing in London? Why are you in London? And
why are you going to New York? And why are you here? Here, next to me. Why? Moony, why?
And why didn’t you come back?”

“Yeah,” is what he prefers, though.

Remus nods, staring forward, and starts picking at his cuticles. He really is uncomfortable. That
makes two of us.

When would ever sixteen year-old, completely, madly in love Sirius Black imagine he could ever
be uncomfortable in the presence of Remus Lupin? Just the thought of it would’ve been comical.

Where did we go, Remus? What happened to us?

But he would never ask, because he knew the answer to those questions.

“I... you,” Remus breaks the silence. His voice is low, soft and anxious, “you look good. Healthy,
and... and all that.”

Sirius would’ve laughed. Would’ve nudged him and say, “‘Healthy’? Cut the shit, Moons.” And
then Remus would’ve rolled his eyes, and would’ve laughed too, and then Sirius would’ve leaned
in because, god, that laugh, and they would’ve kissed, and kissed, and kiss—

For fuck’s sake, Sirius. It’s been thirty minutes and you’re already a nostalgic, miserable sap.

“Thanks. You look good, too. Healthy.”

Remus’ lips twist at that, Sirius sees. It makes something so old, so rare nowadays, burn inside
him, like butterfly wings flapping inside his stomach, ready to take flight. He feels like a teenage
boy — pre-teen, even. God, they were so young.

“Your hair’s longer,” Remus observes, eyeing the long black locks that reach Sirius’ collarbone.

“Oh, sort of. It’s been this length before, just trying to grow it back.”

“Yeah, I remember. When we were, what, eighteen?”

“Yeah. And then I cut it to my ears.”

Remus chuckles, softly. “You did. I remember your panicking. You started using horse shampoo
after that.”

“And it worked,” Sirius raises an eyebrow.

“It didn’t.”

“Yes, it did.”

“You know it didn’t, Padfoot.” He had a small smile on his lips, but then his eyes bulge out, and
his lips part a little, and he swallows, because fuck, he just said Padfoot.
Remus Lupin just called me Padfoot.

And if Remus looks panicked, then Sirius doesn’t even want to know how he himself looks.

Play it cool, Sirius. Play it casual.

He breathes out, and smirks a little — that smirk he knows Remus will want to wipe off, “It did. I
still use it, by the way.”

Remus blinks, and blinks again, clearly trying to take hold of the rapid switch, and how in the fuck
did Sirius not react to the nickname — if only he knew how Sirius is wondering if he can open the
window, if not the emergency exit. But then the corners of his lips turn up at the slightest, and he
seems more relaxed. “You can’t possibly.”

“Ok, I don’t, but only because it’s too expensive. But it did make my hair grow faster. You know it
did.”

“I think you just wanted to believe it was working because you had to go to a pet shop to get it
every time, and not to Boots.”

“Come on, going to the pet shop was always an experience.”

“Like finding out I’m allergic to cats.”

“And all the dogs you never let me take home.”

“You always wanted to take those huge dogs home, Sirius,” Remus says. “We didn’t have space
for them.”

“They could’ve just slept on the couch.”

Remus arches an eyebrow. “You would’ve wanted them to sleep on the bed with us.”

With us. On the bed. On the bed with us. Even mere minutes of chatting with Remus is like
walking on needles.

He just wanted to talk, he just wanted to hear his voice. The voice that used to scold him whenever
he left a wet towel on the bed; that would explain to him a plot of a book he wasn’t even mildly
interested in, but that he asked about anyway but he loved Remus’ enthusiasm; the voice that
would whisper his name, over and over; that would tell him sweet nothings while running his hand
fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep, and— get it together, Sirius. What the fuck.

Small talk. He could do that. Yeah. Of course he could. I mean, god knows when he’ll see Remus
again—or if he’ll ever see him again. Ok, that hurt a bit. But we gotta stay realistic here. Maybe he
could ask what’s he been up to, or how Hope and Lyall are, why he’s going to New York—

“So why are you going to New York?” Remus asks, and Sirius wonders if one can ever lose the
ability of reading another’s mind. Remus, at least, doesn’t seem to have.

“Oh, just visiting Alphard, really.”

“Oh, so he’s finally moved to New York.”

Sirius nods, letting a small smile bloom on his lips. “Yup. Moved three years ago. Finally settled
somewhere, the coffin-dodger.”
Remus laughs a delicious, heart-squeezing laugh, that Sirius can just feel his eyes sparkling up.
“‘Coffin-dodger,’ Sirius, the man is in his fifties.”

Sirius shrugs, his grin having grown wider now, “Oh, you haven’t seen him. The old man is
crumbling to pieces. Will be biting the dust soon enough.”

And Remus is laughing, and laughing, and someone from the middle row shushes him, and he
burns red, and Sirius can’t help but just stare at him with the biggest smile he has smiled in a really,
really long time, because Jesus Christ, how does he do that? How does he just sit next to him on a
flight and looks at Sirius and laughs at the most unfunny joke and has Sirius like this?

God, he needs to text James. Or, no, not even James, but Marlene. If he texted James right now he
could already predict the, omg omg omg omg no wayyyyyyy!!!! HI MOONY!!! texts. Marlene is
like the therapist. Well, sort of. There’s probably a law that would prohibit her to ever getting a
psychology degree.

But what would she say right now? Maybe something along the lines of, “Sirius, you won’t see him
again. At least for a long while. Just enjoy it,” and, “For the love of god, you idiot, get your shit
together.”

Something like that.

Remus calms down at last, and is practically panting, exhaling heavily as he says, “Well, I suppose
he’s good, then?”

It takes Sirius a second too long to realise they were still talking about Uncle Alphard. He
swallows, and blinks, “He’s good, yeah. He’s good. You know, happy to be living the American
dream.”

Remus snorts, “Yeah, I can only imagine. But I’m glad to hear he’s in New York. I remember he
would always say how much he wanted to move there.”

“He’s having the time of his life. Goes clubbing and all.”

Remus smiles (unnecessary detail, but he smiles so very beautifully), “Oh, does he?”

“Yeah. He’s even living in Greenwich Village, too.”

“Oh, so he’s gone full gay, then.”

“Did you expect anything less from Alphard Black? Of course he’s living in the Village.”

Remus nods, “Of course he is.”

They stay in silence for a moment. Two moments, that turn into three. And,

“I miss him,” Remus says, voice careful and still, “he always had the best advices.”

Missing, longing, yearning... you, you, you, for five years, you.

“He misses you too,” Sirius says. “He adored you. I think he preferred you over me.”

Remus smiles, “Not that it’s hard.”

This time, Sirius does nudge him — lightly, though. Remus giggles, and takes his hand to his
mouth, covering his yawn.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll let you sleep,” Sirius says.

Remus shakes his head, “No, it’s fine, it’s... my mum made me pack some melatonin so I could
sleep on the plane and I took four when I got her—”

“You took four?!”

“Yeah.”

“You do know that’s dangerous, don’t you?”

“It’s not dangerous, it’s just not exactly good for you. And you know how these things never really
work for me.” He does know. “Do you want some? I have a whole bottle of it.”

But before Sirius could say, “It’s fine, I’ll just watch a film,” Remus is already bending down to
get the flask in his backpack.

“Here,” he hands him two pills. “Just take two, it won’t kill you.”

“You are a terrible influence.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, a wicked glint in his eyes that Sirius has to control his jaw not to fall
open because this singular look has to be illegal in at least twenty-three countries. “Nothing you
didn’t know yet, now is it?”

Sirius flashes him a smile, that was intended to be charming but that obviously came out all
crooked and coy and anxious.

He takes the two pills to his mouth, and just straight-up swallows them. Ok, that must’ve looked
cool. He didn’t even need water. And he took the two at once! Oh yes, so cool.

Beside him, Remus is yawning and unfolding the blanket they were given when they got to their
seats, and fixing the little pillow behind his head.

Not gonna care, not gonna care, not gonna care at all. It’s easy. Just put in your earphones and
watch a film. There’s a whole catalog, Sirius. Just pick one and let the guy sleep.

And Remus turns to the other side, facing the aisle, and Sirius picks Troy, ready to feel enraged by
the absolute absurdity Hollywood did when they made Patroclus and Achilles cousins. They were
clearly lovers, for god’s sake. Achilles went on a huge killing hunt because Patroclus simply died.
Because his lover died. They were in love, Hollywood. Ashes buried together and all. You have to
be stupid to possibly think those two were str—

***

“I’m gonna tell him!”

“James, stop!”

“Moony!”

“James, I’m calling Evans, I swear!”

“Moony, come here!”

“What, James?” Remus’ voice called from downstairs in the communal room.
 James glanced at Sirius, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and opened a grin that stretched from
ear to ear.

No, no, no—

He punched Sirius’ stomach, lightly, just to hold him off, and ran down the stairs. Sirius raced
after him.

“Moony!” James was standing in front of Remus, who was nestled with a book on the corner of the
sofa, looking so adorable Sirius just wanted to sit next to him and get him a blanket and some hot
choc— “Sirius told me you look really prett— OW!”

And James is tackled to the ground, with Sirius clapping a hand to his friend’s mouth and vowing
to use that same hand to slap his face because, oh he’s so dead.

“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed in James’ ear, who’s laughing uncontrollably underneath Sirius’
hand.

Honestly, grow up, Sirius thought. We’re twelve. Be mature.

He dared look up, and saw Remus staring down at the two of them with an amused look on his
face. Sirius gave him a smile, and Remus rolled his eyes, returning to his book.

Sirius didn’t miss the scarlet flush on his cheeks, though.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in New York City, JFK International Airport in under
fifteen minutes. Local time is three thirty-four in the afternoon. We wish you a good trip and thank
you for choosing us.”

Sirius is the first one to wake up, and god, he wishes he wasn’t. Because of course. Of fucking
course.

This is a crime scene for a closeted gay teenager in their homophobic household, because it can’t
get much more homosexual than this.

Remus’ head is under his chin, with Sirius’ cheek resting atop it. And it’s not just that, no. Remus’
arm is draped over Sirius’ lap, and Sirius’ own arm is around Remus’ waist. Yes. Yes, please kill
him. And, Jesus, Remus’ breathing is in his collarbone, and he’s just so, so real that Sirius could
stay like this forever.

He lets himself play pretend for a moment, thinking, imagining it’s just another morning, where
he’d whisper, “Moons. Good morning, love.” And would plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

This lasts for about three seconds before Remus wakes up.

“Oh, I-” He starts untangling himself, “I’m sorry, I must’ve... moved in my sleep.”

Sirius laughs an awkward chuckle, “Y-yeah, me too.”

Remus’ lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he closes them and looks away.

Soon after, the plane lands, and it all happens in flashes as they all unfasten their seatbelts, gather
their stuff and leave the aircraft.
And Remus stands up first, hanging his backpack in one shoulder and reaching up at the overhead
compartment to get his carry-on. He looks down at Sirius, who’s still sitting down, trying to gather
his thoughts to leave the fucking plane.

“So,” Remus says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Sirius vaguely nods, and in a second Remus is gone. And he won’t be seeing him soon.

He pulls out his phone, not even caring he doesn’t have an American chip for his phone yet and
that he’ll be paying a fortune for internet right now. He doesn’t care.

Sirius: hi

Sirius: just landed

Sirius: and you wont believe.

Marlene: sirius........
 III — He’s Got His Mother’s Eyes, His Father’s Ambition, I Wonder If He
Knows How Much That I Miss Him
Chapter Notes

oof, this took a while. hi! i've missed this fic so much. i'll admit it, i hate this chapter
for some reason. this is actually my 4th attempt on it, and it's still not doing it for me,
so i apologise in advance. well, anyway!

“—You’re being ridiculous!”

“Oh, I’m the one being ridiculous?!”

“Yes!” Remus cried out. “You’re acting like a madman! Fighting over nothing! God, you’re so
bloody exhausting!”

It was like a punch to the gut, except no one had touched him. Sirius stepped back. He felt as
though he was falling.

So bloody exhausting.

He stared at Remus’ face, who was panting as if he had just run a marathon; lips parted; eyes
wild. He didn’t know him.

Sirius swallowed, and when he spoke, his tone was cold as ice, “I’m sleeping on the couch
tonight.”

This was the beginning of the end.

***

Sirius Black hates stereotypes. They’re stupid, harmful and most of the time, not even true. That is,
of course, when you’re not talking about Alphard Black.

Alphard Black is the epitome of everything an old gay man is imagined to be, and Sirius loves his
uncle immensely for it. Right now, though, is an exception. Right now, he really, really doesn’t.

“Oh, my god, put this down, you fucking lunatic!” Sirius hisses as he approaches his uncle, whose
grin quickly fades away.

Alphard looks down at the poster he’s holding, a frown between his thick grey eyebrows. “What,
you don’t like it? I worked so hard on it.”

The poster in question that Alphard had presumably worked so hard on it reads nothing but:

HERE TO PICK UP A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG GAY MAN!

SIRIUS BLACK

xx uncle Alphie
“It looks like you’re my sugar daddy,” Sirius says.

His uncle grimaces instantly. “What the— why would you say that, no it doesn’t!”

“Yes, it does.”

“But I wrote ‘uncle Alphie’ on the bottom!” the man argues, indicating with his fingers at the
significantly small letters.

“With a silver pen. On white paper. Come on.”

Alphard looks down at the sign, then up at Sirius, down at the sign again, and up at Sirius again,
until he opens the most mischievous grin, hooking an arm around Sirius’ neck and bringing him
into a bone-crushing hug.

“Ah, I’ve missed you, kid,” he says as he ruffles Sirius’ hair, which, by the lack of movement, he
can tell is a complete grease pot. “You know I had to do something.”

“Take this as the last time I’m coming, then,” Sirius says, but he can’t help the grin blooming on
his face.

Alphard laughs, hearty and warm. He claps Sirius’ shoulder, and with his free hand, takes hold of
Sirius’ luggage. “Let’s get out of here, then, because you look like you need a proper shower. And
I hate airport lights. Makes me look old.”

“I’m not even gonna respond to that.”

They walk through the airport, stopping quickly at Starbucks to get Sirius a cup of coffee, and
Alphard doesn’t stop talking the whole way through.

“And summer here, Sirius,” he sighs dreamily, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. Such fun, young
people all around, wearing colourful clothes and colourful hair. It’s brilliant, you’ll love it.”

“We have young people in London too, you do know,” Sirius jokes as they finally sight the exit
doors that lead to the parking lot.

“That’s not what I meant. You know, I went to a Pride parade last month with a friend of mine,
Donna—you’d love her, such a delight of a woman—and, oh, I’ve never seen anything like it.
Marvelous, marvelous. There’s just something, kid. There’s a magic, can’t explain it.”

“Settling for here, then?” Sirius asks, which is pointless, since he knows the answer. His uncle
moved from place to place for years throughout the entirety of Sirius’ teenage years, never stoping
at a place for more than six months. Alphard has been in New York for over three years now, and
Sirius knows he does not plan on leaving.

The man nods, grinning. “Hopefully. Can’t see myself anywhere else anymore, honestly.”

“Not even London?”

“Least of all places there, don’t know how you do it,” he says, flashing Sirius a look that they both
know what he’s referring to. In all honesty, Sirius also doesn’t know how he does it. He can’t
count on his fingers anymore how many times he’s thought of moving, the fear of casually running
into a Black on the street prickling down his spine every time he leaves his flat. But, for some
unknown reason, he’s stayed. Five years ago, it was obviously no mystery, and he wouldn’t have
gone anywhere, but now? He has no reason to still be there — honestly, he has every reason to pull
an Alphard Black and get the fuck out, but perhaps it’s James, and Lily, and Peter, and everyone
else that’s keeping him in the UK, even if without their own knowledge.

And maybe it’s none of them at all.

Maybe it’s hope. Hope.

Not the Lupin one. Well, actually. In a way. Depends on how you put it. You see, Hope Lupin is
the person who birthed the reason to why Sirius might have a buried fleck of hope inside his chest
that makes him not leave London, so really, if you think about it—

He apparently has been quiet for uncharacteristically long, because Alphard nudges his shoulder,
and Sirius sees he didn’t even realise they are no longer inside the airport, the warm breeze of New
York’s July being the only thing capable of moving his hair.

“You alright there?”

Sirius blinks, shaking himself off. “Yeah, yeah, just… just tired, I guess.”

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Alphard asks, and Sirius almost laughs, because actually, uncle, I think
this was the first time in my entire life where I managed to sleep in a flight. Like ever. And the
entirety of the flight, too. Obviously, he doesn’t say this, and prefers to go with a small shrug and a
mumbled “yeah,” but he does come close.

They reach Alphard’s car, a glossy black Range Rover, and everything is great. Perfect. Splendid.

But it would’ve been better if they had just gotten inside the car sooner.

Sirius is polite, despite his raising, and stays behind with his uncle who insisted on being the one to
get his luggage inside the trunk, and he’s leaning against the car when he’s the first one to spot it.
Spot him, matter of fact. And Sirius jolts, because Remus is there, proving that the whole flight
was not just pure hallucination, feet away, looking down at his phone with a furrow between his
eyebrows. And Sirius Black hates his life.

He’d managed to dodge him enough at baggage claim, and every other place from the plane to,
well, here, but clearly he not only hates his life, but his life hates him back.

“What?” Alphard asks bemusedly, straightening his back as he notices Sirius turning abruptly
toward the inside of the car. “What’s going on?”

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, and says through gritted teeth, “Don’t. Do. Anything. Just get inside
the car.”

“Are you trying to kidnap me?”

He glares at the man with desperate eyes. “For the love of god, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

“Sirius, what’s going on?”

“I promise I’ll explain, but let’s just pleas—”

But it’s too late, because Alphard has looked behind Sirius’ shoulder, and he’s squinting behind his
thick tortoiseshell glasses, lifting them up, squinting again, and putting them back on, as if he
simply can’t believe his eyes.

“Is that,” he starts, then gasps, because he decides—to Sirius’ dismay—to believe his eyes, “is that
Remus?”

Sirius grabs him by the elbow and turns the both of them to face the trunk. “Yes, it is, now let’s—”

“What’s he doing here?” Alphard asks, but he looks like an excited child.

“Hell would I know! Let’s go, ok.”

“What do you mean let’s go?—Remus!” And he’s waving. Holy shit, he’s waving as in his arm is
up and he’s swaying it left and right. And Sirius cannot believe the absolute joke that is his
existence and promises himself to apologise to everyone he’s ever hurt in his life as soon as he gets
good internet connection because this is clearly someone getting back at him.

“Remus! Hello! Here!”

“Can you stop?!”

“I haven’t seen him in forever, can’t I at least say hi?”

“No!”

But Alphard is still grinning like a maniac, and Sirius is reminded of why he and James have
always gotten along so well, what with their lack of common sense and ever present grin that
always manage to make Sirius desperately wish for a hole to open up on the ground and swallow
him whole. And, yup, too late, because as Sirius risks a glance at Remus, Remus looks up, sees the
two, and after a moment of hesitation starts making his way to them.

“I’m gonna kill you before life gets a chance to,” Sirius tells his uncle through gritted teeth.

“Be quick, then—Remus, son! Hello!”

Sirius doesn’t know how Remus had gotten there so fast, as he’d seemed a considerable amount of
strides away from them, but he’s here anyway, so let’s just get this over with so he can cave the
hole on the ground himself, since none seems to be opening up for him.

Alphard brings Remus inside of a hug, the same bone-crushing one Sirius had gotten just twenty
minutes ago, though it seems to take a second too long for Remus to react and hug him back,
chuckling awkwardly at all the old-man-claps Alphard gives his back.

“Jesus, look at you!” Sirius’ uncle says to Remus, grinning madly from ear to ear and holding him
by the shoulders. “It’s been so long! You haven’t aged a day, son.”

“So haven’t you,” Remus responds with a fiddly laugh, his cheeks flushed.

“And what were the odds!” Alphard goes on, and Sirius starts planning murder. “In New York, and
we manage to meet. Did you know Sirius was here too?”

Sirius does have a nice face. His mugshot wouldn’t be so bad.

Remus meets Sirius’ eyes fleetingly, and if even possible, his cheeks burn even redder. This is one
of the few times where Remus is blushing and Sirius is not enjoying it.

“N-no, I didn’t, no.” Remus breathes out a hollow laugh, his lips forming a forced polite smile, “A
coincidence, really.”

“Truly. So, what are yo—”

“I’m so sorry,” Remus interrupts as his phone beeps with a notification, and of course he looks
genuinely apologetic. He’s nice like that. “My Uber’s just arrived. I better—”

“Oh, we can give you a ride!”

And thank god Remus’ eyes bulge out before Sirius’ desperate ones get a chance to shoot lasers at
his uncle, because this entire situation is already bad enough; discovering sudden superpowers
would not help.

“No!” Remus says, and it’s a bit too eager. It almost makes Sirius laugh. Almost. Remus clears his
throat, and gives a small smile, “No, no, please, don’t worry about that—”

“Are you sure—”

“—Sure, yeah! And the Uber’s already here, so.” He starts walking away backwards, almost
tripping on his feet as he also tries to get the wheels of his luggage working properly and getting
out of there as fast as he can master. The little bubble of laughter escapes from Sirius’ lips before
he has the chance to hold it back, and he immediately turns to face the inside of the car to at least
try and hide it.

“It was nice seeing you!” Remus says, and Sirius exhales a deep and long breath as he can hear that
Remus’ voice is considerably far now.

Alphard says something about them meeting up again sometime while Remus is in New York, and
Sirius doesn’t even give himself the opportunity to get mad, stomping his feet as he walks around
the car and climbs onto the passenger seat. He hears the trunk door slamming shut, and after a
moment, Alphard gets onto the seat beside him.

Before his uncle even starts the car, Sirius slaps him across the chest. “Are you insane?!”

“What?” Alphard asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

“What did old age do to you? Have you completely lost sense of inappropriate?”

Alphard opens his mouth, but then closes it again, exhaling heavily through his nose. He turns the
key, and the car wakes to life. “Look, he was my son-in-law—”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“He was the closest to!” And Sirius gets it. Kind of. Maybe the second closest thing Alphard has
come to family, in a way — having Sirius to treat like his own son, even if from afar, and having
Sirius’ friends and Sirius’ boyfriend. Sirius does get it. Kind of. In a way. Not completely, because
he’s still really fucking mad. “He was the closest thing I had to a son-in-law, and I love the kid, I
do. I hadn’t seen him in ages, and I wanted to at least say hi. That’s it.”

“You wanted to give him a ride.”

“Well,” the man says, and doesn’t finish, and it’s almost comical. After a couple of minutes in
silence, when they’re already on the road, he says, “And now you’re gonna tell me what the fuck
that boy is doing in New York.”

Obviously, Sirius has no fucking clue, and it’s what he not only tells his uncle, but also Marlene.
“Did you post anywhere that you were going to New York?” she asks through the phone, where
Sirius can see her messing around with her hair through the screen. He can tell she’s propped her
phone up on her bathroom counter.

“No, and even if I did, he doesn’t even follow me anywhere.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and stop touching your hair so much, it’s making me anxious.”

She tuts, rolling her eyes. “I made a deal with Lily yesterday night and I’m really starting to regret
it.”

“What deal?”

“That if she cut her fringe, I’d cut mine too.”

“And did she?”

“Yes! And this morning already, the cow. And obviously she looks amazing and knows how to cut
a fringe, but I… well, I don’t.”

“Watch a YouTube tutorial.”

“I don’t want people teaching me how to do stuff.”

“Then suffer.”

Marlene lets out a long and dramatic grunt, making Sirius chuckle as she picks up her phone and
heads to her bedroom, flopping down full-forcefully on her bed.

“How’re you feeling, then?” she asks.

“Fucking… I dunno. Weird. Odd. Like I need a shower.”

“So go take a shower.”

“I’ve already taken a shower.”

“Then go bake a cake.”

“I’m not gonna bake a cake.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

And Sirius honestly can’t blame her, because he doesn’t know what to tell himself.

What does this mean? It can’t be a mere coincidence, Remus of all people. Maybe a sign? And if
so, for what? He considers the obvious, but he needs specifics. And after all, New York is huge,
and Sirius has no clue where Remus is staying, how long he’s staying for, or what he’s doing here.
Honestly, maybe it’s just life messing with him. Sounds probable.

“You look weird.”

“Well, I told you I’m feeling weird.”

“How does he look?”

Sirius throws his head back miserably, squeezing his eyes and strangling out a, “Perfect,
obviously,” earning a laugh from Marlene. “No, really, he looks… it’s like I’d forgotten how he
looks, which I of course hadn’t, but still. It was like… I dunno. His hair is longer now, not much,
but longer than it used to be, but he’s still the same. And completely different. But he’s still the
exact same.”

“Got it.”

“And his laugh, I swear, it was like I was eleven again when I’d told him a—”

“Are you talking to Marlene?” he hears Alphard ask loudly from the second floor of his townhouse,
Sirius having cozied up on the living’s room couch after his shower.

“Yeah!” he yells back, and almost instantly hears his uncle’s quick steps descending the stairs to
meet him—them, actually. He leans over the back of the couch, squeezing Sirius out of the camera.

“Hi, Marley!”

“Hiya!” she says back with a grin. “What’s up, Alphie?”

“Glorious, dear, just amazing.” Without asking, he takes the phone from Sirius’ hand, who protests
to no avail, and makes his way to the kitchen as he talks to her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,
darling,” Alphard says. “I met… someone, a couple nights ago, and he’s Brazilian and I need your
help.”

“Ooh, ok. Help with what part, specifically?”

“Teach me something! I don’t know, something to say. Anything.”

“What’s his name?”

“Renato Santana de Souza.”

“Shit, that’s my uncle!”

“Really?!”

“Nah, just kidding.”

And they dive into a Portuguese class Sirius and his friends have had years ago of the basics of the
language, with Sirius having to intrude a couple times when Marlene told Alphard something
utterly dirty meant Your smile is beautiful, or It’s so good to see you again. Not that Sirius has ever
fallen into that. Not at all.

And if Sirius had thought a FaceTime would be enough for Marlene, James clearly needs a whole
hologram when Sirius finally gets to call him, about forty minutes later.

“You are joking!”

“D’you think I’d make this up?!”

“Sirius, you’re taking the piss.”

“I wish I was, Prongs. Trust me.”

James props his phone up on the edge of the couch, crossing his legs and entwining his hands
together as if in an important business meeting. “Tell me everything.”

And Sirius does—well, almost everything. He doesn’t tell James about the specifics of how he felt
when Remus had laughed at something that Sirius hates himself for not being able to remember
exactly what it was just so if he ever gets the chance to see Remus again he can make the joke once
more and get him laughing just like that. He doesn’t tell James how about four out of five things
Remus said had triggered some sort of memory that Sirius had to thickly swallow. He doesn’t tell
James about how he’d let himself pretend for three seconds that everything was ok, everything was
normal, once they’d woken up, with their arms linked together and Remus’ breathing on his
collarbone.

He doesn’t say any of that.

He’s factual, tells the events as if a distant story from a book written by anyone but him, and after
about two hours of chatting and James’ multiple shocked gasps, Sirius bids him goodbye and hangs
up the phone.

Now, upstairs in the guest bedroom, he looks up at the ceiling, and calmer now, he ironically
wishes he could scream. Not just a random, loud shout, though. He wishes he could scream words,
something, something that could reach Remus, whatever part of this fucking island he is—if he is
in Manhattan at all. Thing is, he doesn’t quite know what he would scream.

It’s so good to see you again, but instead in the dirty Portuguese Marlene had taught Alphard earlier
in the afternoon — that would get Remus laughing, at least.

Why? maybe. Though it’s both a question to Remus and to the bloody universe, really. Why, why,
fucking why?

I still love you. Well, at least it’s the most fitting of all.

***

“Padfoot,” he heard, and soft, ginger steps followed. A beat, and there were gentle fingers on his
hair, lightly combing through the strands.

Sirius had his back to him when he heard him whisper his name again. “Padfoot. Are you awake?”

“No,” Sirius said, knowing it was a silly answer.

Remus continued to run his fingers through his hair. “Come on, Sirius, come to bed.”

Sirius didn’t answer.

“Sirius. Please.”

Sirius refused to answer.

Remus took a sharp breath through his nose, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaking.
“Sirius. Please. Just… just come.”

And Sirius did not answer, did not move, did not look back at him. He simply tugged the comforter
closer to his chest and forced his eyes closed.

After a moment, the fingers had left his hair, and he heard the bedroom door click shut.

The end had already started.

 IV — We Play Dumb, But We Know Exactly What We're Doing
Chapter Notes

ok, just a heads up: i'm not american, nor british, so do i have any clue how these
summer courses in univerties work? no, not at all. just winging this shit, gotta be
honest. but it's my fic and i make the rules, so just roll with it!

“Are you ready? Are you ready? Moony, are you ready?!”

Remus smiled, “I suppose I’m ready.”

Sirius kissed the key, earning a soft chuckle from Remus, and fit it inside the lock. With a simple
and quick turn to the left, the door clicked open.

Sirius stepped aside, letting Remus be the first to enter. With a playful roll of his eyes, Remus
stepped inside the flat.

“Tan, dan-ran-ran! Home!” Sirius announced with his arms open wide as he entered close behind
Remus.

He watched as Remus didn’t react, didn’t say a word, just gnawed at his thumb and looked around
the living room and kitchen.

Sirius stepped closer to him. “What do you think?”

It took a moment; a beat or two, but Remus smiled, and he smiled, and Sirius wanted to frame it,
bottle it, do whatever possible to, somehow, try and save it to never lose it. Remus cupped Sirius’
face with his hands, kissing his lips so softly. “It’s perfect,” he said.

***

Sirius’ first two days in New York have gone fine. Brilliant, actually. The day he’d arrived,
afternoon had merged with evening, and he’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he and James had
hung up the phone. He’d woken up around nine in the morning to Chaka Khan’s voice booming
loudly from the floor below, and when he’d emerged in the kitchen, it was to find his uncle rocking
his hips side to side, singing from the top of his lungs while frying eggs and bacon and making
pancakes with all toppings Sirius could’ve ever imagine wanting. Sirius knows whenever he’s
around Alphard spoils him, but he lets him, and lets himself, too — they both fill in the space for a
family the both of them have never truly had.

Later, they’d gone out for a walk around the neighbourhood, stopping at every other shop, as
Alphard seemed to known everyone around the block. Truly, they’d even stopped at a small fishing
store by the corner of the street. How his uncle ended up knowing Mr. Malib, a little, scrawny man
who’d probably have to get on his tiptoes to rest his head on Sirius’ shoulder, Sirius doesn’t know,
and honestly, he doesn’t think he wants to.

Sirius had also gotten the quick chance to a brief chat with Donna, who he now knows as his
uncle’s best friend in the city. She’s a tall, straight-shouldered woman with wide hips and a bright
pink afro, all her words soft spoken but for her laugh, which bounces through the walls of the
coffee shop she owns, and Sirius loves her, loves her, loves her. She’d gotten Sirius a cold brew
and his uncle a flat white, which they both had insisted on paying relentlessly, but the look she’d
given Alphard had told Sirius that this was a conversation they constantly had, and the two
beverages ended up being on the house.

On the evening, they’d gone out for some classic New York pizza, which Sirius had craved at
random times over the past three years, when he’d last had it when he’d visited his uncle back
when he’d just moved to the city, the man not knowing how to make his way around and for how
long he’d have to learn to.

They’d made their way back to Alphard’s townhouse by foot, stopping for ice cream cones and
enjoying the rather chilly change of weather the night had taken. Sirius had had to be the one to
warn his uncle about the possibility of a sore throat in the morning, but the man had just really,
really wanted a buttered pecan ice cream.

And now, the following day, they’re back to Donna’s coffee shop for lunch, Alphard having had to
have some tea earlier in the morning because his throat is just feeling a bit hoarse .

Sirius is munching on the grilled chicken panini Donna prepared for him as she and his uncle chat
away, touching Sirius’ forearms when they add a detail he needs to know.

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about this, Alphard,” she says, taking a sip of her
own espresso. “You’re supposed to be a fifty-seven year old man, not a fourteen year old
schoolgirl.”

“When you’re gay, it all sort of mixes together.”

“Not really,” Sirius chimes in around an impolite mouthful. “I think it’s more of a you-problem.”

Donna opens up her palm and Sirius claps it.

“I already regret introducing you two,” Alphard says, receiving two smug smirks from both. The
man then takes a long gulp off of his orange juice and grumbles loudly, like a true fourteen year
old schoolgirl. “I don’t know, D.”

Donna laughs, “You act as if you’ve never dated before.”

“I’m always the one who gets invited! I don’t know how to ask people on dates.”

“Do what I did,” she says as she stands up and collects Alphard’s empty panini plate, placing her
cup on top, “show up at their work and simply tell them you’re going on a date.”

“Or do what I did,” Sirius says, and he already regrets it, but it’s too late to go back now. He takes
a sip from his lemon water, and breathes in. “Ask them out for ice cream but without your friends
this time.”

Donna turns to him, “You have a partner, Sirius?”

He opens and closes his mouth as if he’s been caught on the spot, though knowing full well he’s
the one who put himself there. “Uhm, no. No, not anymore.”

She frowns pitifully, and Sirius looks away. He forces a smile on his lips, and lifts an eyebrow at
his uncle, “I was thirteen, though. Not sure how it’d work for someone on the verge of death, or
something.”
“This one right here,” Donna says to Alphard, leaning on the back of Sirius’ chair, “is my new
favourite thing about you.”

“D, I’m six years older than you,” Alphard says.

“She looks healthier,” Sirius points out, and earns a kiss atop his head as Donna collects his empty
plate and glass. She retrieves herself from the table, and a couple minutes later, Sirius and Alphard
pay—against Donna’s wishes, they leave thirty dollars on the table—and leave the shop, Alphard
waving goodbye to Xavier, a boy seemingly on his early twenties who is serving a table and smiles
coyly at being called.

When they walk through the doors, Sirius quirks an eyebrow at the man.

“What?” he asks.

“Going for the young ones now?”

Alphard rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, you’re insufferable,” he says, and Sirius laughs. “But don’t
you think he was cute?”

“Who, the guy?”

Alphard nods.

Sirius shrugs, frowning a bit. “I dunno. Didn’t pay much attention.” A couple beats go by, and then
he gasps, pointing a stern finger at his uncle, “You—do not try playing matchmaker with me!”

Alphard cackles, putting his hands up defensively. “Not doing anything. I just think that… you
know, maybe it would be nice for you to have a little summer romance.”

“Summer romance, my arse.”

“International romance, then.”

Sirius just glares at him, and Alphard laughs through his nose. Doesn’t a Welsh romance serve as
an international romance? Sirius has had quite enough of that, so thank you.

“Ok, I just need to go to a bookstore really quickly, and then we can do whatever you want,”
Alphard tells him, leading the way as they turn the corner.

“Since when do you read books?”

“Haven’t you seen the bookshelves at my house?”

“Yeah, but I supposed they were just decor. After so many years alive I thought people just, I
dunno, forgot how to read, eventually.” Sirius receives a hard shove for that joke, and stumbles
into a grumpy old man who mutters, “queers” disdainfully under his breath, and Sirius prides
himself as he finally just looks gay after so many years.

“I need to go get some things,” Alphard says after letting out a good chuckle. “I’m writing a book.”

Sirius gawks, “You’re what?”

“I’m writing a book,” the man repeats, lifting his shoulder as if he doesn’t understand Sirius’
shock.
“About what?”

“Stuff.”

Sirius squints, and gives his uncle a smirk. “I bet it’s just straight up porn.”

“It’s not straight up porn.”

He ignores, and repeats with a cocky grin, “Straight up gay porn, chapter after chapter.”

Alphard cackles soundly. “You’re impossible. I bet that’s all you read, isn’t it?”

“Obviously not! I’m quite the intelectual, thank you.”

“What’s your favourite book, then?”

Sirius opens his mouth, but knowing full well it’s bloody Red, White & Royal Blue, he hesitates. At
last, he sniffs, chin high, “That Shakespeare one,” and his uncle laughs for a good five minutes.

The bookstore is rather close, being a ten minute walk from Donna’s coffee shop, and soon enough
Sirius is met with the most lovely nook of a place. It’s tiny, the type of store you have to always
squeeze behind people to walk past and “Excuse me,” wears out on your tongue, and there are
books all over the place, barely organised, though the most charming scene. Before the owner even
gets to meet them, a grey cat is rubbing itself on Sirius’ shins, purring contently. Sirius crouches to
stroke its fur with a gentle finger, and he giggles silently as the purring intensifies.

“Oh!” He hears a feminine voice exclaim, quickly followed by hurried footsteps on his direction.
“I thought I’d kept her in the backroom.”

“It’s a cat, Celeste,” Alphard says, who Sirius only now noticies is going through some books on a
bookshelf by the farther wall. “Cats are sneaky.”

Said Celeste appears in Sirius’ vision at last, and he has to blink twice to take all of her in, with her
dishwater blonde hair so long it reaches her hips, an amount of jewelry that barely makes a stripe
of her skin visible, dangling and clinking together, and such colourful clothes that don’t match at
all that just this very reason makes them match. She smiles, her tongue visible between her tooth
gap, and crouches next to Sirius, stroking the cat’s tail.

“No, but this one is different,” she says fondly. “Fairly sure this is a dog trapped in a cat’s body.
Aren’t you, my lovely?” The last part she says to the cat in the most ridiculous baby voice Sirius
has ever heard, making him chuckle.

“What’s her name?” Sirius asks.

“Agnes.”

“Agnes?” he echoes, holding in a laugh, because Jesus Christ.

Celeste nods. “Agnes Elizabeth, if you wish to be formal.”

“As soon as the cat was named, she aged about sixty years,” Alphard jokes, and Celeste rolls her
eyes as she stands up, cradling Agnes in her arms like a baby, though her lips form a smile.

“He thinks he’s so funny. Had to stop bringing my other cat downstairs, the poor thing. Alphard
bullied him.”
Sirius laughs, “And what’s his name?”

“William Edmund III.”

“III? Was there a grandfather?”

Celeste shrugs, “Not at all,” and wheels around as she goes to approach Alphard, her long hair
swishing behind her.

“This is your nephew, Alphard, I suppose?” She says to him as he caresses Agnes’ fur.

“Yes, yes.” He points a hand at Sirius, and then back at her, “Sirius, this is Celeste; Celeste, this is
Sirius, my nephew.”

Sirius gives her a small wave, “Hi.”

Celeste beams, “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, sweetheart. Your uncle talks about you all the
time.”

“That actually scares me,” he says, and Celeste laughs while Alphard shakes his head, his lips
grinning in betrayal.

“Ok,” Alphard says to Celeste earnestly now, clapping his hands together, “I need your help.”

And the both of them begin a sort of hunt after whatever it is that Alphard needs, while Sirius
roams around the shop. The more he walks, the more lovely it seems to get. It’s an L shaped store,
and when he turns the corner, more books are not the only thing he spots, but also vinyls.

“You sell records here, too?” he asks through just below a shout to Celeste.

“Yes, dear!” After a few seconds, she pokes her head around the wall, “Take a look if you’d like.
It’s mostly stuff from the seventies and eighties, a bit from the nineties, too. Don’t know if you’re
into that sort of thing…”

And Sirius Black is in fucking paradise, because there’s everything; from Queen, to Tina Turner, to
The Police, to Alanis Morissette, to Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac, and The Cure and Pink Floyd that
he fleetingly skips by and tries paying not much mind to. Most of them seem to be used, which
explains the cheap price, and Sirius feels like a little kid at a candy store, wanting to take them all
home.

He barely hears his uncle and Celeste’s conversation, muffled by the other far side of the room
where he can’t even see them, and he also hardly hears Celeste greeting an incoming costumer.
Mistake number one.

Mistake number two: moving.

Mistake number three: having things in his hands.

And because his life visibly still hates him, he catches himself gasping—not catching a breath at
all, and the seven records he is carrying are not in his hands anymore, but on the floor, and, “Holy
shit.”

“I—hi.” And, Life, the hate is still mutual.

And Remus is staring at him, eyes huge, and Sirius is staring back, knowing his eyes are just as
huge, if not more. They feel like they’re gonna pop out of their sockets at any second. And he’s
carrying a tote-bag, a fucking tote-bag, and he looks… he looks. That’s literally it. That’s all it
takes. He looks like himself and that’s easily all there is to it, and it’s enough.

“Remus?” And it’s Alphard’s voice, and Sirius is not sure if he’s thankful or if this is just going to
make everything worse, but he knows that at least in some way he’s being rescued.

Remus blinks, then blinks again, and it seems to take him a few more blinks to glance off Sirius
and instead look at the man who’s approaching and talking to him.

Sirius is still static, glued in place. He’s at least managed to close his mouth, so that’s a win.

Alphard is laughing joyfully, spreading out his arms widely and walking over to Remus, who looks
panicked, but he gets no chance to fight against the man — and Sirius doesn’t think he’d ever even
try. “Remus! And we meet again!”

“Y-yeah, we do.”

And while Alphard and James Potter become one in Sirius’ mind, ruffling Remus’ hair and
grinning wildly, Sirius bends down to pick up the vinyls, and his hands are not shaking. They’re
not, and if he’s saying they aren’t, it’s because they aren’t. Point blank period.

He stands upright, placing the records on top of a stack of books on the ground, and gingerly walks
over to them, because he can do this. He absolutely can do this.

And with Remus so close, maybe he can’t, because the sun is pouring from the window just
perfect, highlighting the scars across his face, that Sirius doesn’t understand how he hadn’t quite
looked at them the two other times.

Out of all things, they’re easily one of the most beautiful things about him, ever. Maybe one of the
most beautiful things Sirius has ever seen. They’re like a painting, finely crafted throughout years
and years by one of those artists that end up on the Louvre, or shit like that. As if it’s hand-painted
marble. Like a painting that mimics marble.

And he’s so strikingly lovely that Sirius wants to shout, and scream and run around like a madman,
because it’s an absurdity.

***

“You have a crush on Remus, you have a crush on Remus, Sirius has a crush on Remus!”

“No, I don’t!” Sirius protested, folding his arms across his chest, praying the burning heat on his
cheeks didn’t show through his skin.

“Yes, you do, look at you blushing!” Crap. “You so like him!”

“James, stop!”

“Sirius and Remus sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

***

“So, what are you doing here?” Alphard asks, his palm firm on Remus’ shoulder.

“Oh, just looking around, really—”

Alphard laughs, “No, in New York.”

Remus blinks, and then chuckles. “Oh, right. I’m taking a summer course here.”

“Oh, where?”

“Columbia.”

“Columbia?” This is Sirius, because he couldn’t help himself, clearly.

Remus meets his eyes, seemingly surprised to have heard Sirius speak to him—to hear Sirius speak
at all, and nods after a second too long. “Yeah, I, uhm, I saved up for a while, and my parents
helped a bit, so…” he trails off.

“What are you doing in Greenwich, then, Columbia is like half an hour away,” Alphard points out
jovially, as if they were all just three old friends catching up.

“I’m actually staying in Murray Hill, so not exactly half an hour—”

Alphard chuckles heartily, “That’s twenty minutes, son.” He leans a bit closer to Remus, as if
telling a secret, “Getting to know the city, eh?”

And Remus huffs out a laugh—it seems relieved—and nods.

“Well, you’ll stay here forever, then,” the man says. “But you’ll enjoy it, trust me. How long are
you staying here for?”

“Three weeks,” Remus tells. “My classes start in two days, and a family friend who lives in Murray
Hill is traveling, hence why I’m staying there. I’ve been just trying to get to know some places
before I get too busy with the course.”

“What course are you taking?” Sirius asks, and he has to admit that he feels proud of himself for
having spoken twice. And the so very subtle turn-up of lips he sees Remus gives him, almost as if
hidden, unconscious, makes his stomach twist in a way it hadn’t in too long.

“Feminist Life Writing,” Remus says, and Sirius knows he’s smiling, even if he’s not fully
showing it — “eyes are the window to the soul” or however the fuck that goes. Remus’ eyes are
smiling.

But Sirius Black has never had the same self-control as Remus Lupin, and he does smile, and he
doesn’t exactly know why, but in all honesty, he never exactly knew why he used to smile so much
back then. He could never pinpoint it, he just walked around with a grin plastered on his face.

And Remus, now, smiles back, and it’s like they’re talking.

I miss you, Sirius’ smile says.

Though, with a hard pang, he sees he can’t exactly tell what Remus’ smile says. Or, perhaps, their
smiles have just learned different languages in the past years.

“Of course,” Sirius says, cheeks hurting.

“And do you—Ow!” Alphard exclaims, wincing as he looks down to see the beast that is Agnes
Elizabeth at his legs. “Celeste! She scratched me again!”

Celeste quickly appears from behind one of the bookshelves, and scoops Agnes from the ground.
“This is her revenge. And also her advice to wear higher socks, if you’re planning on wearing
these shorts this summer.”
She turns and leaves with the cat, but Alphard follows after, bemusedly asking, “What’s wrong
with these shorts? They look good with my tan.”

And in the distant, Celeste’s, “What tan, Alphard?”

Remus is laughing softly under his breath, watching the scene until the pair disappears as they turn
the corner, and Sirius is watching him, not knowing what to do, what to say, or even how to act.

Remus is the first to break the silence. “He looks good.”

“He does. I play with him that he’s on the cusp of crumbling to pieces, but… I have to say, he’s
handling the old age well.”

Remus snorts at ‘old age,’ smiling, never stops smiling, and he just looks warm, and light, gripping
the strap of this ridiculous tote-bag that Sirius then sees has the drawing of the sun on the front, and
it’s just so stupid, and paired with the high-waisted brown trousers he’s wearing, it all gets even
more ridiculous because it’s summer. But Sirius is wearing black skinny jeans, so he can’t really
judge him.

And the word for today, as if it isn’t obvious already, is ‘lovely.’

Throughout his life, Sirius Black has learned that there are multiple words to describe Remus Lupin
— and sometimes there are none at all; the typical ‘you just had to be there’ sort of thing.

Some days, Remus would be charming; with all the smirks his lips would form and all the winks
he’d throw at Sirius, when he knew very clearly what he was doing, the fun he had when seeing
Sirius blush furiously with such simple gestures. The word for those days was ‘charming.’

Some others, he’d be infuriating, and there were dozens of ways that the word could be applied;
the days where he was being way too charming that made Sirius want to rip his own hair out,
because again, Remus knew exactly what he was doing; the days where he was being an absolute
pain, and would snap at everything and everyone and every single thing was an issue — they
weren’t usual at all, but they became more, towards the end of their relationship; and the most
common use of the word, when he just woke up and was just so infuriatingly beautiful that it would
drive Sirius up the walls, because it just wasn’t fair and who the fuck was Sirius owing for being so
lucky. He’d never got it. He’d never understood it.

Neither of them.

Sirius had never understood what he’d done to deserve him, not ever.

Remus had never understood what Sirius talked so much about, no matter how much he heard it,
no matter how much Sirius told him, he’d never got it.

And that, Sirius had never got.

But today, Remus Lupin is lovely; with his hair long enough now to be tucked behind his ears, and
the rays of orange sunshine pouring through the shop’s window and making his soft curls burn
golden; with his scars shining silver in contrast, the one that runs across his nose that Sirius has
always loved so much so predominant in this light that Sirius wants to ask Celeste if they could
both, perhaps, just throw a couple pillows on the floor and move in, because he can see every
beautiful, perfectly carved line on Remus’ face and wants to have it forever; that completely stupid
tote-bag that Sirius is still not over; and how he’s smiling, smiling like he had on the plane, not in
the airport’s parking lot. Smiling like he’d always had when it was just the two of them.
Lovely, lovely, lovely, he could say it forever.

And suddenly brave, he does, “You look lovely.”

Remus’ smile seems to be inextinguishable. “‘Lovely’?” he echoes, almost as if in mockery, an

eyebrow arched.

Sirius nods slowly.

Remus laughs, and just stares at him for a moment, as if trying to search for something, his eyes
darting about Sirius’ face. “Can I tell you something?”

He nods again, and when Remus steps closer, his breath hitches, and from twelve to twenty-five he
clearly hasn’t changed much.

“I have no idea how to get back to Murray Hill.”

Sirius laughs, his brows shooting up to his hairline. “You don’t?” Remus shakes his head. “How
did you come here, then?”

“Took a long time. I’ve been here since the morning.”

“Why?”

Remus shrugs, but there’s something behind his eyes. “Dunno. Just… wanting to know some
places.” And takes a step back, tugs on the strap of his bag, and smiles. “See you around, yeah?”

Sirius breathes in, collecting all air he possibly can at the moment—which is not much. He nods,
the type of nods little kids give — just bouncing their heads up and down. “Yeah. Hopefully.”

The something behind Remus’ eyes shine brighter, and he bites his lips as his smile widens.
“Hopefully.”

And he leaves the shop.

And maybe their smiles have their own language, one they are both fluent in, as if it’s their own
mother tongue.

Remus’ smile said Hopefully, as well.

V — This Mad, Mad Love Makes You Come Running To Stand Back Where
You Stood
Chapter Notes

slightly shorter one, but i like it, so i hope u do too :) also, thank you so much for 20k
hits in this, and all the insane amount of love i've been receiving. you are too kind to
me, thank you, thank you, thank you <3

It was late at night already — Sirius could tell by Peter’s soft snoring and James’ not-so-soft
snoring. Beside him, Remus’ fingers were intertwined with his own, the boy loosely playing with
their tangled hands.

It was routine now; they’d go to bed—tonight, Sirius’—and talk until they’d fall asleep. Sirius had
never said it, but this was his favourite part of it all; the whispers into the darkness, the
interlocked hands underneath the duvet, the giggles that had to be muffled by the pillow so James
wouldn’t start complaining how he had footie practice in the morning and throw himself over the
two of them and claim he’d sleep there, like he did that one time. And that other time — Sirius had
been laughing so much he’d snorted way too loudly. A classic James Potter Scold had begun
seconds later.

But tonight, their murmurs were careful, though Sirius’ eagerness could certainly be heard from
miles, and miles away.

He shifted to fold his arms over Remus’ chest, laying half on top of him. “Yes, you are. How long
have I been telling you this?”

Remus breathed out a laugh. “You’re mental.”

“Obviously, but mental people know stuff, I’m telling you.” He moved closer, so that their faces
were inches apart. Even in the almost absolute darkness, Sirius could still make out Remus’
features perfectly, as though a map he’d tirelessly studied for years after years. He knew where
every freckle was, the length and angle of every silvery scar, the exact spot where his dimples
buried in his cheeks. Sirius ran a hand through Remus’ hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
“Why d’you think I call you ‘Moony’?”

“Because your mind is a wonderful place,” Remus mocked, tucking a strand of Sirius’ hair behind
his ear.

Sirius tutted, and continued with the speech he had to give practically every other night — he’d
never minded, though. He loved it. “You’re, like, the moon. Like a full moon. Those big, waxy
ones, y’know.”

“How, though?” Remus asked, a disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“Because you are.” Sirius had never told him about how he’d nicknamed Remus ‘Moony’ because
he’d wanted to bloody give him the moon when they’d been eleven — even he knew that was a little
way too sappy, so he’d always just kept it to himself and explained his theories around it. “It just, I
dunno, reminds me of you.” This is the closest he’d get.
 “Reminds you of me?”

“Yeah.”

“The moon reminds you of me?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“But,” Remus lifted his index finger, and Sirius already felt the movement of his stomach
underneath him as Remus tried not to laugh, “you are the craziest person I know.”

“Remus.”

“You are,” he said, and inched closer to peck Sirius on the lips. “Still love you, though.”

“But listen, ok, listen,” Sirius said, and Remus sighed as he crossed his arms behind his head, as if
getting prepared. “You’re not only the moon, but, like, the stars, too.”

“I thought you were the stars.”

“I’ll gladly give them to you. And now you can have me!”

Remus chuckled, “I’m listening.”

“You’re, like, the moon, and the stars,” Sirius continued, “and—oh!—the planets, too. Like
Saturn, and Venus, and the Earth, really, and even Pluto, if you’d like.”

“I can take the planets—”

“—Actually, scratch that; you’re the whole Milky Way, Moons. The Milky Way—no, wait, the
whole bloody outer space. Yeah, with everything; the moon, and the stars, and all the planets, and
the asteroids, and the sun, and all the other galaxies too. You’re like… the universe.”

“The entire universe?”

“Yeah.”

“But where does that leave you?”

Sirius stopped then, for a moment, because he hadn’t even thought about where he’d fit in this
whole equation. He shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“Well,” Remus started, shifting a bit so Sirius slid off of him, and they were back to laying on their
sides, facing each other, “if I’m, like, the moon, and the stars, shouldn’t you be, I dunno, the
Earth?”

“But the Earth is included in the universe.”

“I’ll give it to you, since you gave me the stars.”

Sirius stared at him, and after a bit, said smugly, “Go on.”

Remus chuckled softly before doing so, “And I’m actually talking like, earth, not the planet
 necessarily—though you can have it if you want it—but, like, earth, y’know. Soil. Mud.”

“This is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever told me,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus laughed. “Not what I meant! Like, you’re nature, y’know. You’re the ground, with the
flowers, and the trees, and animals—”

“The dogs!”

“Yes, the dogs!” Remus exclaimed, and Sirius could tell he was excited now, too. “So, the dogs,
and the bees—who are good for the environment—, and the butterflies, and the cats and the
giraffes, and the trees, the water, and all the flowers—”

“Like lilies.”

“Like lilies,” Remus echoed, the two boys picturing the same beloved redhead. “And everything
else.”

Sirius just grinned at him for a moment, the tips of his fingers stroking Remus’ side. But then, he
frowned, “But what about the air?”

“What about the air?”

“Who’s the air here? ‘Cause I need the air for my earthy things, but you’re also the sky, with all
the clouds and everything, so you need the air too.”

They stayed in silence for a long minute, both deep in thought. In midst of this, Remus had rolled
over to lay flat on his back, and now he lolled his head to the side to look at Sirius. “I guess that’s
where we meet halfway, then.”

“Halfway?”

“Yeah. It’s where we meet. It’s in the middle, kinda, isn’t it. But it’s also everywhere. So. It’s
ours.”

And Sirius smiled to the darkness, to the face he knew was there, because, Jesus Christ, he didn’t
understand a thing but he was so desperately, helplessly in love with him that it didn’t matter a
single bit.

“Meet you halfway, then?” Sirius said.

He could hear Remus’ smile in his voice, “Yeah. I’ll meet you halfway.”

And Sirius leaned in, kissing him so softly on the lips, the two grinning stupidly inside each other’s
mouths, kissing until they were breathless, kissing until they couldn’t think of anything else, kis—

James’ scold echoed through the room, “When I wake up tomorrow, I’m killing you both.”

***

Hope is something.

And this time, Sirius means Hope; the Lupin one.

“I didn’t have a single one left,” Remus is telling him. “Not a singular sock left. Had to buy them
all over again.”
“You’re taking the piss.”

“Wish I was! I went mental. Imagine getting home and finding out your mum’s made a quilt out of
all your socks.”

“Was it soft, though?” Sirius asks, a wicked arch to his brow and a smirk he hides as he takes a sip
of his coffee.

Remus stares at him for a beat, for two, eyes narrowed, and after taking a sip of his own cold brew,
deadpans, “It’s the warmest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience,” and Sirius snorts
coffee out of his nose.

And this is how Sirius’ morning had gone, having told his uncle he’d take a walk around the
neighbourhood to get to know some places by himself, and running into Remus in the first seven
minutes of it. He didn’t know what Remus was doing there again, and he didn’t ask, because hope
is something, and Sirius doesn’t mean the Lupin one.

Remus had told him he was actually on his to some coffee, if you wanna join? and Sirius hadn’t
smiled like a little child, he knows he hadn’t, and joined him. He’d pointed out Remus’ checkered
green and brown socks, with which Remus had returned with a dramatic grunt and a, “I hate them,”
which made Sirius raise an eyebrow, because he knows how particular Remus Lupin is about his
socks — why on earth would you wear socks you hate? And Sirius, then, got to hear the insanity—
the utterly amazing insanity—that is Hope Lupin, who he has to admit, is someone he misses
dearly.

And it’s weird, so completely weird, and odd, strange, except that it’s not, not at all. Because
they’re talking as if nothing had happened, as if they’re good old school friends who’d never lost
touch, but whilst they both know things happened; whilst they both know they’re not just good old
school friends. But if Remus minds, Sirius can’t tell, and Sirius himself certainly doesn’t. He
doesn’t think he’d ever mind, actually.

After a coffee that normally doesn’t take nearly as long, they part ways, and Sirius walks home as
if in a movie; the sun seems brighter, and his cheeks are flushed and he just can’t stop giggling,
and it’s all just so stupid. At some point, he even almost buys a rose from a flower shop he walks
by just so he can make his way home sniffling a flower, like a true main character in a romcom
after the first kiss.

He doesn’t, since there were a couple bees swarming over the bouquet the roses were in, and Sirius
Black might be brave, but enough for a bee sting, thank you.

But maybe his life doesn’t hate him like he thought it did. Maybe life is just a tease.

He doesn’t mind. If life supposedly hating him got him to run into Remus fucking Lupin about four
times, he truly can’t even fathom the thought of minding it — it would be an absurd to mind it. So
really, his life can do whatever it wants, and he’ll let it.

Remus and his laugh, Remus and his lovely, lovely lopsided smile that Sirius has always adored,
Remus and the quirk to his eyebrows that Sirius—kid you not—has to control not to shiver over.
His boney fingers holding the cup, that one strand in his hair that is curled to the opposite side of
the others, the tag popping out of his t-shirt, that one mole by the left corner of his top lip that
Sirius can’t look at for too long without blushing. It’s mental, it’s absolutely mental how four
encounters seemed to erase five years and at the same time highlight them even more, making
Sirius wonder, What the fuck have I been doing all this time? Have I been living? Which are
questions he can’t even answer, as he doesn’t know, because, truly, what has he even been doing
all this time? Getting random gigs at bars, while selling some of his art as a freelancer?
Technically, he’d been sort of doing that same thing when Remus had been around, but that’d been
different. Back then, his life most definitely hadn’t been these aimless jobs and the most odd
hookups to, as James Potter has always put, fill the dark void of his tiny, precious little heart. When
Remus had been around, they’d been just things he did to make money—not that he needed, but
because it made him feel good to make his own income—and that was it. When he’d come home,
his life would be on the other side of the door, as simple as that.

So really, he doesn’t know what he’s been doing these past years, not exactly, but then again, there
are not many things he minds. It would feel ridiculous to complain about anything right now.

If his cheeks hurt, he can’t tell—seriously, they’ve gone numb—and Alphard eyes him weirdly as
he enters the house, the man with his legs far apart and leaning his weight into one of them and
then the other, arms spread out in a straight line as he practices his morning yoga.

“What took you so long? Thought you’d gotten lost,” his uncle says.

Sirius lifts a shoulder in a shrug, “Was just getting some coffee.”

Alphard squints at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And did they put some sort of
drug in your coffee, why are you smiling like a maniac?”

And Sirius shrugs again as he climbs the stairs in little skips, and when he gets in the shower, it’s
to the sound of Friday I’m In Love by The Cure, and he feels so ridiculous, because, really, it is
ridiculous. He just had coffee with him. He doesn’t even know where they stand; are they still just
mere exes who ended up running into each other? Are they friends now? Sirius doesn’t know. He
doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, because hope is something,
both the Lupin one and the noun, and Sirius hopes, hopes, prays to bump into him again, which
might happen, and also might not.

Because there are still questions to be answered, another look he wants to last for a second too long,
a slow smile he wants to get again, a pinky he wants to brush with his own and see where it takes.

And hope is something.

Later, he calls James on FaceTime as he’s spreading jam on his toast and Alphard has gone to
Donna’s coffee shop to get personal help with asking that guy out on a date.

“You ran into him again?”

“Yes,” Sirius answers, and he’s smiling.

“And how is he—? Lily says hi,” and Sirius hears a loud hi in the distance of the other side of the
phone.

“Hi, Lils!” he exclaims, and then returns to the normal volume of his voice. “He’s… I don’t know.
He’s like always.”

He turns to throw the knife inside the sink, and when he glances back at his phone, James is eyeing
him like a case to study, squinting behind his round glasses. Even through a screen, his glare is
heavy on Sirius’ face, and Sirius looks away.

It takes him all the time to take the first bite off his toast and swallow for James to finally speak,
and when he does, it’s rather careful, “You still love him, don’t you?”
“Obviously I do,” Sirius answers without missing a beat, but as James is already opening his mouth
to speak again, Sirius lifts a hand, “But. It’s not… I mean, I’m always gonna love him, just like I’ll
always love you. Because this is a forever thing, isn’t it? Or do you really thing it was a train
carriage that made us become friends? Of course not; we were gonna meet no matter what. We
were meant to. And so was he and I. He’d be in my life no matter what I did, and no matter what he
did. It’s a life thing. I’m always gonna love him, even if I fall in love with someone else, and one
thing doesn’t clash with the other. Look, if you and I ever fought and, I dunno, fell apart, do you
think you’d ever stop loving me?”

“Of course not,” James says easily.

“Exactly, because we were meant to be best friends. No matter what train carriage we sat, we’d
become best friends, somehow. So of course I still love him, just like I love you, and love Lily and
Peter, and everyone. Nothing changes that.”

“I see,” James says. He glances off the phone, seeming to be looking out a window, and Sirius
takes advantage of the silence to get himself a glass of water. When he comes back, James, inside
the phone that’s propped up against a jar of biscuits, is observing him.

It takes him even longer to speak this time, but eventually, he does. “Are you still in love with him,
then?”

And Sirius knows this was what James had meant all along, and he’d been stupid enough to think
he’d dodged truly answering it, because the answer is so clear, so certain, but he’d never allowed
himself to say it, not to anyone, and sometimes, not even to himself. It’s pathetic, completely,
absolutely pathetic, but it’s helpless, it’s always been helpless, and out of his own control, so he
simply says, truthfully, “Of course I am.”
 VI — Invisible String Tying You to Me
Chapter Notes

sorry that i’ve been taking kind of long with this fic. i just have it in such a special
place in my heart, so i’m trying to really work my best on it :).
btw, i created a playlist for it! if you’d like, you can check it out here

He could do this. God, he could so do this. It was easy—he’d done it a bunch of times! Well, in his
head, that is. In his head, he’d gotten down on his knees in front of the entire school and confessed
his undying love while glittering fairies flew around and rose petals showered from the ceilings,
and they’d shared a passionate kiss before they’d both mounted on a white horse and galloped
away into the pink-orange sunset.

Unfortunately, he had no roses now, no white horses and still hadn’t managed to get in contact
with any fairies yet. No; now, there was only the two of them, in a scene they were both already so
used to, so comfortable in.

Remus was leaning against the big willow, the biggest tree in school, and the rays of mid-
afternoon sunshine bled through the branches, bathing his curls golden and making his skin seem
to shimmer as he gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the history textbook on his lap.

Sirius, of course, was just watching. He’d always just watched, laid back on the grass, arms folded
behind his head, and watched Remus furrow his eyebrows and scratch his head with his pen.
Occasionally, Sirius would give him a little nudge with his toe, and Remus would glance up from
his studying with a soft smile painting his lips.

Though today, Sirius was not laying on the grass, picking on the weeds with his hair fanned across
the ground housing a couple ants that he later would then have to shake off. Today, he was leaning
against the tree just like Remus, a stripe of grass separating them. He wanted to trace the initials
and heart they’d carved over a year prior on this very trunk—it calmed him, sometimes—but
Remus was blocking it with his body. He’d have to deal.

And while Remus studied the Indian independence and the end of Empire—which, Sirius thought
absent-mindedly, he really should start getting a move on, otherwise he’d get behind in the class—
Sirius himself studied Remus. Studied every curve and line of his face, his long lashes, the crease
between his brows that Remus most likely hadn’t realised was there and would complain about a
mysterious headache later, that straight, beautiful nose where a scar stretched across, his teeth
pulling at his bottom lip.

Sirius just had to say it. It shouldn’t be hard. Not when Remus looked like this; not when every
ounce of him was already utterly lovely—it was weird, in a way, that he even had to say it. It
should’ve been obvious.

“If you don’t stop fiddling with your fingers like this, I’m afraid they’re gonna fall off,” Remus
said suddenly, not glancing up from his book. The corner of his lip that was visible to Sirius was
quirked upwards.

Sirius blinked, and shoved his hands underneath his thighs. “Right,” he breathed out. “Right,
 sorry.”

It was two beats after when Remus looked up at him at last. His eyes surveyed Sirius’ face, and
Sirius had to look away, afraid his own eyes would say everything before his mouth even had the
chance to.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, quite softly and cautious.

Sometimes, Sirius could’ve sworn Remus could smell fear.

Sirius shook his head a bit too vigorously. “Nothing, nothing…” It was true, technically, because
really, nothing was wrong. In fact, everything was wonderful. Stunning. Magical. An actually
living fairytale—so fuck you, Remus Lupin and your pretty face and your even prettier little brain
you have going on inside your head.

Remus stared at him for a moment, eyes searching and rather bemused, before giving him the
smallest of smiles, close-lipped, and returning his gaze to his book.

Sirius drew in a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to… say it. Yeah. Just had to say it. He
was fifteen already—it was time to be mature. Time to face your challenges. Be brave, and all that
House pride bullshit.

Well, fuck.

“Moony,” Sirius said, trying to suppress the light quiver in his voice, “I think I love you.”

He saw Remus stiffen at once; saw his eyes still as he stopped reading his textbook; saw his jaw
tighten, heard his breath hitch.

After a long, torturous moment, Remus spoke, his voice deliberately casual and his eyes still glued
on the words on his lap, though he didn’t seem to care about a single syllable. “You… I mean, love
me—love me like how you love James, and Peter, and Marl—”

“No,” Sirius cut him off, shaking his head. He noticed Remus’ eyes were now on the grass between
them, where Sirius’ hand lay and his fingers were absentmindedly playing with the green. “It’s
like… like they do in films. Or—or like they do in the books you read. Or in that Alicia Keys song.”
Sirius saw Remus wrinkle his eyebrows at that. Ok, that was on him. Maybe he shouldn’t have
made such a specific reference—Remus didn’t have to know the lyrics to No One. Maybe Sirius
could show the song to him later, though.

“I love you like that, Moony,” he finished. He didn’t say he ‘thought’ he did this time, as he didn’t
think so—he knew so. He’d always known so. It had never been a doubt, never been a question.
How could he ever not?

It took around five lingering seconds for Remus to look up, but when he did, and his eyes met
Sirius’, those two little sparking brown eyes that Sirius loved so much, Sirius’ heart squeezed
pleasantly.

There was a smile tugging at the corner of Remus’ mouth, though sheepish, and a soft pink
coloured his cheeks, so beautiful that Sirius had to bite back a wild grin, because that was his
doing. No one else’s. Sirius Black had been the one to make Remus Lupin blush like that.

Remus’ hand edged closer to Sirius’ on the grass, and he brushed his pinky with Sirius’ before
lacing them together. “I love you like that too, Padfoot.”
 ***

It’s not like finally admitting you’re still irrevocably in love with your ex-boyfriend is a good thing.
There is a potential for it to be a good thing, of course, especially since the ex-boyfriend in
question is Remus fucking Lupin, and Sirius wouldn’t dare complain about being in love with him,
not ever.

But still. Living with the burden of not being over your first (and only) ever love even after five
years of having split up is completely different than saying it aloud. Than actually acknowledging
the issue here. Because, you see, the issue is that since telling James about the matter, it’s like he’s
suddenly between being both twelve and twenty years-old all over again.

Sirius, now, giggles when he remembers any—truly, any—little thing Remus had said, any
particular thing he’d done, any air he’d breathed. But, in counterpart, he had, yes, cried in the
shower later on the day that FaceTime call had taken place. Blame him! Throw rocks at him! It’s
not like he’d fight against it.

And while, yes, being in love with Remus Lupin is a marvellous experience, in all honesty, it’s
likely just… not the most adequate time to have a moment of bravery and admit it to both himself
and his best friend that he does, indeed, still love his ex-boyfriend just the same as he had back
then. He’s supposed to be relaxing. He’s supposed to have his mind off of everything and enjoy
two weeks in New York with his uncle, but no, things are not and have never been rainbows and
unicorns for Sirius Black, and he now uses the free space in his brain to recall fondly of every
possible word Remus has ever said to him, really just for the fun of it. Just to have those butterflies
flutter their wings inside his stomach.

And all the days following that call with James have been torturous, because Life is in command of
everything again and decides to tell him, basically, Hey, loser! I’ve noticed you’ve been running
into the best thing to ever happen to you quite a lot recently, and how much you’ve been enjoying
it! Good for you, mate. Oh, by the way, I’m gonna make you have to wait to see him again just
because of that. Byesies!

And five days go by. Five days of Sirius tossing and turning in bed even more than usual, five days
of his uncle having to repeat something he’d said to him because Sirius had zoned out, five days of
complete torment that Sirius had hoped he’d already been through. Apparently not. Now isn’t that
cute.

He had been through this before. He just hadn’t hoped on going through it again.

But it’s five days later. Five days after Sirius has been secretly peering around every corner, every
table in a nook of a restaurant, every queue in a store, expectantly, oh, dreamy, hopeful, pathetic
Sirius Black. He’s right in his element.

And right now, he finally catches sight of Remus Lupin. And he has to do a double take. Then
another, and one more. Because he’s sure he’s gotten to the point of hallucinating. He didn’t think
his life was this deplorable. God.

Because he’s not in just any place.

He’s at fucking Times Square.

He’s in the fucking Disney store.

“Don’t you think they look dangerous?” Donna asks him as she picks up one of the lightsabers
inside a tall basket. She eyes the toy in her hand as if it were a murderous weapon about to spark to
life and chop her hand off.

“They don’t do anything, D,” Sirius says.

She clicks a button on the handle, and the saber lightens up in a bright red colour, accompanied by
a vigorous humming sound effect. She glances at Sirius with her eyebrows raised in
impressiveness.

“Except being cool,” he remarks, and briefly considers getting one for himself.

“Do you think there’s a chance of this, like, electrifying a kid or something?” she asks, clicking the
light off.

Sirius chuckles. “Do not think so.”

“My sister would kill me if I gave her daughter a killing machine. The kid is turning eight.”

“And wants a lightsaber for her birthday?”

Donna lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “She’s into this kinda stuff. Whatever glowing-stick-stuff this
is supposed to be.”

Sirius laughs heartily. When she goes to turn to walk away from the basket with the toy tucked
under her arm, he tells her, “Take the green one.”

“The red is prettier.”

“Yeah, but it’s Kylo Ren’s,” he says, and withdraws a green saber from the selection. He offers it
to her. “Here, take Yoda’s.”

“Take the who?”

“Trust me. Just take the green one.”

She squints at him for a moment, but hands him the lightsaber and takes the one in his hand,
though from the corner of his eye, he can see how she does it in playful force-fullness, yanking it
from Sirius’ hand that her arm reaches behind her as he turns to place the red one back inside the
basket.

“Bloody hel—!”

“Oh my god, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Sirius’ head whips around so fast he hears his neck crack.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, it’s—Sirius.” Remus’ eyes—well, one eye, as he’s pressing his fingers to
the other that Sirius supposes is the one Donna stabbed him in the eye with the lightsaber—are
wide, first in surprise, then in what seems like a fleeting nervousness, and then, at last, in just
simply… joy. A smile stretches across his lips. “Sirius, hi.”

Sirius blinks a few times. “Hi,” he breathes out, smiling. “Hey, hi.”

Donna is turned to Remus, gingerly touching his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, sir, god, I have no idea
what—”
Remus gives her a tiny chuckle that seems to be for politeness, but his eyes are still lingering on
Sirius. “It’s ok,” he says, gazing briefly at Donna’s direction. “Truly, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to call someone to take a look?”

Remus laughs more sincerely now. “No need for that.” He puts his hand out of his eye and touches
her forearm gently, still ever so polite. “Just a little accident.”

Donna has her lips pursed, but after a moment she sighs, shooting him a small, relieved smile, and
nods. “Alright.”

Remus smiles. He’s looking at Sirius.

Sirius is still blinking, trying to get to that one blink that’ll make Remus disappear and prove that
the entire thing was just a hallucination of his miserable pre-teen brain. He even pinched his wrist a
couple times, secretly.

“I’m Remus, by the way,” Remus says, outstretching a hand to her. “You must be Donna, right?”

Her brown eyes pop out of their sockets, her jaw falling open. “Wh—how do you—? Are you one
of those psychics?”

Remus’ gaze goes to Sirius again, and his own eyes widen a bit before he lets out a breathy laugh.
Sirius senses this is his moment to say something.

“Oh, uh, Remus this is Donna, Alphard’s friend I, uh, told you about,” Sirius waves a hand in
Donna’s direction, then to Remus’, “Donna, this is Remus, he’s, uh… he’s Remus.”

Remus has a curious look on his face. His brows are high, and there’s a small, tiny smile pulling at
his lips, so little it’s barely noticeable. Sirius clears his throat, averting his eyes, and Remus smiles
at Donna as they shake hands.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” he says.

Donna has noticed something. She glances back at Sirius with narrowed eyes, eyebrows slightly
drawn together, as if clicking everything as one.

She nods as she lets go of Remus’ hand, smiling brightly. “You too, Remus.” She steps beside
Sirius, looking up at him and waving vaguely at some racks of costumes a few feet behind them.
“Sirius, dear, I’m just gonna… take a look over there…” And walks away.

Sirius stares at her traitorous back, agape, wanting a hole to swallow him whole. Remus speaks up
not long after, though.

“I’m convinced there’s something going on with the universe,” he says, and when Sirius glances
back at him, he’s smiling prettily, his hands laced low behind his back.

Sirius draws in a breath, and smiles as well, butterflies preparing to take flight inside him. “How
so?”

“I never reckoned I’d run into you here of all places, personally.”

Sirius raises a wily eyebrow. “Speaking of New York or the Disney store?”

Remus seems to consider for a moment, his head tilting to the side, and a slow smile catches his
lips as he replies, “A bit of both, methinks.” And Sirius agrees, though he doesn’t tell him, but
there has to be something going on with the universe, there must be a sign that he’s missing. Life
already treats him like an idiot, but Sirius doesn’t think the universe would team up with it to make
a fool out of him, too. The universe isn’t supposed to do that.

The universe is Moony. He’d told him that when they were seventeen. He looks too much the
same to have changed in that.

There’s something going on with the universe.

Sirius smiles, nodding. “I agree.”

Their gazes hold long enough for Sirius’ eyes to draw down to Remus’ dimples, and then to the
mole on the corner of his upper lip, and the butterflies are crying out for him to just throw them up.

There’s a faint sly smile across Remus’ mouth. He definitely saw it. Sirius feels his entire face
burn, just like it did when they’d been twelve and Remus would always win all their staring
contests because Sirius furiously blushed if he stared at him for too long. “Too long” being around
fifty seconds.

And that’s the thing with being in love with Remus Lupin. Here’s where the entire issue lies. He
makes you feel young again, as though no time has passed, as though he’d just laughed at your
ridiculous joke and made you want to climb up the night sky. It doesn’t take long conversations for
you to realise that fuck, I’m still in love with him. It doesn’t take a new kiss to replace the old ones.
It doesn’t take a singular touch. It just takes… this. It takes exactly what he’s doing; running into
Sirius and smiling solely because he wants to, giving him the most simple, genuine, beautiful
smile. It takes him being close enough for Sirius to see his freckles and his dimples and his moles.
It takes him to say Sirius’ name when they catch sight of each other. It’s as though Sirius had just
bookmarked it and is getting back to reading now, right from where he left off. It’s so simple. It’s
so easy.

Loving him had always been the easiest thing in the world. Sirius doesn’t see why that would ever
change.

“I’m curious to know what you’re doing at the Disney store, though,” Remus says, a light lilt to his
voice, almost playful.

Sirius narrows his eyes at him, a smirk stretching his lips. He slightly leans against a rack of
Galaxy’s Edge robes, the shelf underneath them hitting his back enough for support, which is not
stable whatsoever, but it’s what he has. He folds his arms over his chest. “This is much more my
scene than yours, do you not think?”

Remus considers him for a beat, then presses his lips together as he nods in faux earnestness. “I
would surely not be surprised if you were here to buy a lightsaber for yourself, no.”

Sirius gasps excitedly at that, his lips shaped in between a smile and a laugh, and he knows he
probably looks like a dog who’s just heard the word ‘treat’ or ‘walk’. “I was thinking of getting
one!”

There’s a grin Remus seems to be stifling, but he goes on firmly, “You have my full support on
that. Just don’t get Kylo Ren’s or Darth Vader’s, though.”

Sirius scoffs exaggeratedly. “Please, Remus, do you know me at all?”

Remus grins widely.

Sirius swallows thickly. Fucking grin.

“I’m getting either Yoda’s or Rey’s,” he says with a sigh and a small smile. “If I do get it, of
course.”

Remus bites his bottom lip, seemingly for his grin not to enlarge. “Get it. And get Yoda’s.”

It was settled, then.

Sirius leans a bit more into the shelf—he needs to look casual right now. Laid back. Cool.

He’s really, actually, trying to impress Remus. Christ, he truly is twelve again.

“And you?” he asks. “What is the reason behind your coming to the Disney store?”

Remus then brings one of his hands up, showing two mugs he’s holding by the handle. One is wide
and rather short in height, and is painted as the lower half of Stitch’s face. The other has a drawing
of Mickey Mouse’s face and ‘Dad’ written below it.

“Dad’s a collector,” he tells him, and Sirius’ eyebrows raise in surprise, though not much—come to
think of it, it’s very Lyall Lupin-like to collect mugs. “Think he’ll like it?”

Sirius lets out a breathy chuckle as he eyes the ceramics. He nods, “He’d be mental not to.”

“These are the third and fourth mugs I’ve gotten him already. I’ll probably be arrested as a mug
dealer when I go back to the UK.”

“Contraband of themed dad mugs? That’s a grave felony, Remus.”

“I’m ready to serve my time.”

Sirius is smiling. Remus is smiling back.

Maybe there’s something building up. Perhaps. Possibly.

Sirius doesn’t think he’s crazy for noticing how Remus’ pupils are dilated never mind the bright
light of the store. The way his mouth hasn’t been in a straight line ever since he said “Sirius” after
being stabbed in the eye with a Star Wars lightsaber.

He could be brave. He could try.

He’d been brave before.

He really, truly, just wants this smile for longer, and for it to not be a coincidence.

“Uhm…” Sirius starts, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. His fingers then fly to the hem of
his t-shirt, playing with it just to have something to do with his hands to try to hide the fact that
he’s fidgeting. Remus’ eyes are on him, attentively. This is worse than asking him out for ice
cream. “I was… I was thinking—”

“Yeah?” Remus says, and there’s an edge of what sounds as almost eagerness. Excitement.

Sirius lets out a nervous chuckle, pushing back his cuticles now. He really doesn’t know how to do
this in a cool way. “I was thinking that, uh, I mean, I don’t know how your schedule with your
course is and everything, but maybe, I mean, I don’t know, if you’re fr—”
Fucking Galaxy’s Edge robes and fucking kid who reaches up to get the one Sirius’ head was
resting on, so abruptly Sirius doesn’t even have the time to register it or have a hold of himself
before he stumbles back, his entire body—which was already feeling like putty—losing stability,
hitting his back hard against the shelf and, to top things off, kicks the basket with the lightsabers
and sends them scattering across the floor. With himself, of course.

“Oh my god,” he hears Remus gasp. “Are you,” he’s trying not to laugh. Jesus Christ he’s trying
not to laugh, “are you ok?”

Mother, for fuck’s sake, God does not exist, look at this.

Sirius looks up at him, forcing a grin to his mouth. He swishes his hair out of his face. “Fine, yeah.
Haha, superb, really.”

Remus outstretches his hand. Sirius is supposed to take it, he’s pretty sure. Which is fair, Remus is
nice enough to bite back a laugh and help him get to his feet, but in all honesty, his hand looks like
a burning torch in Sirius’ eyes.

He was gonna take it anyway.

“Jesus, you really are Alphard’s nephew, aren’t you,” and that’s Donna. She appears by his side, a
LEGO set on her hand along with the lightsaber.

Remus collects his hand back to himself, giving Donna a small laugh.

Sirius swallows and gets to his feet.

“It’s terrible that these are the times where our kinship comes to surface.”

Sirius leans down to grab all the toys that he sent flying, and places them inside the basket where
they belonged, while a couple costumers stare. Thank god they’re at least in a more quiet little
nook of the store.

He brushes the back of his jeans with his hands after he’s done. When he glances back to Remus,
he’s watching Sirius closely. He seems to still be waiting for what Sirius had to say.

“Sirius, we have to go pay, honey,” Donna says, and she’s sliding a phone back inside her purse
that Sirius hadn’t even realised she had picked up. “Alphard is done at Sephora, so we should meet
him in five, and the line’s fairly long already.”

Sirius opens his mouth and closes it a few times. He could protest that he’s sort of in the middle of
trying to ask his ex-boyfriend out for some drinks, if you could just wait a bit. But he doesn’t. His
bravery can only last for so long.

He nods hesitantly. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

He meets Remus’ eyes. He’s seen these eyes before, and he hates it. Remus looks nearly
disappointed, upset. This very look has been haunting Sirius for over five years.

“I’ll see you, Remus,” he says.

Sirius sees Remus swallow dryly, and then give him a tight-lipped smile. Remus nods.

Their gaze lingers, and it’s not like Sirius is expecting Remus to just lurch forward, grab him by the
shirt and kiss him against Star Wars costumes, so he just turns on his heels and starts walking after
Donna.

“Sirius.”

Maybe he will.

God, he’s so ridiculous.

Sirius turns back around.

Remus is holding out a green lightsaber, a soft smile touching his lips. Genuine. Simple, and
genuine.

“You almost forgot.”

Sirius stares at him, wondering for about the billionth time in his life how is he real, and then grins,
because he can’t help himself, because he doesn’t want to help himself, because there’s no way of
stopping himself.

And it’s a whole glowing stick meant for children. And his ex-boyfriend is offering it to him by the
handle. It’s a tall glowing stick. A bunch of free space for Sirius to grab it from.

Sirius takes it by the handle.

Remus’ hand is like a burning torch.

“Cheers,” Moony.

Remus is smiling that slow smile of his again, seeming utterly amused, as though he also can’t
believe his own life.

Maybe Sirius’ Life and Remus’ should get together for some tea.

Sirius gives him a soft smile before turning back around and heading off after Donna, who’s
already by the queue.

At the corner of his eye, he sees Remus grabbed a lightsaber for himself. And now he’s gonna
think about a Star Wars toy for the remainder of his life. This is so ridiculous.

When Sirius joins Donna at last, she doesn’t even look at him as she says, “And that is..?”

Sirius presses his lips together, because honestly, he could almost laugh. “My ex-boyfriend.”

Donna is quiet for a beat. She glances up at him. “Very handsome. And nice.”

“Yeah,” Sirius replies between a sigh that’s loaded with self depreciation, “I know.”
VII — I Hear The Words, But All I Can Think Is “We Should Be Together”

“You can do it, mate. I believe in your heartthrob potential.”

“James, this is going to be a disaster.”

“Of course it won’t! You’re nice, and funny, and have awesome hair. I don’t see why he’d ever say
no.”

Sirius stared at his best friend’s face. Obviously he appreciated James’ support, but, in all fairness,
it wasn’t like James knew what it was like to be in his shoes. It wasn’t like James’ date proposals
to Lily had ever worked.

“Don’t be nervous, Sirius.”

“Oh, thank you, Einstein, I hadn’t thought of that,” Sirius snapped, and when James raised his
eyebrows in surprise, Sirius buried his face in his palms.

“No need to get aggressive, Queen Elizabeth,” James said with an edge of a scold in his voice,
though he didn’t sound mad.

“Sorr—” Sirius lifted up his head from his hands, his eyebrows knitted together, “What does the
Queen have to do with this?”

James shrugged. “I have a feeling she can be quite snappy when driven to the edge. It’s in her
face. Anyway. It’s time. Go.” He nodded his head in the direction of one of the tables across the
room from where they sat on the couches, looking behind Sirius’ shoulder. “He’s over there. And
you better go before Evans arrives, otherwise you’ll have an audience. Oh, but if she does, make
sure to say something nice about me, just in case. Tell her I combed my hair today and that it
actually seemed to make a difference.”

“James.”

“What? We’re getting old, I can’t go around wasting time!”

“We’re thirteen.”

“And if I want to start a family, I need to start thinking ahead.”

Sirius let out a deep, heavy sigh, and quickly glanced behind his shoulder.

And there he was. Hunched over his studies, nibbling at the end of his pencil and tapping his
fingers to the table in an inconsistent beat. Remus lifted his paper from the table, holding it closer
to his face with an attentive gaze, and placed his pencil behind his ear as his eyes darted across
the words. An absolute babe.

Sirius’ heart did twists and pirouettes.

He looked back to James, and ran his hands through his hair to smooth it out. “Does the hair look
alright?”

“Looking very supermodel. Go.”

Sirius breathed in. Breathed out. Closed his eyes. Ran his hands another time through his hair, for
 good measure. Got to his feet.

“Alright. Yeah. Alright, I can do this.”

“You sure can,” James said. “And I’ll be silently cheering for you from here on the stands.”

James put his palm up, and Sirius’ met it with his own in a high-five that soon transitioned into an
elaborate handshake they’d come up with when they were eleven.

“Go get your, how is it that you call him?” James frowned in thought, and a moment later,
beamed, wiggling his eyebrows, “Moony! Go get your Moony, you sexy beast, you!”

Great. Sirius’ face was already a bright scarlet with embarrassment and he hadn’t even
approached Remus yet.

His legs were moving. Bloody hell. He swiftly looked back at James, sure he had the most terrified
look on his face, but his best friend just replied to it with two thumbs up and a wide toothy grin.
Sirius let out a very, very deep breath.

“Hiya, Moonbeam.”

Remus, who seemed to not even have heard Sirius’ steps coming near him, looked up with a faint
look of surprise across his features. A split second passed before he opened a soft smile, with a
slow blink that Sirius found terribly charming and made his stomach sink to the floor. “Hey,
Sirius.”

And because Sirius Black’s life was awesome, suddenly his mind went blank. He stared at Remus
for what he was sure to be long enough—and Remus’ confused expression sure gave it away, too.

He decided to sit down. Sure, this was one of the only situations where he could pretend to be
taller than Remus—or anyone, really. He was the only one who hadn’t gotten his growth spurt yet.
It was starting to get awkward—, but he needed Remus to see him eye to eye. See them as equals.
Not Sirius just being this ginormously tall and handsome bloke towering over him and demanding
Remus to go on a date with him because he’s super duper cute.

“What’s… what’s up?” Remus asked, exhaling a lot more air than one usually does. His eyes kept
glancing off of Sirius and back again, as though he couldn’t hold eye contact for longer than five
seconds.

Same, Sirius thought.

He quickly ran through all the possible outcomes that this could have in his head. One, could be
that Remus would actually be a very, very evil person and laugh in his face and call him a pathetic
sod to ever think he’d say yes to a date with him. Sirius didn’t think this was very likely at all, but
he didn’t want to discard any options.

The other, would be that Remus would say, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, my
beautiful prince,” and jump inside his arms and kiss him for the second time—second!—, going on
a date with him and asking for his hand in marriage the following day. Again, he didn’t think this
was very likely to happen, but he still didn’t want to discard any options.

And the last one, which happened to be the most probable of the three, was that Remus would say
yes. But he would say yes because he would think this was just two mates hanging out. Which was
not necessarily bad—it just wasn’t Sirius’ intention. Of course, they would always go get ice cream
every time they had a day off school and could visit the little village just outside the grounds; it
was more of a tradition now than anything, but it was always with Pete and James, as well. It had
never been just the two of them.

And Sirius was still deciding if he was brave enough to specify that one bit.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked.

Remus blinked, and then seemed to shake himself off. “Oh, uh, just the English homework for next
week. Have you started on that yet?”

Sirius tilted his head a bit to the side. “Nope.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, sucking on his bottom lip, then, at last, glanced back down to
his papers.

Sirius’ heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid Remus could hear it.

He decided to start talking so his voice would cancel out the sound.

“Moony, do you wanna go get some ice cream next Saturday?” he said, quicker than a natural
speed for a human being to speak, so it probably just sounded like,
“MoonydoyouwannagogetsomeicecreamnextSaturday?”

Remus looked up, eyebrows slightly high. “What?”

Sirius breathed in. God, he probably looked like a crazy person. He cleared his throat and tried
again. “Do you… do you wanna go get some ice cream next Saturday?”

Remus blinked, and if Sirius wasn’t mistaken, he even seemed mildly confused. A tiny polite smile
flashed across his lips. “Oh, yeah, sure. Of course.” He then frowned a bit. “We just can’t forget
to remind James to take his lactase pills… we couldn’t enter the bathroom for the remainder of the
day the last time we went.”

And Sirius would’ve laughed at the memory, if he hadn’t just felt a sharp pang against his heart.
Remus didn’t even think it was just the two of them going. That possibility hadn’t even crossed his
mind.

Sirius would have to specify.

“Yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly. “No, yeah, that’s the thing, uh. They wouldn’t… James and Pete
wouldn’t go this time, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking, Moons, and—”

“Yeah?” Remus said, and he sounded even… excited.

It gave Sirius a jolt of confidence, fizzling through him. “I’ve been thinking and, uhm, I was
wondering if you wouldn’t like to, like, go get some ice cream with me. Just me.” He swallows
thickly. “Like on a date.”
 Remus blinked. “Oh.”

***

Even Alphard’s love life was busier than Sirius’.

“I’m telling you, kid, if you smell nice, they will never say no,” he says, smugly wiggling a freshly
new Tom Ford cologne at his nephew.

“Elder man learns about shower and thinks he can rule the world, see details below.”

Alphard approaches his bed to give the side of Sirius’ head a shove.

“Oh, Sirius, don’t say that,” Donna says, seated next to Sirius by the end of the large king bed.
“Let’s just be glad he finally got the courage to ask the guy out.”

“And he said yes!” Alphard shrieks, and when Sirius and Donna raise their eyebrows at him with
their faces reading pure amusement, the man clears his throat, and speaks in a solemn, firm voice,
“I mean, whatever.”

Donna snorts, shaking her head.

“What time are you going?” Sirius quires.

His uncle walks over to his bathroom counter where his wristwatch sits, reading the viewer as he
buttons the cuffs of his shirt. “In nearly two hours.”

“Why are you already dressed, then?” Donna says, a laugh in her voice.

He looks back at her, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Donna arches an eyebrow.
Alphard hangs his head. “I’m nervous.”

“Ha!” Sirius barks out a loud laugh. “You’re fifty-seven years-old and you’re nervous about a
date?! That’s comical. I cannot believe my eyes.”

“There isn’t an age where you stop being nervous!” his uncle protests.

“But you surely must have enough experience on this matter to simply no longer get nervous.”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“I’m calling you old.”

Donna cackles loudly, throwing her head back, and Alphard doesn’t insist on glaring at Sirius for
long enough not to laugh along with her, both his and Donna’s guffaws bouncing around the room.

It’s good to see him like this, Sirius thinks. Happy. Carefree. Meeting new people, getting ready for
dates while waiting for his best friend’s approval on his outfit like a teenager. Sirius remembers,
only briefly, but still has some glimpses left on his brain on how his uncle used to be before he had
left the Black family and went to live his life how he wanted to.

Sirius had been nine years-old, and he’d been the only one to know Alphard was leaving before he
actually did so.

It had been Christmas Eve, all the Blacks and families high-society enough to be invited crowded
inside Sirius’ wide living room, with expensive glittery dresses and fine cut suits, drinking lavish
champagne from crystal flutes. Sirius himself had been dressed in a dark plum three-piece suit with
a grey tie that he had made sure to muss with the knot before heading down from his room. He
hated those clothes, might as well have some fun with them, at least.

It had been almost midnight when Mother came to him, grabbing at his arm and making him jerk
awake from the half-asleep state he was in, nuzzled on the corner of one of the sofas with his knees
close to his chest.

“Sirius,” she hissed, pulling him to his feet at once. “Is this behaviour? Is this such posture? Look
at your hair! I am telling you, I have been utterly tempted to chop this mane off, and if you can’t
keep it well then—”

“Sister,” a warm voice came to Sirius’ ears, and a second after, his uncle Alphard appeared by his
mother’s side, placing his hands on each of her boney shoulders. “May I have a word with my
nephew, really quickly?”

Mother’s stony gaze went to uncle Alphard, who glanced at her with a gentle smile that impressed
Sirius immensely, for that he didn’t think he could ever look at his mother with that sort of eyes
and that sort of smile.

Walburga’s jaw was rigid, but she nodded stiffly. “Suit yourself.” And marched away, though not
before sending Sirius another icy glare.

Sirius beamed as soon as she was out of sight. “My hero!” he whispered to his uncle, who smiled
so widely down at him his eyes almost closed.

At that point, Alphard’s nickname in Sirius’ head was basically Hero, really, for that he always
saved Sirius from situations like this. ‘Situations like this’ being every time Alphard saw Walburga
near him, and he was eternally grateful to the man for that.

“Any time.” Alphard lowered to a crouch to get to Sirius’ eye level—Sirius had been very small at
nine years-old—and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “But really, kid, can we talk for a
second?”

Sirius nodded vigorously, and followed after his uncle to the balcony, where a rush of cold air met
his face with a sharp blow, making him shiver. They sat down by an old metal bench, looking up at
the infinite blue and the stars named after the people they both shared the same good old hatred
for.

“Are you cold, son?” Alphard asked. Sirius adored when his uncle called him ‘son’—for a
moment, he could pretend family was just the two of them.

“A bit,” Sirius responded, trying to fight against his chattering teeth.

Alphard gave a warm, heartily chuckle, and wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his palm rapidly
up and down Sirius’ arm enough to create heat. Sirius leaned into his uncle embrace and yawned
something that resembled a lion roaring.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Sirius hummed a sound gesturing that he was listening, too sleepy to talk.

“I’m leaving, Sirius.”

“The party? Lucky. Wish I could too, but Mother won’t let me go up to my room. Says it would
make me an atrocious host.”

Alphard spoke after a long beat. “No, son. I’m leaving. Actually. Leaving England. Everything.”

Sirius’ head snapped up. “What?”

His uncle’s eyes were nothing but woeful as he glanced down at him, and it made Sirius ache, ache
more for his uncle than for himself, who would be without him.

“I’m sorry, kid. I am. If I could, I’d take you with me—”

“Then do! Take me with you!”

“That would be kidnapping, Sirius.”

“Not if I’m allowing it!”

Uncle Alphard’s smile was sad. “I cannot do that, and you know it.”

There hadn’t been many questions to be asked, nothing to wonder about. Sirius hadn’t needed his
uncle to tell him why he was going, what his motives behind his leaving were. They were probably
just the same as his would be if he could leave as well—a simple, uncomplicated ‘I can’t take them
any longer.’

There was a lump in Sirius’ throat that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to swallow. “When are you
leaving?” he asked, voice quivering.

“I’ll be gone before the new year.”

Sirius nodded rigidly. “Where to?”

Alphard let out a heavy sigh. “Spain, for a short while. Then I’ll figure it out from there.”

Sirius hadn’t wanted to ask, knowing he would be selfish to, but did anyway: “So you’re just going
to leave me?”

“Oh, Sirius,” his uncle breathed out, and shifted to hug him tightly, rubbing his hand down Sirius’
back, depriving him from the cold and letting Sirius’ tears wet his expensive suit with no
complaint. “I’m not going to leave you, my boy. I told you, if I could, I’d take you with me. I’d
hide you inside my suitcase. But I can’t. I hate that I can’t.”

Sirius pulled away, wiping his eyes. “I’m going to be alone.”

“You’re not going to be alone. Andie’s not going anywhere!”

“Andromeda is too old to play with me. I tried to have a conversation with her once, but she only
talks about boys and periods now. I thought she was talking about writing and homework, but it’s
something way grosser than that. You don’t even want to know.”

Alphard gave him a small chuckle. “And your brother, hmph? He’s also not going anywhere.”

Sirius considered for a moment, then exhaled heavily. “I know, but sometimes we fight and he gets
angry and doesn’t want to play with me anymore. And he cries so Mother always thinks it’s my
fault. Andie told me it’s because his birthday is in the end of June, but I don’t know what that has
to do with anything.”
His uncle was rubbing big, soothing circles over Sirius’ back. “I promise I’m not leaving you. Only
physically, but I’ll be with you all the time. Do you know how to work a computer?”

Sirius lifted his shoulders. “There’s one in Father’s study, but he doesn’t let me in that much. I
sneak in sometimes, though, when he’s off at work. There are some cool games in it.”

“Very well. Then I’ll e-mail you—”

Sirius frowned. “What’s that?”

“It’s like a letter, but on the internet. A message. I can create an e-mail address for you before
leaving, and all you have to do is check the inbox for e-mails from me. I can also send you written
letters, if you’d like; if you think you would have a hard time getting into your father’s study.
Whatever is best for you. However is best for you to talk to me as much as you’d like.”

Sirius looked up at him with big, glassy eyes. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he said, and leaned in to bump their foreheads together, making Sirius chuckle a wet
laugh. Alphard then breathed out deeply, and his features turned more solemn. “Now, there’s
another thing,” he said. “I’m opening up a bank account on your name, and you’ll have access to it
when you turn eighteen. I’ll be depositing money in it every month, so when you turn of age, you
can do whatever you want with it. But until then, I’ll also be sending you money. Whenever.”

Sirius shook his head, his lips parted. “What? No. You can’t do that.”

“I can, and I’m already doing it, so then when you leave, you won’t have to depend on them for
anything, and even while you’re still here, if anything happens, you’ll have your own money. I got
you a coat for Christmas,” he nodded his head in the direction of the party, where a big Christmas
tree was sat by the corner of the room, dozens of boxes neatly placed around it. “In the inside
pocket of the coat, there’ll be an envelope. Take that envelope and hide it. No one can find it. It’s
your money, Sirius. I’m giving it to you, but if my sister finds it, she’ll make it vanish. Keep it
safe. Once you go to school in two years, take it with you. You don’t have to spend it, and honestly
I don’t even wish you to do so, but have it with you so you can use it if it’s needed. But keep it safe,
Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed everything, his eyes wide. “This feels like one of those crime films. You know
you’re saying all of this to a nine year-old, right?”

Alphard stared at him, and after a moment, burst out laughing, and Sirius followed suit.

“I just worry about you, son,” his uncle said. “I worry so much, I just want you to be safe, but I
can’t take care of you while I’m not safe here. Maybe I’m overdoing it, but I’m just trying to
protect you.”

Sirius took a big breath, and wrapped his short arms around his uncle. “It’s ok. I’ll be fine. You
should go and be fine too.”

He felt Alphard exhale heavily, his chest dropping and his breath swishing the hairs on top of
Sirius’ head. “I’ll contact you the most I can.”

“I sure hope so,” Sirius tore away, smirking now. “I can’t wait to tell you about all the toys I’m
gonna get.”

Alphard gasped, and pointed a stern finger at him, though his lips fought against a grin. “The
money is not for that.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. I’m nine, uncle, nine. There’s only so much
you can expect from me.”

Alphard laughed a booming sound, that kind of laugh that old people give that echoes through
rooms and makes their chests shake. Sirius smiled.

“I’m gonna miss you a lot,” he said, leaning against his uncle’s side.

Alphard rested his cheek against the top of Sirius’ head—he had to crane his neck for it. “I’m
gonna miss you too, kid. So much.”

Two days later, no one from the Black family but for Sirius and his cousin Andromeda heard a
word from Alphard Black ever again.

“I feel like pink doesn’t suit me,” his uncle is saying now, glancing at his reflection on the mirror
while he smooths out his shirt.

“You look wonderful,” Donna tells him.

Alphard turns to her. “Doesn’t it make me look like a shrimp? I’m sort of sunburned already.”

“It looks lovely on you, and I would never lie to you. This is just your nerves, Alphard.”

The man holds her gaze with an anxious look to his eyes, worrying at his bottom lip, and Sirius has
never seen himself in his uncle this much—looking like a little teen because of a date with a cute
boy! Oh, the feels! Kill him right now.

“Is your Portuguese any good?” Sirius asks.

“I’m not gonna have to speak Portuguese to him.”

“You think so, but it would be really nice if you did. Even only a couple words, just so he’ll know
that you’re interested in learning and trying to make him more comfortable to be around you.
Language can be a big barrier sometimes.”

Alphard’s eyes grow huge and alarmed. “What?! You didn’t tell me that! I barely know what
Marlene told me that other day!”

“I could call her if yo—”

“Call her. Call her right now.”

Marlene’s face appears on the screen of Sirius’ phone a minute later, her grin wide. “Hey, hello,
coisa linda. Oh, I’m glad you called, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you—”

“We’ll catch up in a sec, it’s just that we’re kind of in the middle of an emergency right now and
we need your help.”

He barely catches her look of bemusement before Alphard snatches the phone from Sirius’ hand.

“Oi! Olá, tudo bem?” his uncle says, his voice shaking and giving Marlene a nervous crooked
smile.

A silence echoes through the room. Marlene’s booming laughter fills the air.

“What are you—? Oi. Oi, Alphard. Tudo certo, sim.”

It takes thirty minutes for Sirius to receive his phone back, and when he does, the words “Lindo”,
“Obrigado”, and “Vamos nos ver de novo!” are running around his head in loops that make his
head ache.

“Is that all, then?” he says, taking the phone from Alphard’s hand.

Alphard nods eagerly, beaming, and Donna laughs.

Sirius snorts, and shifts his gaze to look at Marlene through the phone. “Alright. Then I’ll text you
later, Marls—”

“Wait, wait, no, I want to talk to you!”

He looks up at his uncle, who’s now at his in-suite bathroom with Donna, the pair analysing
Alphard’s reflection, smoothing out his shirt and fussing with his grey hair.

Sirius gets to his feet and starts for the door. Once in the hallway, says: “What’s up?”

Marlene, laid down on her bed with her blonde hair fanned out over her pillows, is grinning wildly
up at the screen.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at her, smirking. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Sirius, I’m in love. That’s it.”

He coughs out a laugh. “What?”

Marlene sits up at once, animatedly. “I went on a date last night. Met her on Tinder. Dude. Dude.”

Sirius laughs. “How was it?”

“It was the best date of my fucking life, Sirius. She’s so funny. And so sweet, like think of the
sweetest person in the world; that’s her. She told me all about her plants. She’s a plant mum. She’s
a fucking plant mum, Sirius. And she’s just so cool, like, if I didn’t want to be with her, I’d surely
just want to be her. Oh, and she’s Welsh, but she’s been in London for a year now. Has the hottest
accent, but I might be biased—I thought everything about her was hot, to be honest.”

“No, you’re right. But I also might be biased.”

“I’m afraid you might not be the best person to talk me out of proposing to her the next time we go
out.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Marlene purses her lips and nods earnestly.

“Ok, so tell me about her.”

And apparently everyone’s love life is busier than his.

“Do you think she’s the one?” Sirius asks, half an hour later, sprawled on the guest room’s bed.

Marlene scoffs, “Sirius, we went on one date, don’t be mental.” A moment goes by. “But, yeah, I
literally just met my future wife, she’s so the one.”

Sirius cackles. “What’s her name? You didn’t tell me.”

“Well, I’m not telling you,” she says, and when he opens his mouth to respond, appalled, she
continues before he can say anything, “Not yet. You always get weirdly attached to the girls I go
out with before even I do. If I tell you her name, you’ll look her up on Instagram and you’ll fall in
love with her too, and imagine if she doesn’t want to see me again? Can’t risk it. It would take me
even longer to get over her with you not being over her as well.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“This is necessary.”

“I feel like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I have.”

“I’m oddly flattered.”

They chat away for around another thirty minutes. Sirius tells her about all the other times he’d ran
into Remus while in New York, and she’s shocked by all of them. He tells her about the way he
smiles, the way he laughs, the way he told him to get Yoda’s lightsaber and how it barely fits in his
suitcase now. Sirius doesn’t tell her that he’s still in love with him, but he knows Marlene knows.
She’s always been two steps ahead of everyone.

“Mary and I were actually talking about him the other day,” she says, laying on her side with a
hand underneath her cheek, scrunching a side of her face.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What about?”

“Just that we miss him, really. You know how Mary is; sometimes she gets emotional, nostalgic.
She found a picture of all of us just before we’d left school, and we talked about it. It’s still weird
to not have him around all the time, honestly. You know those moments when you suddenly detach
yourself from the moment and you become just hyperaware of your surroundings?”

Sirius nods.

“Yeah, like, I get these sometimes. When we’re all hanging out, you know. I just look around and
he’s not there. He was always there. It’s been five years and it’s still weird to me.”

They are silent for a lingering minute, Sirius playing with a loose thread in the duvet, not really
formulating any thoughts.

And he’s ashamed, in a way. When he thinks of Remus, it’s always of his Remus. His boyfriend,
Remus. His love, Remus. He doesn’t think of James’ Remus, Mary’s Remus, Peter’s or Lily’s or
Marlene’s. And he feels embarrassed; selfish. Sometimes he forgets Remus had been their best
friend too. He’d also been theirs.

“You never told me that,” he says, softly.

“I’ve never told anyone. Just Mary, and that was, what, last week. And… I dunno, I feel like we all
have our moments of missing him and thinking of him. I felt like it would be kind of insensitive of
me, though, to go and bugger you with my own, when you… you know.”
“You talk about him as if he’s dead.”

She laughs lightly. “Sometimes I swear it feels like he is.”

Sirius gives a small chuckle. “He’s not,” he says, and a smile is pulling at his mouth. “He’s very
much alive.”

Her eyes are on him, and her slight smile is knowingly.

They hang up shortly after, and a knocking to his door comes around twenty minutes later.

“Come on in!”

The door swings open, revealing Alphard in the same bright salmon button-down as before, sand-
coloured linen shorts and sunglasses, his arms outstretched.

Sirius laughs.

“Thoughts on, how do you kids call it… the fit? Thoughts on the fit?”

Sirius is still cackling. “Why the sunglasses?”

“Gotta look cool, obviously. And it’s still kind of light out, so it wouldn’t be super weird,” Alphard
says. “Right?”

Sirius nods. “Good thinking, good thinking. Where’s D?”

“Had to go home.” Alphard heads inside the room, and Sirius pulls his legs closer to himself to
give his uncle space to sit by the end of the bed.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Shortly. I’m, uhm… I’m picking up some flowers on the way.”

Sirius gasps around a laugh, seeing his uncle blush a bright pink. “Alphard Black, a romantic! I
would’ve never guessed.”

“You had to get that from someone,” Alphard says, and Sirius nods.

“I feel like those dads in films, giving their daughters off to their prom date,” Sirius says. “I didn’t
know you were such a teenager when you go out with people. I wish I could see it all the time.”

His uncle laughs heartily. “You’re a knob, you know that.”

Sirius smirks. “I’m still your favourite.”

“Not like it’s hard.”

Sirius considers, and then nods. “That’s true.”

But Alphard smiles kindly; paternally. He places a hand on Sirius’ socked foot. “Though you’d still
be my favourite even if it was the hardest choice in the history of always. Of that I’m sure.”

Sirius beams, and both stay in comfortable silence for a while.

“But… you could, though,” his uncle breaks the quietness, his voice quite wary. “It would be fun.”
“What?”

“You could,” he repeats. “See me acting like a teenager when I go out with people. Get to know
the men I go out with.” He seems to wait a beat to speak again, calculating his words. “I’ve been
thinking a bit, actually—”

A phone rings, cutting him off.

Alphard fishes for his own in the back pocket of his shorts. He checks the notification—it seems to
be an alarm rather than an actual person calling. “Ok,” he claps his legs as he gets to his feet, “I
have to get going. Are you going out tonight?”

Sirius lifts his shoulders. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You should. The weather’s nice. There are some fun bars in the neighbourhood. Get to know the
place a bit, yeah?”

Sirius surveys his uncle’s face for a beat. “Yeah,” he responds. “I’ll see what I’ll do.”

Alphard nods, and gives the top of Sirius’ head a strong kiss. “Behave,” he says, pointing his index
finger at Sirius when he’s already by the door.

Sirius scoffs. “I should be telling you that.”

Alphard grins from ear to ear, and leaves, closing the door after himself.

And Sirius is now met with the ceiling. He stares at it, it stares back at him. The house without
Alphard is a loud silence without his heavy footsteps, his blender early in the morning, his blaring
music that he doesn’t care to turn down for the neighbours, never mind for his own nephew. He’s
loud when he walks, when he talks, breathes or moves, and Sirius loves, loves, loves that about
him. It’s the replacement for the screeching and yelling and crashing of glasses he’s ever wanted
when home with family. It’s a kind of loud that hugs him; rubs a hand up and down his arm enough
to create heat.

He decides to go for a shower.

And after, he decides he’ll put on his clothes, grab his wallet, and leave the house.

Sirius walks for around twenty minutes, deliberately aimless. He wanders about the streets, the
warm wind lightly blowing his hair dry, kissing his skin with a scent of summer. Some people
recognise him, shop owners like Mr. Malib, from when his uncle had introduced him to his friends
around the block. He waves back, he smiles, he even gets hugged by Celeste, who was closing up
her bookstore for the day. And it’s nice. He likes it more than he thought he would.

There’s a bright lettering above an establishment with twinkling neon letters that reads: Merlin’s.
And Sirius laughs to himself, because he’s sure this is for gay people—look at the name!—, and
the sign makes it look like a cheap strip club, and he’s crazy to even consider not going in.

Inside it’s much more different, though. The walls consisting of bright orange exposed bricks, with
eccentric light pendants hanging from the ceiling over the bar counter and tables. The lights are
fairly low, but not so much that you wouldn’t be able to read a menu and the light of your phone
would blind you when you went to check the time, and Sirius figures it’s due to it still being early
in the evening. It’s much more elegant and intimate than what the outside presents, and Sirius
already adores it.

The music is soft, nearly elevator-like, but he enjoys it. It’s not too crowded yet, but not empty
whatsoever—just enough for him not to feel creeped out at a deserted place but yet also not too
claustrophobic in a huddled place. The bartender behind the counter asks for his drink order, and
Sirius just asks for a Vodka soda. Keeping things simple, keeping things light. Nothing too
complicated. His own little head is enough.

And he just… sits there. And, yeah, the place is nice, but it gets boring after half an hour with
nothing to do but swipe around on his phone and sipping on his drink. He can’t even text James or
Peter, as it’s already late at night in England and they’re most likely to be on their fifteenth sleep by
now.

This is good for you, he tells himself inwardly. It’s a drink you’re having by yourself. Nothing
harmful. Nothing Vodka can’t swallow down, huh? Huh? It has to ‘huh’, Sirius, for the love of
god.

“Just some water for now, thanks.”

Huh.

Sirius’ heart flips. He takes another sip, pretends he hasn’t heard anything. Pretends he hasn’t seen
anything.

Though, what Sirius Black tends to forget, is that he’s not made a glass, thus he’s very much not
invisible.

“This has to be a joke,” Remus says, and he’s seated two seats away, just two, and he’s smiling
that fucking lopsided smile, just that one, and he’s looking at Sirius with eyes of pure amusement,
just that look.

‘Huh’, my arse.

“Hey,” Sirius says, and he’s smiling too, because he’s an idiot, “Moony.”

And if it’s even possible, Remus’ grin widens.

***

“Yeah…” Sirius said. “Oh.”

And Remus was staring at him with a look Sirius couldn’t read—he didn’t know if he seemed
surprised, ‘flattered, but no’, disappointed or actually delighted. Sirius crossed his fingers
underneath the table.

“A date?” Remus asked, as if trying out the word.

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, uhm. Y’know, since James’ birthday—” Christ, he was blushing so
much. “—I’ve just. I dunno, Moons, I’ve been thinking—” He’d been thinking since he were
eleven, but do go on, “—and I was wondering if you wouldn’t want—”

“Yes.”

Sirius had to blink. Blinked again. “What?”

Remus was nodding excitedly, bobbing his head up and down. He was actually doing that. That
 was a sign of ‘yes’, Sirius learned that living in a civilization.

“Yes. I want that. I wanna go on a date with you.”

Sirius’ breath was stolen from his lungs, and his heart was doing a weird choreography.
“Really?”

Remus smiled, bloody hell, he smiled. “Yes. I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

Lacked the ‘my beautiful prince’ part, but close enough.

Sirius grinned so widely his cheeks hurt for the two following days.

Moony had said yes.

And he was going to tell him. He was going to tell him how much he liked him.
 VIII — It’s the First Kiss, It’s Flawless, Really Something
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“It’s gonna work,” James was saying in a quiet whisper as though he was a secret agent for the
government, gesturing pointedly with his hands. “We’ve already practiced loads of times. There’s
no way it’s not gonna work.”

“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t?” Sirius asked. They were both leaning against the mantelpiece, a can
of Dr. Pepper in hands and observing the movement of James’ thirteenth birthday party that they
had thrown in the communal room. There weren’t many people—only the closest friends and some
of James’ mates from the football team. “What if, I dunno, the wind is different today? What if you
slip and spin it way too hard? What if… what if it lands on someone else before it does on me?”

“You’re insulting me,” James said, then took a sharp intake of breath, pushing his glasses up his
nose bridge. “My mum always says, ‘Beta, one day you’re gonna grow to have the biggest brain in
the world—’”

“I think she’s talking about the massive size of your head.”

James fixed him with a cold glare, and sighed before continuing: “Therefore, my friend,” he
tapped his index finger to his temple, “I’m a genius. This thing up here; it works, mate. So no, I’m
not going to slip, because I know the exact amount of strength and precision I have to put into the
spin according to the weight of the bottle. That’s Physics, Black. You just have to make sure to sit
opposite to him, and leave the rest to me.”

Sirius glanced off his best friend, miserably leaning his head against the wall with a thud and
sweeping his gaze along the room. There were some boys from their year huddled together in a
group, and occasionally some would lift up their heads to glance at some girl. Mary and Lily were
dancing to a song Sirius knew as Hot N Cold for that Evans had no understanding of common
sense and had been playing this new singer Katy Perry’s music constantly in the common room,
and if not, would blast it in the girls’ room loud enough that Sirius could hear from his own.

While the two girls danced wildly, swishing their hairs and jumping up and down with their hands
intertwined, Marlene and Peter were laying on the carpet, both their legs up at a sofa’s cushion
and their backs flat on the floor, and Marlene’s blonde hair spread across the rug that it meshed
with Peter’s own blonde, creating a pillow of gold around them. They had their faces turned to
each other, and their expressions were solemn. It looked like a weird sort of business meeting.

And by the table with the drinks and crisps, Sirius saw as his heart did a little dance, was Remus
Lupin, pouring himself a cup of 7Up—because Sirius knew he hated drinking directly from the can.
Found it to be unsanitary—while talking to who looked to be Em Vance, a big smile plastered on
his face. He was probably telling her about how he was planning on rescuing all the puppies in the
world who need shelter and making them beds out of his woolly jumpers, because he was nice, and
kind, and just the best like that. Too good for Sirius, but this, at least, Sirius didn’t take personally;
Remus was too good for everyone.

Five minutes passed when Mary spoke loudly to the room, her curls sticking to her forehead after a
fit of dancing and gasping as she said: “Does anyone want to play a game?”

Soft cheers of agreement echoed through the room, though some groans of complaint did not go
 unnoticed.

James shot Sirius what was the most mischievous of looks Sirius had ever seen, and then stalked
forward to the centre of the room with a triumphant grin on his face, his hands spread out as if he
was a tv show host, or something of the sort.

“Funny enough, I was actually wondering if anyone wants to play spin the bottle?”

Thirteen people agreed to play, and the other five who didn’t sat by the armchairs and couches
around the circle the players had formed on the floor. Remus almost, almost hadn’t played, but of
course superhero and matchmaker James Potter would never allow such thing, and guilt-tripped
Remus into playing since it was his birthday, and before Remus could even actually say yes to his
participation in the game, James full-forcefully pushed him to the floor by the shoulders, making
him slump messily down on the carpet.

“Does anyone see an empty bottle laying around?” asked Lily.

James perked up. “I do! There’s one,” he hurriedly got to his feet and sprinted to one of the
windows by the far back of the room, pushing the curtain aside to reveal an empty glass bottle of
sparkling water. That he had hidden there.

“How did you see that one?” inquires Marlene, scrunching her face in confusion.

“My glasses are, like, ultra bionic. I’ll have you know I’m two steps away from being a robot. Isn’t
that cool, Evans? Yeah.” He slumped back down onto his spot on the circle, and took what
probably seemed to be too long to finish placing the bottle in the centre if Sirius didn’t know he
was actually trying to find the exact position for it. “Ok. Let’s do this, lads. Everyone’s got their
chapstick in hand?”

Mary smacked her lips together dramatically and giggled at herself afterwards.

“Just spin the bottle, Potter,” Lily said with a sudden bored look to her face, but that was usually
how she looked like when addressing James.

“Since you’re so kind,” he said, and leaned forward to spin it.

James and Sirius had agreed not to try their arrangement at first, since: One, if it worked at first
try, then Sirius probably would be all jittery and giggly for the remainder of the game, and that
wouldn’t be really punk of him; and two, they had to make it look accidental, a mere coincidence.
Otherwise, people would get suspicious of the true nature of the game.

The first pair to kiss was Peter and Emmeline. Then, Kingsley and Mary, followed by Lily and
Marlene. When the bottle had landed on Sirius and Pandora, he’d politely declined and said he
had to go to the loo.

It had gone like this for about thirty-five minutes, and Sirius couldn’t tell if James still wasn’t
trying to make it land on both Sirius and Remus or if he was and it just simply wasn’t working, and
it wasn’t like Sirius could pull him to the side and ask him what was going on.

He decided to try and give the back of James’ t-shirt a little tug, hoping his best friend would
notice, and hoping he would also take it as a sign.

Do it.

James glanced at him swiftly, and his quizzical expression quickly morphed into an understanding
one when Sirius slightly raised his eyebrows at him. James’ nod was barely there, but Sirius caught
it.

And less than fifteen seconds later, James Potter was the new Isaac Newton.

Lily and Mary gasped softly. Peter’s eyes bulged out. James coughed to mask his grin. Marlene’s
expression was mildly surprised, and she had a smirk across her mouth.

Sirius was staring at the bottle, unbelieving. James Potter was actually good. The cap was directed
towards him. He was not blind. He was not going crazy. And the bottom was towards Remus. He
really, really hoped he was not going crazy. Tell him this wasn’t a hallucination.

A girl coughed. Sirius looked up, and brown eyes instantly pierced into his; huge, alarmed brown
eyes. He saw the movement of Remus’ throat as he swallowed dryly.

“Is it a staring contest or a spin the bottle game?” asked Marlene impatiently, but Sirius knew her
well enough to know she wanted to get this over with for reasons he’d never had to actively tell her
about. She was just that smart.

Sirius tried flashing Remus a comforting smile, though he knew it probably came out all crooked
and nervous. Remus mirrored it perfectly.

“Come on, lads, let’s go,” James said, waving his hand between them.

“They don’t have to do it if they don’t want to,” protested Lily, and reached to her side to put a
protective hand on Remus’ forearm.

“It’s fine,” Sirius blurted out, and all eyes went to him. He swallowed. “I mean, by me. It’s fine by
me.”

Remus was looking at him, his expression unreadable, and Sirius tried giving him a small nod, just
for him—it’s ok, Moony.

The tips of Remus’ lips quirk up at the slightest.

Sirius slid forward, not wanting to make a big deal out of it—pfft—and get up, so he just shimmied
his bum enough so that he was a few inches closer to Remus now, and all they had to do was really
just… lean in.

The room was a piercing quietness.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Sirius said, his voice almost a whisper.

Remus gave the tiniest of shakes of his head, his cheeks pink. “It’s ok. It’s… I want to.”

Sirius’ lips pulled into a soft smile. Not very punk indeed.

“Ok, do it, guys!” Mary chimed in excitedly, clearly not having heard their secret interaction just
now. She was standing up on her knees. “It’s just a kiss, it doesn’t have to mean anything. We all
kissed!”

God bless her, Sirius thought, wanting to make it not seem like a big deal because she thinks we
don’t want to do it because we’re mates.

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed out, glancing quickly at Mary and returning to Remus. “It’s just a kiss,
right?”
 Remus swallowed, and nodded stiffly. “Just a kiss.”

Their eyes held for another beat, and then they leaned in.

***

Remus is grinning at him, his eyes surveying Sirius’ face as though he cannot believe anything; the
world, his life—and if Sirius wants to push it—his luck, even.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Sirius arches a smug eyebrow. “I believe I’m the one who’s staying at the Village, aren’t I?”

Remus huffs out a laugh, hanging his head and shaking it. He looks up at Sirius with a sigh. “I
suppose you’re right. But alone?”

“Alphard had a date.”

Remus raises his eyebrows with a look of delighted surprise. “A date?”

Sirius makes a humming sound of affirmation. “Yes. He was all excited about it. Kept telling him
how much he looked like a teenager.”

“The guy must be quite the sight for him to be so eager, then.”

Sirius considers, but nods. “I think so. But I also feel like he gets excited every time. This is the
first time I see how, y’know, his love life is, but I think every date is like a reality shock for him?
As if he actually, finally, can be who he is.”

Remus nods deeply, nearing a bow. He eyes Sirius for a couple seconds, and slight smirk forms on
his lips. “That’s quite profound.”

“I’ve been here for half an hour. I’ve had some time to think while my arse gets squared.”

Remus laughs, and Sirius watches.

“He adores you,” Sirius says after a long moment. “He talks about you all the time. You should’ve
seen how happy he was after we’d ran into you those two times.”

“He’s brilliant, really,” Remus says, smiling. “Always has been. Gave me one of the best pieces of
advice I’ve ever received in my life.”

“And what was it?”

Remus draws in a slow intake of breath, and recites in a heartfelt tone: “Remus, son, break the
spines of those books. Dog-ear the corners of the pages. Only then will you truly have lived.”

Sirius is silent. “That makes no sense at all.”

“It was on your nineteenth birthday when he’d gone to visit and got absolutely shit-faced.”

And Sirius laughs a bit too loudly for what is considered polite in a public establishment.

More people are starting to filter in the bar, and Sirius desperately wishes that no one will take the
two seats between them that allow them to converse. If a couple starts snogging their faces off on
these very seats it will officially be the end of Sirius Black.
Sirius twists fully in the seat, his body completely turned to face Remus now, propping one elbow
up on the counter and resting his chin on his palm in a very casual and cool and punk way.

“How’s your course going?”

Remus is delicately rotating his glass around on the wooden bar, which seems to be just something
to do with his hands. He looks up at Sirius, appearing surprised, even, that Sirius decided the
conversation hasn’t ended. “It’s going great, yeah. I’m enjoying it immensely. The class is small,
but the people are great, and my professor is brilliant as well.” He takes a last gulp of his water,
and calls for the barman: “Could you get me a beer, please?” to which he receives a kind smile and
a nod.

“But, yeah,” he goes on, “it’s wonderful. But, y’know, it’s Columbia, so you sort of expect it to be
good. And for the money too,” he breathes out a hollow laugh. “I’d been wanting to come for a
while now, but it never seemed like the right time. Either the money wasn’t enough, or mum had
been ill, or the flight had been all booked, even. Even that. But after all this—”

“Here you go, buddy,” the bartender cuts him off, sliding a beer over to him and retrieving his
empty glass.

Remus blinks at him, then gives him a tight smile. “Cheers, mate,” he responds, rather stoically,
and the guy frowns a bit before walking off to tend to other customers.

Sirius bursts out a laugh. “‘Cheers, mate’? Could you be any more British?”

Remus fixes him with earnest eyes, as though this is a very serious topic of discussion and he needs
to make his point clear. “Sirius, the chap called me ‘buddy’. I needed a cleansing after that.”

And Sirius is laughing, throwing his head back, and he knows he’s pathetic—it wasn’t even that
funny—but he doesn’t give a single toss about it. It’s just so good. It’s so good; being around him,
hearing his jokes, feeling his eyes on him. Sirius could curl up in a little ball and weep over how
bloody amazing it is.

He shoots Remus a look of you’re-not-worth-the-shadow-you-make and takes his cup to his lips, to
which he gets a sly grin in return.

Sirius watches as a pair of girls stalk towards the bar, which is now quite busy. They look around
for empty seats—perhaps they have noticed the two men in a long distance kind of conversation—,
but not finding any other duo of seats vacant, the one with bright red hair gives a short shrug to the
one with the buzzcut, and they make to move and take the places between Remus and Sirius.
Remus doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Oh, uh,” Sirius blurts out before he can hold himself back. The two girls stop short, turning to him
with surprised eyes. Remus looks up from the label of his bottle that he seemed to be reading.
Sirius smiles crookedly at the pair, “Sorry, uh,” he gets up, with no sort of grace and nonchalance
whatsoever—he nearly tumbles out of his seat, “We’re kind of… in like—uh, you can take these
seats.” And he slumps down on the seat next to Remus, letting the girls take the other two,
including his former.

Remus is looking at him quite quizzically, but then he opens a smile. “Hi.”

Sirius’ idiotic muscular thing that he calls a heart flips a couple times at that smile. “Hi.” He looks
so beautiful this close. Sirius wants to bang his head against the counter.

“Where were we?”

Sirius leans forward on his elbows, glancing at Remus over his arm. “You were talking about your
course.”

Remus takes a swig of his beer, nodding. “Right. But I think that’s enough of that.” He leans a bit,
truly the tiniest bit, closer. “What have you been up to?”

Sirius huffs out a laugh that contains around sixty percent of his nervousness due to this new
proximity. He makes a motion that’s kind of shrug, kind of a shake of his head. “Not much, really.
Nothing new.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It is the truth, though,” Sirius protests.

Remus gives him a pointed tilt of his head. “Sirius. I know you—” Oh-kay, haha. “—, I find it
extremely hard to believe that you haven’t been doing much. You’re always doing much.”

Sirius considers him for a beat. He takes a sip of his Vodka soda, which ends up being the last one.
“Well, yeah, but it’s just nothing new. Nothing different going on for me.” At all.

Remus eyes him suspiciously, his gaze doubtful and telling Sirius he doesn’t believe a single word,
but he doesn’t say anything more.

After asking for another round of his drink, he turns to Remus, and his stomach twists to ask,
though he still does: “And you? Anything else but for the course?” There’s another part of the
question he’s afraid of asking; not knowing the turn the conversation could take if he does. He
doesn’t know if he wants to risk losing such a good moment with Remus.

But Remus’ answer seems to involve around that question, as well, as he’s fixing Sirius with a
calculated gaze, and he opens and closes his mouth a couple times.

So Sirius asks anyway: “When did you go back to London?”

And that seems to be the exact answer Remus had been trying to pivot around. He sighs slowly,
and turns to rub his thumb over the brim of his bottle.

“Eleven months ago,” he tells Sirius, quietly.

Sirius takes that in with a sharp intake of air through his nose. “Does anyone know?”

“Lily.”

“Lily?”

“Yeah.”

“She never told me.”

“I don’t think she even told James about it.” And he’s probably right—if she had, Sirius would
already know. James Potter can be a bit of a gossiper at times.

Sirius stares at his side while Remus stares down at his bottle. Eleven months. They’ve been living
in the same city for almost a whole year.

“So you just, like, told Lily about it out of nowhere?” he asks, a slight humourous tone to his
voice. The barman slides his drink to him across the bar.
“It wasn’t out of nowhere, I talk to her all the time.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, and he’s a tad more casual than Sirius is right now. “Do you think I would
simply stop talking to Evans?”

Well, I never thought you’d stop talking to me, but here we are, Sirius has to bite back.

“She would hunt me down if I did,” Remus adds. “But she just… she fills me in, y’know. Assures
me that everyone’s alive, everyone’s well. She checks on me. It’s all.”

Sirius nods slowly, truly because he doesn’t know what else to say.

He’s not mad at Lily—he knows how she is, and knowing Remus how he is, as well, he likely even
asked her not to say anything about it, especially to Sirius, and Lily Evans would’ve never gone
behind Remus’ back to do that. They’d always been inseparable, the two of them—with their arms
looped together, never apart.

The thing is that Sirius is just… at lost, really. He knows Remus; he knows Remus himself didn’t
go after Lily to keep in contact with her. She was the one to go after him.

And perhaps what Sirius is feeling right now is envy; he should had been more like Lily Evans.

But he hadn’t been.

“Why did you go back?” he asks, picking at his fingernails.

“A friend of mine wanted to go,” Remus says. “We met in Wales. You know, eventually I had to
get a job since I was… since I was staying, and the public library was hiring, so I started working
there, and she turned out to be my co-worker, and we became friends. She’s brilliant, really. One of
the best people I know.”

“What’s her name?” Sirius questions, feeling a smile creep onto his lips solely by seeing the one
that’s already on Remus’ face.

“Dorcas.”

“That’s a weird name,” he says, scrunching his nose a bit and smiling fully now.

“Yeah,” Remus laughs heartily. “I tell her that all the time, but it’s not like I can talk.”

Sirius chuckles and nods. He also can’t judge a single bit.

“But anyway,” Remus continues. “A bit over a year ago she decided she wanted to move to
London for school; she got a transfer from Cardiff University to UCL, and asked if I wanted to go
with her. More because she would need someone to split the rent with than anything, honestly,” he
laughs a bit. “It took me a while. A lot of convincing. But I went with her.”

“But you’ve always loved London,” Sirius remarks with a small frown. “Didn’t you miss it?”

Remus releases an air of laughter through his nose, but his face is flat. “Of course I missed London,
Sirius. But I wouldn’t have gone back if someone hadn’t had to convince me and tell me it would
be fine.”

There’s a split second where Sirius was going to ask what he meant by that—he even opens his
mouth to do so, but fortunately for him, he’s stupid, but not so much.

And it’s complicated. Everything; it’s all too complicated and also just plain out simple. He hates
that Remus has always loved England but wouldn’t come back because he was there, but it’s also
not like Sirius would’ve ever paid Wales a visit just because.

He hates that Remus kept in contact with Lily. He hates it for no reason at all. He hates it because
he’s an idiot.

He hates that Remus left.

And he hates that he didn’t step a foot out his door to go after him.

He tries forcing a smile to his face—he doesn’t want to fuck this up. Not this night. He wants to
keep tonight as something good. A dear, precious memory. “And how are you liking it?”

Remus seems thrown off by his sudden bright smile, but swiftly takes a gulp of his beer and gives a
small smile of his own. They both know their smiles are paid actors.

“It’s as always, you know, so of course I’m loving it. It’s like reuniting with an old friend, which is
a weird thing to say, but it’s true. I felt like a tourist for the first month or so. Wanted to take
pictures of everything, everywhere, and Dorcas surely helped a lot in that.”

Sirius’ smile comes more organically now. “How is she like? Dorcas, I mean.”

And Remus’ grin is blinding. “Oh, she’s amazing. Impossibly kind; I don’t know how she does it,
honestly. Smiles all the time, Sirius. All the time. Her teeth are in display more often than not. The
sun goes everywhere she goes, basically. Incredibly smart, too. She’s the best.”

“I feel like Marlene would like her,” Sirius says. “She’s always had a thing for these sunny people.
Remember how she used to be with James?”

Remus laughs a good, soundly laugh, lifting his hand to his chest. Sirius watches.

“Y’know, you’re right. She probably would. And, god, of course I remember. James was like her
protégé. If anyone touched a hair of his, she’d get violent.”

Sirius chuckles, and takes his glass to his lips. “She’s still like that,” he tells Remus around the
brim of the cup.

Remus raises his eyebrows, an amused expression across his features. “Is she?”

Sirius nods, “Mhm. Once a Marlene McKinnon protégé, forever a Marlene McKinnon protégé.
And it’s not like James would ever complain, of course. He worships the floor Marls walks on.”

“Since Year 1, if I remember correctly. Since the very start. He saw she knew a different language
and grew fascinated with her.”

“And then when he asked her to teach him something in Portuguese, she told him ‘I just shat my
pants’ meant ‘Hi, how are you’.”

Remus threw his head laughing, making people look. Sirius didn’t blame a single one of them.

God, he was so beautiful. It was unfair.

“She did! Christ, I remember that. She only broke it to him in, like, Year 4. She’s evil.”
“Completely evil,” Sirius agrees. “And hasn’t changed a bit. I’d marry her if I could.”

“Don’t say that. That week in Year 2 where you two pretended to date was the scariest thing I’ve
ever had to live through.”

Sirius arches an eyebrow, smirking, because he’s an utter bastard. “Were you… jealous?”

Remus gushes out a breathy laugh, seeming surprised. He glances up with a thoughtful look to his
face, but a smirk creeps onto his lips, and Sirius bites the inside of his cheek.

“Looking back, yeah,” Remus says, and his voice is lower, and he’s an inch closer. Fuck you. God,
fuck you so much, Remus Lupin. “Maybe I was. But back then, of course, I only thought you two
were being annoying.”

“You thought everyone was annoying.”

“Not you.”

“Now that’s a lie.”

“Yeah, well. I think I found you annoying for different reasons, then.”

Sirius swallows.

Remus grins sharply, and backs away that inch. He takes a sip of his beer. “But how is she?
Marlene.”

“She’s very Marlene still, so I believe that tells all you need to know.” Remus chuckles at that.
“She and Mary are still living together, so that hasn’t changed. Seems to be in love now, too,
apparently.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I called her earlier today and she was all lovesick about this girl she went on a date with.
Refused to tell me her name, but I’ll find it out.”

Remus presses his lips together in exaggerated sorrow. “I believe there goes Dorcas’ shot, then.”

Sirius nods, equally woeful. “I’m afraid so.”

They share a small laugh, and both take sips of their respective drinks. When Remus sets his bottle
back on the counter, his eyes are glued on the label, running his fingertips over the letters.

“I feel bad sometimes,” he reveals, rather quietly. “Most of the time, actually. I mean, when Lily
told me she and James had gotten engaged, for instance… I was thrilled, obviously, but felt so
terrible for not having been there. For having missed it.” He’s silent for a beat, then looks up at
Sirius. “I missed a lot of things, I reckon.”

Sirius could’ve kissed him. Right there and then. Could’ve kissed him against the counter, run his
fingers through his hair, and whispered to him: I’m here. You don’t have to miss anything anymore.
I won’t go anywhere as long as you don’t want me to.

Sirius doesn’t kiss him.

He changes the subject. “And your parents? You told me a bit the other day, but… how are Hope
and Lyall?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Remus nods slowly. “They’re good, yeah. Mum’s still the same old crazy
person she’s always been, so we have to love her for that.”

“The sock incident shows.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m still mourning.”

Sirius huffs out a laugh, and plants his chin on his palm again, practically sprawling himself over
the counter. Ever so elegant, of course.

“But she’s great. We... we had a scare two years ago,” Remus says. His face turns rigid; his
shoulders pull back. “She wasn’t feeling well, and the doctors had thought it might’ve been cancer.
Pancreas.” He lets out a breath as he smiles, relieved. “But she was fine. Just a scare.”

Without thinking, which is not anything new for him, Sirius reaches out and grasps Remus’ hand.
He only realises what he’s doing when Remus shoots him a glance of alarmed surprised. His eyes
are huge, flickering down to their hands and Sirius’ face. But before Sirius can pull his hand back
to himself and apologise, say he didn’t know what he’d been thinking, Remus holds it. He holds it.

And Sirius is sure there are some fireworks going outside.

He thanks the neighbourhood for the immense support.

They are silent for a minute, holding each other’s hands at a bar in a country they are not even
from, after five years of not seeing each other’s faces but for pictures. And pictures they would
quickly scroll past or swipe through.

But this, this is no picture—no matter how much Sirius wants to frame it to have it forever. This is
real. It’s real, and it’s happening, and Remus Lupin is holding his hand, he’s holding his hand, he’s
holding his hand. And Sirius wants to lift it up to his mouth and kiss his knuckles.

And he does.

And the look on Remus’ face should be a picture. Should be a painting. A mural. A bloody
billboard.

It’s the most beautiful thing Sirius Black has ever seen in the past five years.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Sirius says, and this apology is really just scraping the surface of
everything, but it’s a start.

“It’s ok,” Remus replies, and they both know it’s not.

The barman, a completely tone deaf bloke, as it seems, asks if he can get Remus another beer, as
apparently his is empty. Remus looks to have to hold himself back from flipping the guy off, but
politely says, “I’m alright, thank you,” and turns back to face the bar, letting Sirius’ hand go.

“But, yeah,” Remus says with a sigh, as though they didn’t just share a true passionate-heartfelt-
soul-touching moment just seconds ago, “they’re both great, in general. Mum’s with the crochet,
Dad’s with the ceramics.”

Sirius barks out a laugh. Probably because he’s nervous. “I am tremendously curious about this
new mug obsession of his.”

“It happened when he turned fifty-three last year. Midlife crisis, I reckon. Started talking about the
purpose of things, ‘what’s the purpose of everything, son? What are we living for?’ Well, mugs,
then, I suppose.”

Still laughing, Sirius says, “It’s brilliant, in a way. Who would ever peg a six foot four bald man in
his fifties as a mug collector?”

“He’s always been much more clever than the rest of us humans. And he’s starting to get into
pottery now, too, so he can make mugs as well.”

“No way.”

“I swear. Here,” Remus lifts a bit from his seat to pull out his phone from the back pocket of his
jeans. “He made me one last month. It’s the most marvellous thing, Sirius, you won’t believe. He’s
an artist.”

Seconds later, Remus turns his phone screen to Sirius, and the picture in display is, truly, the most
marvellous thing. It’s a mug, and it’s completely malformed. It’s painted white all over, but in the
photo, it shows the side where there’s a drawing of two stickmen, one tall and one taller, the latter
wearing a hat, and a red heart beside them with the word ‘Son’ written underneath. The mug is an
absolute mess of a work, but there’s just something so lovely to it. Sirius adores it.

“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen to this day,” Sirius declares.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Remus agrees, turning the phone to him and eyeing the picture fondly. “If
only I could use it. I’m always afraid I’ll break it.”

“Make a shrine to it. It’s what it deserves.”

Remus chuckles. “You wouldn’t be wrong.” And sets his phone on the counter. But he doesn’t
click it off. And Sirius goes cold.

Because the lock screen of Remus’ phone is a picture of a woman, who appears to be about their
age, and is one of the most beautiful people Sirius has ever laid his eyes on. The picture looks to be
taken by herself, and she’s laying somewhere—a bed, probably—with her platinum-white braids
fanned around her head like a pillow, her dark skin contrasting against her hair and the white sheets
enchantingly, as though she’s some sort of angel. She’s smiling so hard, so happily that her eyes
are almost closed.

Sirius’ stomach sinks to the floor and beyond.

Because of course Remus would be with someone. How, and why hadn’t he thought of that? It’s
Remus. There are probably lines, and lines of people just waiting to be with him. He’d been stupid
enough to believe—or really, just not let himself think any different—that they’d been on the same
boat.

“Oh my god,” Sirius blurts out, more to himself than to Remus. He immediately inches away,
making sure there’s a respectful distance between them. “Oh my god, I’m so sor—oh my god. I
don’t know why I didn’t think that—holy shit, I should’ve figured, I never meant to—”

“What are you—?” Remus is looking at him with the most confused look to his face, but then
follows Sirius’ eye line, which is glued to the phone which’s screen has now finally gone off, but
that Sirius is still staring at as though he’s trying to vanish with the device altogether. “Oh. Oh!”
Remus taps a finger to the screen, revealing the photo again, and Sirius winces like the clown that
he is. He really had let himself believe, hadn’t he.
“Jesus, ok, oh my god,” Remus is saying, and it’s breathy and has a laugh behind it. “This is not
—” he breathes out another laugh, as if he can’t control himself. Not even trying to let Sirius down
gently.

He appears to notice Sirius’ nearly offended expression, that’s mixed with hurt and shock and
regret. “This is not what you think it is, this—this is Dorcas. It’s my friend, Dorcas. That I told you
about.”

Sirius is staring.

Remus breathes out another laugh. “She just put it there ‘cause she didn’t want me to ‘miss her’.
She’s not—we’re not… I mean, she’s very gay.”

Sirius swallows, and even though it’s nighttime, the sun is shining bright, coming out of hiding
from behind dark clouds. Somewhere, at least. “She is?”

“Yes. Very much a lesbian. Not my girlfriend.”

“She’s not your girlfriend?”

“No!” Remus exclaims, wide-eyed, but when Sirius widens his own eyes, he seems to try and
collect himself. His voice is much lower and civilized when he says: “No. I don’t have a girlfriend.
Nor a boyfriend, or anyone.”

Sirius blinks. His heart is doing a very excited victory dance against his rib cage. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Remus huffs out.

Then Sirius laughs an awkward chuckle. “Oh, I’m so sorry for this…”

“It’s ok…”

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“Sirius, it’s fine,” Remus assures, and there’s a soft, humourous smile trying to creep onto his lips
that he appears to be trying to fight against, and it soothes Sirius for now.

A lingering moment of quietness goes by, with the sound of miscellaneous chitchats and cutlery
clinking together and soft music as company, but nothing, no room in the world has ever been so
silent.

Then, suddenly, Remus starts laughing.

He’s laughing to himself, and it’s not a soundly laugh, a warm laugh, it’s a plain one. It’s quiet,
even, coming with huffs and breaths. It’s a laugh he doesn’t want to laugh, but he just finds the
scene to be too comical not to. And he’s shaking his head, too.

“What?” Sirius asks, a smile in his voice that hasn’t creeped up to his mouth yet, but whatever it is
that Remus is laughing at, he desperately wants to laugh at too. Anything to save this from the
awkwardness he’d caused.

Remus shakes his head with a you-wouldn’t-get-it face.

“What?” Sirius presses, a dry chuckle coming out as he says it, and he sits up straighter, searching
for Remus’ face.
Remus glances at him for a fleeting beat, and then turns back to eye the wall behind the counter.
He takes a moment to speak, as though considering if he should or not. If it’s worth it.

“Do you really… god, Sirius, did you really think I dated anyone after you?”

Someone just reached inside Sirius’ body and grabbed at his lungs, squeezing until he’s out of
breath, running on nothing.

Remus continues, “I mean, sure, I did go out with some people eventually, but… I reckon after a
while the long dark-haired people I was seeing tended to get a bit boring.” He says it like it’s the
most self deprecating joke he’s ever made.

And that’s it.

Sirius grabs at his face and kisses him.

And he doesn’t care. There’s not a single cell in his brain that can formulate a single thought that’s
worth caring about right now. He doesn’t care. He’s kissing Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin is here
and Sirius is kissing him. And he doesn’t care about a single thing.

But for that Remus is not kissing him back.

Sirius pulls away. He’s still gripping at his face, feeling the heat of his cheeks, the pierce of his
eyes that bore deep to Sirius’ skull, large and unbelieving and terrified. Because Sirius has just
kissed him.

Remus’ lips are parted, glistening, and his breaths are short gasps against Sirius’ face.

Sirius knows how his own face looks; pleading. Imploring.

Meet me halfway, Moony. You told me you would. You promised me you would. Please, my love.

And Remus’ shoulders sag down as he grabs Sirius by the neck and kisses him back.

***

Remus’ lips touched his. They were cold from the 7Up, and tasted like lime. And everything was a
piercing quiet but for the loud pounding of Sirius’ heart in his ears and the explosion of colours
behind his eyelids.

And Remus suddenly grabbed his hand, and Sirius used his other one to cup Remus’ face. And this
was life. This was his life, believe it or not. His life of advanced Physics studies working and kissing
the boy he fancied. Risking his first kiss for it. Having waited to risk his first kiss for it.

And there were not enough words his thirteen year-old self knew to describe it, but just: everything.

It was everything.

Absolutely everything.

***

And it’s everything. It’s the moon kissing the water, it’s when the sky meets the earth like a long-
lost lover, it’s everything but when people actually mean everything; every molecule of air, of fire
and water, of earth, it’s the actual everythingness of everything. It’s insanity. It’s absurdity. It’s a
promise, it’s a vow, it’s an introduction and the cap of a bottle in one direction and its bottom in
another. It’s everything they didn’t get to live, and it’s everything they did. It’s turning twenty-one,
twenty-two and twenty-three; and it’s turning twelve, and thirteen, and fourteen.

And Sirius is out of breath, Sirius is smiling, Sirius is running his hands up his cheek, into his hair,
down his neck, running his thumb along his jaw. And he’s kissing him. He’s kissing him, he’s
kissing him, he’s kissing him.

And Remus is kissing him back, kissing him back, kissing him back. He kisses him back a
thousand times. Grips onto his face with the force of five years apart. Grips onto his face with the
promise of I’m not going anywhere anymore.

They smile to each other. They don’t stop smiling. They won’t ever stop smiling. They’ll smile
forever. Kiss and smile forever. Forever. Forever.

Into the sunset, into the moon, into the sky, every galaxy. Into everything that he is because Sirius
told him that he is.

A laugh bubbles out of one of them. They don’t know who. They don’t care who.

You’re here. You’re here.

Sirius hooks his arms around his neck, and he’s standing now, between Remus’ legs, and Remus’
arms are around his waist, pulling him against his body in a way Sirius doesn’t think will be easy to
detach.

“Guys. Excuse me. Uh, guys,” someone breaks them off. And when Sirius tears apart and looks
up, his hands still cupping Remus’ face, he doesn’t know why he’d thought it could be anyone but
the barman who, according to his name tag, is called Gary. Fitting.

“I’m so sorry, guys, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop.”

Sirius stares. Fucking really? “I thought this was the Village.”

Gary blinks, and a moment later, gasps, his jaw falling open. “No! Oh my god, no, this is not what
this is!” He lifts up his half apron to display a rainbow flag pin. Oh. At least it’s not that. “It’s just
that… you guys are making out, like, over the counter and everything. You can go to the back if
you want. Or even, like, the bathroom, if you need more privacy.”

Sirius regards the guy, and after a moment, looks back at Remus, whose face is the same as a
teenage boy who’s just been caught during intimacies by his mother. When Remus averts his eyes
from Gary and meet Sirius’, they both burst out laughing.

And people are staring at the two lunatics who are cackling way too loudly for what would could
be considered civil, and Sirius doesn’t care—in fact, he wants them to look. He wants everyone to
see this; see Remus’ hands wrapped low around his hips, see Remus’ eyes on him in the most
lovingly way it makes Sirius’ legs turn into putty, see the way they’re laughing together like utterly
silly children, see the way they kissed, and kissed, until they are practically kicked out of the bar.
He wants witnesses. He wants to make sure this is happening. He wants the groups of people to tell
each other that they saw it too; the two guys snogging each other’s faces off as if though it were
their last day on Earth.

And when their eyes lock again, Sirius knows his next move. He withdraws his wallet from the
back pocket of his trousers in such speed he surely has just broke a world record, pulls out one of
the few dollar bills he bothered to exchange and slaps it on the counter, only seconds later taking
better sight of the money and realising he’s just payed fifty dollars for two Vodka sodas and a
beer, but he’s laughing too much to give a shit, and is quite busy pulling Remus’ hand to give
another shit, too.

And their lips catch each other’s once more the second they step outside, a now cool breeze
swaying Sirius’ hair, creating almost a curtain around their faces, and they’re laughing—they just
won’t stop. His arms are slung around Remus’ neck, and Remus’ hand are on his face, on his hair,
his thumbs on his jaw, over his cheekbones, everywhere.

There are four feet trying to walk, though they are so tangled together it feels like it’s just one,
trying to guide two grown men through dark streets, tumbling, laughing, stopping. They kiss as
they walk. They stop walking so they can kiss. A car honks. They stumble into a group of people,
but they’re kissing and laughing too much to apologise.

They are children again, giddy with the closeness, with the feeling of every touch, every glance
and every smile. It’s hands on hair, sliding down to the neck and down to waists and hips. It’s
swallowing his every chuckle and every sigh. It’s completely ridiculous.

And Sirius loves him so much he’s afraid he might combust.

Getting home is a journey, and fitting the key inside the lock is a whole action film, but eventually
they stumble inside. If anyone were to see them, they’d be sure they were plastered out of their
minds, but Sirius has never been more sober. He’s so here. He’s never been more present. He
doesn’t ever want to leave this.

“Remus,” he whispers inside his mouth when they’re still in the entryway. “Moony…”

Remus smiles against his lips. Sirius pulls away to look.

Fucking shit.

I missed you. God. I missed you so much. You’re the heart outside my body. I love you. I still love
you. More than anything.

“Moony. I need you to know—”

“I know,” Remus says. It’s just a whisper. He presses his forehead against Sirius’, sliding his
fingers into his and taking their intertwined hands up to his mouth, kissing the inside of his palm so
gently, so tenderly. “Me too.”

Sirius lifts up his free hand to Remus’ face, running his thumb over his cheekbones, this artwork of
a skin that he’s missed with every ounce of himself, that he wants to kiss all over to make up for it.

“So are you gonna take me up to your bedroom or do I have to ask for your uncle’s blessing?”
Remus asks teasingly after a moment, grinning wickedly.

And all Sirius can do is grin back at him, madly—he’s so happy—and take him wherever he wants
to go.

He’ll go anywhere, any time, however he wants. He’ll do anything.

And as clothes gets discarded, slowly, every second lingering, not wanting it to end, all Sirius can
do is look at him. Watch the way he won’t stop smiling, the way his gaze is fixed on Sirius as
though he’s the only thing in the world right now.

Sirius runs his hands down his sternum, down and up his arms, feeling the soft and warm skin
 under his palms. He traces the scarred tissue with his fingertips, and Remus watches him. He kisses
everything, every part.

It goes beyond anything sexual. It’s love—it’s the purest form of love. Love for everything that he
is, every part of him, every heavy sigh against Sirius’ skin. Love for Sirius’ name being glued to
his lips. Love for all the kisses, and all the hands on hands and foreheads on foreheads.

This is all the butterflies. It’s all the glittering fairies and the white horses. It’s every climb up to
the moon.

And they fall asleep, tangled together, as two kids in love again.

***

“Wow, wow, okay!” Sirius felt a hand on his shoulder. “Did you put superglue on your lips, you
cheeky sods?”

That same hand pulled them apart, not unkindly, and when Sirius opened his eyes again, the entire
circle was staring at him. At them.

He let out an awkward, flustered chuckle, and shifts back to his previous spot, feeling the scalding
burn of his cheeks.

The entire group was silent. Some were wide-eyed.

“Why is everyone staring?” Sirius whispered to James—who happened to be the one to pull them
apart—, barely moving his lips. “It was just a kiss, like all of you lot’s.”

“Mate, you took forever!” James muttered back, beaming and sounding like a proud dad. “It was
like, almost two whole minutes. We’re all taking less than fifteen seconds.”

Sirius swallowed.

He looked up at Remus, impressed that the boy still hadn’t fled away. But when their gazes met,
Remus was staring at him, his cheeks pink and the softest smile across his lips, and Lily was
incessantly elbowing his side with a merry look to her face.

Sirius smiled back, a smile that was almost secretive, just between the two of them, and looked
down at his hands to not call attention to the bright red shade that was his face.

He wanted to get up and start jumping around. He’d never been so happy.

The boy he fancied had kissed him.

And it had been everything.

Chapter End Notes

have been waiting a while for this. :)

 IX — We Were Built To Fall Apart Then Fall Back Together
Chapter Notes

oh my god, thank you so so so much for 30k hits!! it means the absolute world to me.
and also want, need, to thank all of you for the immense love i’ve been receiving here.
you guys are the absolute sweetest ever and i’m so thankful for every single one of
you and your kindest comments—i read every single one of them, even though i’m an
utter shit at responding.
sending so much love to all of u. thank u so much <3

“James. James, are you awake?”

James opened the curtains to his bed, his hair all mussed and sticking to different directions. He
reached for his glasses on his nightstand. “What?” he whispered back to Sirius.

“Can we talk?”

With no other word needed, James pulled his legs closer to himself, and Sirius climbed onto the
end of his bed. He pulled his legs close to his chest, resting his chin on his knees and rocking back
and forth like a little kid, his rapid heartbeat thumping in his ears.

“What’s up, mate?”

Sirius didn’t respond, the words feeling all mixed and weird in his head for it to form an actual
sentence. It was all too weird, actually. Except that it made absolute perfect sense.

James nudged his foot with his own, and his tone turned a bit more solemn, worried. “What’s
going on, Sirius?”

“I think I fancy Remus,” he blurted out, his eyes popping out of his face.

James didn’t as much blink. “Yeah.”

Sirius did blink. Several times, in fact. “Excuse me?”

“Well, of course you do, dude. No one gets that giggly in a staring contest, now do they? And you
talk about him all the time! Remus this, Remus that. One plus one is two. Of course you fancy
him.”

Sirius was agape. “What?”

“What what?” said James. He then squinted suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are
you playing with me here, Black? Is it a prank? Love is not something to joke about, y’know that.”

“I’m not joking, it’s just… is it that obvious?”

James seemed to think for a moment, but then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t
say it’s that obvious, and like, I’m super duper smart too, so it’s only natural that I could tell. I
know Remus gets super high grades and everything, but it’s clear that I’m the most, how do you
 say… street smart, between our lot. I wouldn’t say it’s that obvious, then, mate. I don’t reckon he
knows.”

Sirius almost made a joke about how the biggest mama’s boy was claiming to be the most ‘street
smart’, but he found himself a tad too panicked to do so.

“So, like… it’s fine?”

James waved a hand dismissively, “Pfft, are you kidding? Of course! And I gotta say, superb taste,
my friend. Tall, funny and lets you copy his homework. You got yourself a great one there.”

Don’t forget looks like an absolute babe-dot-com, Sirius thought, but did not say it. This was
something James would say about Evans, and he did not want to start taking on Potter’s incredibly
charming vocabulary.

“Ok,” James said, his tone decisive now, and rubbed his hands together mischievously, “so what
are we going to do about it?”

***

Sirius wakes up to slits of bright sunshine puncturing through his eyelids. The entire bedroom is
filled with a blazing, intense light, as if the Solar System is just outside his window, though the
sheets are cool against his bare body, sending him a pleasant chill as he shifts around—which ends
up not being much, as he’s not able to do so for the man that’s half atop him with his face nuzzled
into the crook of Sirius’ neck, breathing soft, warm huffs into his skin.

Sirius’ heart high-fives Sirius’ brain in a we did it! victorious gesture.

He shuffles, slowly, just enough so that he can gain back his mobility on the arm that Remus is
laying over, and lifts it to Remus’ naked back, brushing his fingertips in up and down motions,
then on circles, and up and down again. There’s a ray of sunshine hitting his body directly, and his
skin is warm under Sirius’ touch. After a couple more seconds, Sirius hears a lazy, content hum to
his ear, and Remus nuzzles even further into Sirius’ neck, gaining a soft chuckle.

Sirius sighs. Closes his eyes, and opens them again. He’s still there, in the same scene. It’s real. He
feels that thirteen year-old rush again, after so long—it’s real. It’s happening. Believe it or not, this
is your life.

His hands are up to the nape of Remus’ neck now, his fingers brushing the short hair, the soft,
sensitive skin, and he receives another pleased hum, a tad bit louder now, indicating that Remus is
now more awake than not.

Sirius presses a kiss to his hairline, which is just about where he can reach in this position. Remus
hums once more, lengthily and lazy, and his arm tightens around Sirius’ waist, pulling him even
closer so there’s no space for air nor the Holy Spirit to move between their bodies.

“Hey,” Sirius breathes into Remus’ hair, still caressing his skin with his fingertips. Remus doesn’t
respond. He tries again: “Moony. Moonbeam. Moonlight. Moonkin. Moonage Daydream.”

“That’s the worst one,” Remus mumbles against Sirius’ skin with a tone of faux agony.

“Moonage Daydream?”

“Moonkin. Have you ever seen how a Moonkin looks like? I should be insulted. I am insulted.”
The prick says all of this while still with his face buried into Sirius’ neck, and such fact makes
Sirius shake with silent laughter.

A kiss is planted onto Sirius’ skin, soft and gentle, almost feather-like, and then comes another,
and one more, until Remus lifts up his head, bleary-eyed, hair all over the place, and a lovely—
god, so lovely—smile painting his lips.

“Hi,” he says, but it’s more of a smile than an actual word.

Sirius takes his hand up to Remus’ fringe that’s mussed over his eyes and runs it back, looking at
that beautiful, beautiful face, a scene he’s gone so long without it makes his heart just about swoon
now. “Hi,” he says back, and raises his head up to capture Remus’ lips in a sweet, tender kiss, and
then, pulling away by less of an inch to press one to the corner of Remus’ mouth, muttering against
his skin, “Good morning,” love.

And Remus pulls back, gazing at him with those half-closed sleepy eyes, a lazy lopsided smile
across his lips, and, kid you not, he’s glowing. It’s not the morning sun pouring through the
window. It’s him. The entire bedroom becomes a constellation of stars and suns, and Sirius
probably should close his eyes or at least get a pair of sunglasses so he won’t go blind, but
honestly, if that’s the last thing he’s going to see, he’ll keep his eyes wide open.

Remus takes his hand to Sirius’ cheek, cupping his face as though he’s a precious, rare gem worth
millions and millions. He runs his thumb back and forth along Sirius’ cheekbone, his eyes intense
and attentive, and runs his finger down to Sirius’ bottom lip, brushing his thumb along it. His gaze
is so earnest and yet so delicate, surveying every features of his with tender eyes, and he looks like
he could stare at Sirius forever, with his thumb on his lip, sending cold zips down Sirius’ spine.
Sirius turns his head the barest inch to the side and kisses the inside of Remus’ palm, and kisses
again, with Remus’ hand holding his face with such care and his gaze utterly lovely, as though he
can’t get enough.

It’s all as if it’s a conversation; It wasn’t a dream. You’re here. You’re real.

Sirius lets out a long, slow and dreamy sigh, and Remus’ gentle smile turns into a full toothy grin,
seeming utterly amused.

“What?” Sirius asks, rather puzzled, but smiling nonetheless.

“I love when you do that,” Remus tells him, propped up on one elbow and looking down at Sirius
as though he’s the most interesting, odd yet enchanting creature. He pushes a strand of Sirius’ hair
behind his ear, and his fingertips linger on his jaw.

“Do what?”

“These little sighs that you do. I love them.”

Sirius bursts out laughing, taking his hand up to his chest. “God, I’d forgotten how weird you are.”

“Mhm.” Remus smirks, leaning down to press his next words to Sirius’ cheek, “And spoiler alert;
I’m even weirder now.”

“That’s the absolute hottest thing ever,” Sirius jokes. But he’s not really joking. He doesn’t say
that, of course, because that’s not quite a punk thing to say—again, he’s stupid, but not so much.

“Yeah, so,” he wraps an arm around Sirius’ waist and pulls him over, and suddenly Sirius is on top
of him, “I’m gonna need you to sigh a whole lot more for me. It makes my day. Really gets me
going.”
And Sirius Black turns into jello.

He stares at him, amused, impressed, absolutely lovesick, while Remus still has that same face on;
the one that’s so charming that makes Sirius want to climb up the walls.

Sirius’ eyes dart across his face—taking in his eyes, his eyebrows and the scar that slits the tail of
the left one, the sprinkle of freckles over his nose, his nose, the flush of his cheeks, his mouth—
Jesus Christ his mouth—and the mole above it that calls for the butterflies that take no time in
making their presence known.

He’s hoisted up on his forearms, each on either side of Remus’ shoulders, and Remus is looking
back at him, and reaches up to tuck back the hair that’s fallen around their faces like a black
curtain, freeing their faces from shadows.

“You’re still the most beautiful,” Sirius states, just above a whisper. “D’you know that?”

And Remus simply smiles and pulls him down, kissing him, kissing him, kissing him.

They’ve kissed about three hundred eighty-four thousand two hundred sixty-five times at this point
—but who’s counting?—and it just doesn’t, not for anything in this world, get old. Not when their
lips are already red and swollen. Not when they haven’t taken a breath in a long while. Not when
their hands have already done the same route over and over, or when the words start getting so
repetitive they turn into just a sound. They are like glue. They are like fucking magnetics.

It’s a fucking addiction. They can’t get enough. There will never be enough, not when they’ve
been apart for so long, not when it’s been forever and the second their lips touch they get
transported into the very first time, just like that.

And he, he, he. He’s a work of art—not that Sirius hadn’t already known; not that Sirius hadn’t
thought about that very fact since he’d been twelve—, and he’s a whole box of surprises. He
doesn’t have to say a word for Sirius to want, need to watch him. He needs to see him, all the time,
all the time, all the time. He hasn’t looked at him for so long—it’s like every bit is new.

For that Remus is nostalgia with turns and twists. You think you have him figured out, you think
you know what his next move is going to be, what’s the next thing he’s going to say, until he
decides you know shit. Until he says something different, something new. Until he touches you
unlike any other time before. Until he looks at you with the same old eyes, but the beam behind
them tells you something that’s never been spoken—like a whole new made-up word.

And Sirius doesn’t want to stop, never wants to stop, has never wanted to stop. Because he’s
always been like this; always been Sirius’ biggest curiosity—and yet, Sirius knows he’s the one
who knows him best; the one who’s seen it all, every version of him, with every old and new
glance, or touch, or sentence. But he still manages to always leave you wanting more, always more,
there’s always more—there has to be more. And there is, invariably. It’s layers upon layers upon
layers that never stop unfolding. And Sirius could spend the rest of his life unraveling them,
delicately, tenderly, and kissing each one along the way.

“Mmm,” Sirius pulls back, and it takes a while for Remus to accept it, following after Sirius with
their lips attached. Sirius lets out a chuckle, and before giving in and happily obliging to Remus’
plans, manages to tear apart. “Are you hungry?”

Remus draws in a deep and long intake of breath, smirking and comfortably sprawled across the
bed. His fingertips are now the ones to be brushing Sirius’ skin, and they run up and down his
upper arm, and Sirius almost shudders.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Depends on where my answer will lead.”

“How’s that?”

“Because, you see, if it occurs that you possess a magic wand and is about to conjure a magnificent
mystic breakfast here, without having to move a muscle, then Sirius, I happen to be famished.”
Sirius laughs at that, and smiling triumphantly now, Remus cups his face with both hands, as
though so then Sirius will not miss a single word of this very, very earnest statement. “But. If my
answer leads to you having to get up, then no. No, Sirius, I cannot let that happen. So, as long as
you start, I dunno, making it rain outside solely with the power of your mind, then I’m afraid to tell
you that I’m very much,” he nudges at the elbow Sirius was using to prop himself up on, making
him slip, and Sirius lands straight onto his chest, with Remus’ arms instantly wrapping around his
shoulder-blades so strongly the only parts of his body he can move are his shins, “not hungry.”

Sirius is cackling loudly against Remus’ shoulder, and he can feel Remus’ chest below him
shaking with silent laughter. “Let me go, you madman!”

“I cannot. It goes against my morals.”

“What morals?!”

“My very dear morals, Sirius, that I cannot go against. You’re not getting up.”

“But I’m hungry.”

Remus hugs him even tighter, and says in an overly dreamy, musing voice, “Mmm, bed, cozy,
cuddles, so good.”

Sirius laughs once more, but squirming a bit, manages to free himself, and now straddling him, he
says, decisively: “I’m getting us food. Because I happen to be famished, and it’s gonna be a superb
breakfast. The kind of breakfast the Queen has—no, wait. The kind of breakfast the Queen wishes
she could have. Yeah. That’s right, Moon boy. And I’ll be back before you know it.”

Remus has his hands firmly planted up Sirius’ thighs, and is looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
After a moment, he agrees, though it seems to be absolutely against his own will: “Fine. Ok. But be
quick, Black.”

Sirius smiles largely, and leans down to kiss him again. Just one more time. “I will. Pinky
promise,” he says, putting up his pinky, which Remus hooks with his, grinning against Sirius’ lips.
Because he’s pulled him into one more kiss by their laced fingers.

And Sirius climbs out of bed, fishing the floor for his boxers. Not before giving Remus one more
kiss, of course. For good measure.

He grabs the dressing gown that’s hooked behind the door and wraps it around himself.

Remus lets out a heavy and exaggerated sigh as Sirius is still slipping the robe on. “Hate to see you
go, love to watch you leave.”

Sirius throws his head back, laughing. “Yeah, you said you were weirder.”

Remus grins widely at him. Sirius stares, considers, and quickly hurries back to give him another
kiss, then finally walks out of the room.

He’s down this bad.

Outside, in the hallway, he leans against the wall. It’s impressive how he doesn’t slowly slides
down to the floor.

He feels out of breath, like he’s just run a marathon. Dizzy. Giddy. Tipsy. Whatever it is, it won’t
wash off the maniacal grin on his face. It won’t falter for anything in this world. His heart is
jackhammering inside his chest, rushing blood to his ears, and he’s never been so thankful for it—
it means he’s alive. It means it’s real. It’s happening.

Remus Lupin is in my bed. Right at this second. Naked.

It’s gonna take him more than a pinch to actually believe it.

He pads down the stairs, and thanks heavens that his uncle is nowhere in sight. He doesn’t know if
Alphard ever came home last night, and if he didn’t, he also doesn’t know if he’s already come
home this morning. It’s not that Sirius won’t tell him, of course. It’s just that he’s currently dressed
in his boxers and a dressing gown.

There’s a song playing in his head, a random tune, and he ditties it as he twirls to the refrigerator
and to the stove, spins to the toaster and the coffee maker.

He got my heartbeat skipping down something something… Got that oh! I mean hm hm hm…
Wanna see what’s under that attitude—

“Well, good morning.”

Sirius jolts out of his performance from the sudden booming sound of his uncle’s voice, sending a
strawberry flying and hitting the window.

Alphard is leaning on his arms on the kitchen island, a sly look over his features, as though this
scene is utterly amusing to him. It probably is.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” Sirius exclaims, outraged, taking a hand to his chest as though that
would stop his heart from beating so fast.

“No, not at all. Especially since you’re dressed the way you are, which is not very dressed at all.
I’d have to carry your lifeless scarcely attired body and all that, and that’s not on the list of the
things I’m planning on doing today, thank you.”

Sirius stares.

Alphard grins, and reaches for a green apple on the basket that’s decorating the counter, taking a
noisy bite.

“Could I ask the motives for your lack of clothing along with your chirpiness?” Alphard says as
Sirius turns back to continue his task of spreading peanut butter on the toasts.

Sirius shrugs his shoulders, and is thankful his uncle can’t see his face, for that he can already feel
a silly grin creeping onto his lips. “Nothing. Good mood, I guess.”

Alphard is quiet for a long while, and Sirius supposes that’s the end of this conversation.
Obviously not.

“And is Remus staying for lunch too or just breakfast?”

Sirius stops. He slowly puts the knife down, and turns on his heels to face his uncle, who happens
to have the smuggest smirk on his mouth.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius says, trying to keep his face as straight as possible, which is probably
not working.

Alphard stares at him with a tired, cut-the-shit face, but then, sighing, he stalks out of the kitchen
and disappears into the entranceway. A moment later, he comes back and tosses a brown wallet at
the island. Which is definitely not Sirius’.

Sirius cringes.

“When there’s a random wallet just by the threshold of your house, you tend to check to see if it’s
any robber’s.” Alphard seems to consider, then smirks. “Luckily it seems to be only a heart
thief’s.”

Sirius is regarding his uncle with a flat look, who now takes another noisy chunk of his apple. But
he’s Sirius Black, so he smiles. He tries masking it with a roll of his eyes, though.

“Hah hah, very funny,” he says, turning back to making breakfast.

“Really, were you two so… entranced, you didn’t even hear a wallet dropping? God, you’re a
robber’s wet dream.”

“Who says we were entranced in any way?”

“What was he doing here, then?”

Sirius hesitates for a beat. “Homework,” he says with a shrug.

Alphard barks out a loud laugh that echoes through the kitchen, and Sirius can’t help but laugh
along with him. “‘Homework’, god, I can’t even imagine how many times poor Effie’s had to hear
that one.”

“Oh, many, many times. Even James got it sometimes.”

Alphard’s laugh slowly dies down, and they remain silent for a moment while Sirius prepares the
coffee, making sure to add just a splash of almond milk.

“Sirius.”

“Yeah.”

“Your ex-boyfriend is upstairs.”

“Aware.”

A beat. “Sirius.”

He turns, rather exasperatedly. “What?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t even tell me you still liked him—”

“Who said—”

“Oh, come off it, son. I received every single one of your e-mails from when you were a teenager. I
know exactly how you get when it’s about Remus Lupin.”

Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but knows it’s pointless. There’s no defending himself.

“Are you two back together?”

“No. We… we haven’t talked about anything of the sort.”

“Did you get drunk and just slept together, then? One time for the sake of the old days?”

“No.”

“Did you have a moment of weakness and called h—”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Can’t I want to know?” Sirius doesn’t respond. “I mean, if you boys are thinking of, I dunno,
trying again, then I think that’s great.”

“I told you we didn’t even come close to talking about this kind of th—”

“Sirius, you’re taking him breakfast in bed,” Alphard states, matter-of-factly.

“I’ve always taken him breakfast in bed,” Sirius argues with a shrug. And it’s true. He always had.

Alphard raises his eyebrows with an expression to his face that says: exactly.

Sirius sighs a slow and miserable breath.

It’s just that it’s not this simple. Not when getting back together seems closer to a reality than ever.
Of course, if it’d been solely up to Sirius, you could’ve asked him this same question six months
ago, a year ago, two, three, four, five, and you would’ve gotten the same exact answer: yes.

Do you still want him?

Yes. A million times, yes.

But it’s not up to him. And he doesn’t know what Remus wants.

“I truthfully think you should try, Sirius. Really. I think it would be wonderful if you did.”

Sirius considers it for a moment, then says, cautiously: “You do?”

“Of course!” Alphard says brightly. “You know how much I adore that kid. He’s brilliant! And it’s
always been him to you, hasn’t it. Did you even date anyone else in these past years?”

Sirius gives a small shake of his head, and a memory comes back fluttering low on his stomach;
god, Sirius, did you really think I dated anyone after you?

“There you go, then. I think you’re both marvellous together, you know that. You always have
been. If you want to try again, I highly suggest that you do.”

Sirius looks at him for a moment, and the man is gazing at him with kind eyes. He turns back to
continue with the food, topping the toasts with strawberries. “Thank you for the advice, uncle, for
you are so wise. I will… consider.”

Alphard laughs, leaning off the counter and standing up straighter. “I think you’ve been
considering it for a while, son.”

Sirius turns his head to glance at him over his shoulder and shoot him an eye-roll, but the man is
making his way to the staircase.

“Hey, hey!” Sirius calls after him. “Where are you going? You have to tell me about your date
too.”

Alphard turns on his heels, and there’s the faintest smile across his mouth. “I think I need to
shower before anything.” And Sirius only then notices the man is wearing the same clothes as last
night.

Sirius barks out a loud laugh, and as his uncle leaves, he adds syrup to the pancakes.

“You’ve gotten better.”

“At what, specifically?”

“Cooking,” Remus answers around a mouthful of toast, completely oblivious to Sirius’ cheeky
eyebrow raise at his question. “Like, you used to burn pancakes all the time.”

Sirius gasps. “No, I did not!”

Remus nods slowly and deeply, almost a bow. “Yes, you did. I still ate every single crumb, of
course, because I—” loved you, Sirius is sure he was going to say, but Remus bites it back—
literally; he takes a huge bite off the toast after stopping his sentence short. He takes his time
chewing and swallowing. “Because I knew how much you used to think you were a masterchef.
And it was adorable.”

“So I was a bad cook and you just never said anything about it?”

“Never said you were bad, just that you’ve gotten better at it. Significantly. But you could spit in
these and I’d eat it anyway.”

“That sounded extremely sexual.”

And Remus throws his head back laughing, so hard he almost falls back onto the pillows and takes
the whole tray with him, and Sirius can’t tear his eyes away from him. He’s so beautiful, so lovely,
it’s nearly painful.

And when Remus regains his posture, sitting up straighter and taking another big bite of the toast,
filling his cheeks like a toddler who can’t measure food quantity according to the size of his mouth,
Sirius just stares at him, chewing happily on a peanut butter and strawberry toast and sipping on his
coffee with almond milk. And it’s love. It’s his love. The biggest of all.

He’s gone so long without it, now that he has it again, looking back at how he lived with a hole
inside of him seems insane.

He reaches forward to brush Remus’ fringe away from his eyes, slowly sliding his hand down the
rest of his hair, and Remus gives him a cheerful close-lipped smile as he chews. When he
swallows, Sirius pulls him into a sweet, soft kiss, the only things running around in his brain being
the same thoughts as ever, only now he lets himself listen to them.

My love, my love, my love, is what Sirius thinks; what he wants to scream; what he wants to write
all over the walls of this bloody city. The love of my life. My heart outside my body. The most
beautiful thing to ever happen to me. It’s you. It’s always been you. Take me. Take me, take me,
take me. Have me back. I don’t want to love anybody else but you, and even if I did, I would never
be able to. Don’t make me try and fail to love someone else. I beg you. You are the love of my life.
It’s you. My love, my love, my love.

Take me back.

Remus leaves around an hour later, begrudgingly, but according to him, Sirius was the biggest trap
in he not getting his work done in time and getting kicked off the course. So he needed to go.

When Sirius goes to pick up his phone from his nightstand for the first time in the morning, there’s
a small note underneath the device.

And the way he grins as he instantly recognizes the scrawly handwriting should really be studied
by professionals.

If you don’t call me I’m hunting you down, Black.

– xx

His phone number is on the back. And Sirius is such a child that he kisses the paper.

He waits an hour or two, then, more than eager, decides enough is enough.

Sirius: remus lupin. just curious. have you ever been to the empire state building??
 X — I Always Forget To Tell You, I Love You, I Love You, Forever

“Ready, Marls?”

Marlene nodded vigorously, skipping down the steps that led to the school grounds, her football
boots stomping on the stones and her blonde ponytail swishing left and right. “Yep. Ready as ever.
I’m gonna make you eat dirt, Potter.”

James let out a booming, heartily laugh, and shoved her playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, you’ll see, James,” Mary said, striding forward to sling an arm around Marlene’s shoulder.
“She has a background. You only have, what, muscular calfs?”

The group laughed at that, and continued following after Marlene and James on the way down to
the football field where they would be trying out for the school team. As second-years, they were
finally allowed to try and join the football team, and it was all James and Marlene would talk
about since the start of the school year. James had proposed Sirius to try with them, but he’d
decided to wait until next year.

“Oh, Mary, and you know who’s on the team?” Lily said as they approached the field. Mary
looked at her over her shoulder with expectant, glinting eyes. “Ricky Williams,” Lily supplied.

Mary gasped a dreamy breath, letting her hair fall back. Her curls were so long that they reached
her hips whenever she did that. “Oh, Ricky Williams. He’s the absolute babest of babes. Maybe
now that I’m a second-year he’ll give me a chance.”

“Isn’t he a fifth-year?” James asked, frowning.

“Well, yeah, but older men are always better. They’re more mature. And I’ve heard that his beard
is starting to show… Oh, Lils, can you imagine?”

Lily let out a little squeak. Sirius caught James rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face and
his slight sulk afterwards.

Marlene huffed out a breath, her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know what you two see in him. He
looks like he doesn’t shower.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Mary protested, but she seemed to be trying not to laugh. “And you never think
the boys I find cute are actually cute, anyway.”

“Maybe you just have bad taste,” Marlene poked out her tongue.

Mary grinned cattily, wiggling her eyebrows. “Yeah, but when I said Ruby Liu was pretty you
didn’t seem to disag—Ow!”

The pair descended into playfully pushing each other until Mary launched over Marlene, wrapping
her in a tight hug and placing multiple kisses to the top of her head, making the blonde giggle and
shove her away.

They arrived at the pitch a moment after, and they all gave Marlene and James hugs, wishing them
good luck and sending them off to join the group of students on centre of the field. The remaining
of the group then headed towards the stands, as they’d promised to watch and cheer for their two
friends.
 “Oh, look at him,” Mary said dreamily, propping her chin on her palm.

“He’s kinda weird,” Peter giggled.

“Oh, stop it, Pete!” She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Isn’t he an absolute godsend?” she asked
the rest of the group, and Lily wasted no time in nodding.

Sirius didn’t nod, only bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from saying that yes, Ricky Williams
was an absolute godsend, with his curly brown hair and green eyes and tall figure, strutting
around the school corridors like he owned the bloody place. It made him feel weird. A good weird,
but weird nonetheless.

“I think he’s nice-looking,” Remus said, suddenly. And the flutter behind Sirius’ navel was the
weirdest thing he’d ever felt. He didn’t know if it was a good weird.

“Thank you!” Mary said, not paying it any mind. Not paying any mind that Remus had just said
another boy was nice-looking. How? “I knew one of you had to have a brain.”

“You… you think he’s nice-looking?” Sirius asked him, just above a whisper so it would stay
between them. The flutter in his stomach hadn’t ceased, and he was starting to worry he’d had
something bad for breakfast.

“Yeah,” Remus said with a shrug, and when he looked over at Sirius, the wind was swaying his
soft brown curls. Sirius swallowed thickly. “Don’t you?”

It felt like some sort of trap. It felt like the question was loaded with an answer Sirius knew but was
trying to not find the words to; almost as if running from. But it was Remus. Remus with his tall
figure, and brown curls and brown eyes. He had brown eyes. Not green, like Ricky.

Sirius preferred them, always had.

So he nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

And Remus gave him a soft smile before returning his gaze to the field, leaving Sirius feeling the
weirdest he’d ever felt in his life.

But it was the best weird ever.

***

They visit the Empire State Building the following day.

They squeeze between tourists upon tourists upon tourists, always hand in hand so they won’t get
lost in the sea of people. It’s warm, and up so high, there’s a breeze that blows at Sirius’ hair and
Remus’ t-shirt, and they take pictures—they take pictures of the view; of skyscrapers and the
Hudson River, and looking down, the people look like ants. They’ll send those pictures to their
friends and family.

They take pictures of each other; leaning against the iron fence, delightedly smiling to the camera.
They’ll post those pictures on their social media feeds, hoping whoever sees them will assume they
just had a stranger take them.

They take pictures together; one is taken by a stranger, where Sirius has his arms around Remus’
middle, grinning so wide and blindly he almost apologises to the kind lady with his phone for
causing her eye damage, while Remus is looking down at him, a soft smile on his lips. The others
are products of their frontal cameras; there’s a normal one, they’re just smiling. There’s one where
Sirius lifted his phone up to get the view behind them and the only parts of him visible in the
picture are from his eyes up, and Remus just looks confused, really; he didn’t know the picture was
being taken. There’s one where Remus has his arms around him from behind and is kissing his
cheek, while Sirius grins. He grins so much. He grins all the time.

And there’s one of them kissing. They’re just kissing, and you can see the smile Sirius was trying
to hold back against Remus’ lips. The camera doesn’t catch the way the smile does bloom after the
click. It’s the classic, cliché couple picture that no one cares about but for them, who will stare at it
for hours on end.

Not that they are one again. A couple, that is. Not officially. They haven’t had this conversation.
Not yet.

These pictures they won’t post anywhere, nor send it to anyone. No, these ones they’ll keep to
themselves, like precious diamonds prohibited to the touch of just any person. These are for them;
new pictures they have now, to stare at when they’re alone.

Which happens to be rare. They are never alone.

They don’t leave each other’s sides, always hand in hand, walking around with their fingers
intertwined and following after one another without a question, and no raise of eyebrow at the lack
thereof. They don’t need questions; they don’t get nervous with the answer.

Take me where you are. This is how it goes. They don’t want to let go, not again. Not ever again.

And this is what they descend into; normalcy, just like that. They are together every day, all the
time. They sleep to wake up tangled together and remain so for at least an hour, lounging amongst
pillows and sheets and each other’s arms and lips. Sirius visits the place Remus is staying at when
Remus has course work to do, that ends up taking double the time it would naturally take. The
reason is a mystery. They go for coffee, then lunch, then ice cream, then dinner. They watch
movies and TV shows. They rewatch the ones they used to love. They cook, even. And for two
people visiting bloody New York City, the trip feels rather domestic.

But when would Sirius Black mind. When would Sirius Black ever complain, when he has Remus
in his arms again, every night, breathing softly onto his skin while Sirius’ fingers in his hair lull
him to sleep. Take him to every fucking hole in this fucking floating rock, and you won’t hear a
single word of protest from him.

Remus turns, every day, into a word in the dictionary; beautiful, otherworldly, dreamy, unreal.
Once, Sirius calls him pulchritudinous, and Remus laughs for a solid half hour. Infuriating. Every
time he laughs, every time he talks or merely looks at Sirius. He is, with every ounce of him,
infuriating. So beautiful, so lovely, so Remus. So infuriating.

He proves to have grown even more so one afternoon, when they’re sitting on Alphard’s couch, in
a very particular, very specific position of theirs that comes so naturally Sirius internally cries the
first time they do it again. It’s a position they used to do at home. Back in school, in the communal
room. Over the summer, at the Potters’ house. They even have pictures of it.

Sirius is sitting sideways, his back against the armrest and legs bent at the knee, while Remus’s
own legs are underneath his, feet planted on the carpet with a book in his hand while Sirius
watches something on the TV. It’s The Good Place this time.

They’ve been like this for about an episode and a half now, quiet, silently enjoying each other’s
company while they’re each in their own little world. That, of course, has apparently lasted long
enough for Remus Lupin, and he places his hand on Sirius’ knee.

Sirius’ eyes glance off Chidi and land on some spot on the shelf beside the TV. He doesn’t look at
Remus, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see the bastard is still reading whatever the fuck
he’s reading, his expression mild and serene.

Sirius takes a deep breath through his nose and returns his eyes to the TV. And Remus slides his
hand down his thigh. Sirius lets out a pathetic little gasp. Remus is still reading.

This is what he means—infuriating. He doesn’t doubt Remus would start casually whistling a tune.

Sirius exhales a heavy, long sigh and tries to train his attention on the screen. To no avail. Remus’
hands slides further down, and his fingers are resting on the inside of Sirius’ thigh and Sirius
knows what he’s doing, and Remus knows what he himself is doing.

His hand is even further down now, his pinky brushing Sirius’ trousers back and forth, almost at
the cross point, when Sirius, stifling a flustered grin, speaks up, still not glancing at Remus.

“Remus.”

Remus hums a lazy sound of acknowledgment.

“Close the book.”

“Why?” he asks quietly, and Sirius finally turns to look at him. The bastard is smirking.

Sirius takes yet another deep breath, closing his eyes for patience and strength—god, he needs it.

“Close the book, Remus.”

It takes a moment or two, and Sirius sees the movement of Remus’ throat as he swallows, his
tongue as he licks his lips. Remus closes the book slowly, delicately, and even dares taking a
second to then look over at Sirius.

He has the most infuriating look on his face when he does, all smirks and wicked eyes, and simply
says: “Yes?”

And Sirius launches over him, them both falling back onto the sofa, while Remus laughs loud, so
loud, it rings through the room, the house, the neighbourhood, the city. He’s sure the entirety of
New York can hear it, and he hears its people thanking him for the favour.

Sirius kisses him, purposefully messily, all over his face, eliciting laugh after laugh, and it’s as
though it’s his fuel—every chuckle, every delicious laugh that he swallows. His heart catches
every time, like it’s a surprise, like it wasn’t expecting it, like it didn’t know such wonderful think
could even ever exist. Like it’s just found its new reason for beating, Sirius’ blood needing to be
pumped be damned.

Remus pulls back and holds him by the cheeks with one hand, a thumb on one side and the rest of
his fingers on the other, smushing Sirius’ face, and he’s sure he looks like a fish. Remus is looking
at him as though he’s the most adorable thing to ever live, and kisses him all over face, his own
splitting in two with his grin, and Sirius’ giggle comes out as some sort of muffled sound.

“You — you — you — you,” Remus says between each kiss, each planted on a different spot; his
forehead, his nose, his eyebrow, his pouted lips. And Sirius is laughing. He’s trying to smile inside
Remus’ hand, laying there on top of his chest, book now fallen to the floor and Kristen Bell’s voice
a muffled sound in the distance.

Remus lets go of his grasp on Sirius’ face, and a grin invades both of their mouths. Remus pushes a
strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. “My apologies, but I can’t seem to be able to leave you alone,”
he says. “You laughing at the TV was starting to become too much to bear.”

“I can see,” Sirius replies, and leans down to meet his lips with his own. “I’m not complaining,
though.”

They kiss for a while, slowly and tenderly, as though they have all the time on Earth and some to
spare on Venus, sprawled out on the sofa, and it’s not until Sirius flicks his tongue along Remus’
bottom lip that Remus pulls back.

“Where’s your uncle?” he asks, his pupils now blown.

“I told you, he’s out with the guy.” Sirius places soft, faint kisses along Remus’ jaw, behind his
earlobe, down his neck.

“But isn’t he to come back soon?”

“You have little faith in my uncle,” Sirius says with a sigh as he lifts his head up at last, pretending
to take offense in Alphard’s behalf.

Remus barks out a laugh. “I meant that it’s,” he lifts up his hand to glance at his wristwatch,
“almost four thirty in the afternoon. He left over an hour ago.”

“For coffee, and you know how much the man talks.” Sirius flicks his head over his shoulder with
a long, dramatic sigh. “Probably talking about his gorgeous, incredibly funny and smart nephew
right now. You know, the usual.”

Remus wrinkles his nose. “Funny?”

Sirius gasps theatrically, “Excuse me? Name someone who makes you laugh more than I do.” And
after a moment of silence with Sirius raising a sly eyebrow, he tilts his head in a condescending
manner and says: “Exactly.”

And Remus laughs at that, that sweet, heavenly laugh, that makes Sirius’ heart remind him that it
doesn’t care about his blood-pumping at all; this is the reason. This one laugh is the reason for
everything.

“Ok, yes,” Remus says once he’s recomposed himself, and he’s playing with the ends of Sirius’
hair that are laid over his chest, his gaze focused on the fine hair strands between his fingers. Sirius
watches him, watches the slight crease between his eyebrows as Remus seems to think, and he can
almost hear the gears of his brain turning.

“I missed the way you make me laugh,” Remus says, after a long moment, and Sirius knows his
breath audibly hitched at that, but if Remus noticed, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Because they haven’t said it. Not with words. Not yet, for the both were too afraid to speak it
aloud, to make it known to the other; I missed you. I still love you. It’d stayed unspoken until now,
their kisses and smiles and eyes and sighs doing all the work for them, their tongues having other
purposes, every moment of slightly more seriousness dodging actually saying it. It’s known, of
course, that they do—that they still do—, it’s obvious, but saying it is something completely
different, and something Sirius didn’t think Remus would be the first to do.
Because Sirius is not dumb; he might be a bit stupid sometimes, yes, but dumb is not something
that he is. And when it comes to Remus Lupin, it’s always been crystal clear; not even a book, but a
simple instruction pamphlet. And Sirius has read that pamphlet so many times, tirelessly, that he
knows step one, step two and three like he knows how to walk or talk or brush his teeth. It’s easy,
it’s simple, it’s mundane. Reading Remus Lupin is the most effortless thing in the world, thus
Sirius knows he’s hesitating. Sirius knows he’s uncertain. Sirius knows he’s afraid.

Afraid of Sirius breaking him again. Afraid of breaking Sirius again. Afraid of putting down all the
walls he’d had to build over the course of the last five years.

He’s never been like Sirius; never been as open, as naked. He keeps to himself. He thinks and
rethinks before speaking. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why they work—they’re black and
white, open and closed, movement and stillness.

Sirius catches Remus staring at him, at times, eyebrows set on a straight line, deep in his thoughts,
and Sirius knows he’s uncertain. Sirius knows he’s thinking and rethinking, for then decide not to
speak. Suddenly reluctant to grasp Sirius’ hand. Uncertain to kiss him, even, sometimes. Unsure to
say anything that would whirl them back into where they should never have left.

But, of course, Remus Lupin has always been a box of surprises.

And when Sirius doesn’t reply, Remus continues, quietly, softly, “You’re so clumsy all the time,
you bump into everything, trip over your feet—”

“I didn’t crawl as a baby,” Sirius says. “No sense of space.”

Remus chuckles lightly, and he finally meets Sirius’ eyes, and, god, Sirius is at lost. There’s no
turning back—not that there ever was, not since he’d seen that one boy with brown hair sitting
alone at a train carriage and asked him if he didn’t want to join him and his friends—there’s no
going back to pretending this is way past him, no going back to skipping every single The Cure,
every single Pink Floyd or Radiohead song because it reminds Sirius of him. He’ll listen to all their
albums now. Every single one. He won’t skip a song. He’ll dance to it all.

He’ll tell all his friends, every stranger to walk past him on the street, he’ll climb up skyscrapers
and yell from their rooftops; I still love Remus Lupin. I always have. I always will. There won’t be a
day that I won’t.

There’s no turning back to the days where he acted as if it was over. To the days where he acted as
if there could ever be a second where he wouldn’t love Remus Lupin with everything that he is.
He’s so lost, he knows it’s a complete mess, but he doesn’t care. Not when Remus is looking at
him like this; so sincere, so bare, so raw, saying the unspoken, putting kisses and touches into
words.

I’ll love you to the end of me. To the end of everything. To the end of the fucking world.

“You trip over your bloody feet, and I laugh every time,” Remus goes on. “And it’s so… it’s so
stupid. It’s so stupid that when we were apart I missed it. I missed laughing at you bumping into
things. I missed the way you laugh. I missed that one laugh that you have that sounds like the Joker
—”

“I don’t sound like the Joker!” Sirius protests.

“Sirius, you do. You know the laugh I’m talking about.”

And he knows. And Remus is right. So Sirius just smiles, giving it to him, and reaches a hand over
to rake his fingers through Remus’ hair.

“I missed the way you always did this,” Remus says. “Especially when I’m talking, or when you’re
looking at me. God, I missed the way you look at me. I missed your fingers; they’re all cracky and
snap all the time. Like an old person’s. I missed all of your tattoos. I missed every single one of
them. I know where each one is. I missed that you think you can sing but you can’t; you can’t sing
at all. I missed your hair. I even bought your shampoo once, but it wasn’t the same. I missed your
back dimples. Your voice when you wake up, your voice when you’re tired, your voice when you
say my name. Your music. Your burnt pancakes. Your cologne. Your jeans. That one pair of jeans
that you know which one it is.

“I missed stepping on your earrings because you’d always leave them scattered around. I missed
your eyes, Jesus Christ, I missed your eyes. They’re probably my favourite thing in the world, ever.
I missed your nose. Your mouth. I missed your mouth a lot. I missed the absolute pearls that
constantly comes out of it because you have no filter, only losing to James. I missed the way you
touch me. I missed the way you called me beautiful all the time. I missed how beautiful you are.
You are the most beautiful thing in the world, it nearly makes me angry. I missed the way I’d walk
into the living room and you were on the phone with my mum. I missed how you cry at romantic
comedies. Or films with dogs. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’re always, always
smiling. I missed your kindness. The way you love, always head first. The way you wrap your
arms around my neck when you kiss me. I missed everything about you. God, Sirius. There wasn’t
a day where I didn’t think about you. Sometimes it would ruin me. Sometimes it would make me
smile. That’s a more recent development, I reckon. But everything reminded me of you. And I
missed you every time something did. Every single time.”

It’s so out of nowhere. It’s so unexpected. So all of a sudden, that Sirius doesn’t know what to do
with himself. He has Remus, Remus Lupin, bloody Remus Lupin, just underneath him, underneath
his chest and his palms, pressed against his heart, unmoving, unchanging, always there, looking up
at him with big brown eyes that say all the exact words his mouth has just let out.

And these are the moments. These are the moments when he might be pulling back, hesitating, not
loving the way Sirius does—always head first, that makes Sirius desperate to grip onto him, to beg
him to not leave him again, until, just as he’s about to get on his knees and cling to him and
implore, Remus laces their hands together when they’re walking down the street. Remus kisses
him, suddenly. Remus whirls them back into where they should never have left.

Remus says that he missed him.

And there are no words Sirius could say. Nothing that wouldn’t take hours, at least. It’s a feeling
he knows is rare for the majority of people; he knows most will never get to experience it—a type
of love that fills you up to the very brim. A type of love that’s larger than life, that no words could
ever be enough.

So Sirius kisses him. He kisses a kiss that tells Remus how he missed him too, every second of
every single day. A kiss that tells Remus how he missed his laugh, the way his eyes crinkle and his
chest heaves. How he missed the way Remus wraps his arms around his waist and slowly slides
them up to cup Sirius’ face when he kisses him. How he missed making Remus’ tea every night
before bed, and how he’d only cried three weeks after, when he’d been too distracted and ended up
making two cups, taking them to the bedroom to only then realise no one was going to drink the
second, and how he’d bawled, then, for the first time, as it finally hit him Remus was not coming
back to take his mug and kiss him goodnight.

His shoes scattered around the threshold, his battered books that he’d carry around everywhere he
went, and his excitement to tell Sirius about a whole plot Sirius didn’t understand once he was
done. The way he moves around the bed in his sleep, ending up on carrying Sirius around the
mattress for they’ve always slept tangled together. How he’s always been impossible to wake up.
How he falls asleep in under five minutes. How his nose gets red in the winter. How he effortlessly
tans during the summer.

The way he loves, uncertain, slowly, and then dives in. How he looks at Sirius. How he touches
him. How he sighs his name into the darkness, lips glued to Sirius’ skin. His eyes, his mouth, his
nose, his hair. His arms, and hands, and chest.

Every single day. Every waking moment. Sirius missed him in all of them. And he didn’t mind—
missing Remus Lupin meant he’d been present, even if once; meant that he’d been real, and that
was a luxury Sirius was too grateful for to ever complain about.

“I missed you too,” Sirius says against his lips. He pulls back a bit, boring his eyes into Remus’
glinting ones, brimmed with lovely long eyelashes. “Sometimes I thought it would kill me.”

And Remus kisses him again.

Remus surprises him again two days after, when they’re in Sirius’ temporary bedroom and talking
before getting ready for bed.

Sirius is sat up, legs crossed, rambling about something that becomes unimportant when he spots
something on Remus’ head, laying on the pillows, making him gasp dramatically.

“You have a grey hair!”

Remus makes a face that’s half a frown and half a laugh. “What?”

“You do!” Sirius leans forward, which is basically throwing himself down at Remus and invading
what would be personal space and starts digging through Remus’ hair strands, because he saw it.
He knows he saw it.

Remus chuckles, his laugh coming out muffled against Sirius’ chest. “You’re absolutely mental.”

“Moony, I saw it, I swear. I’m a man of my word; if I say I saw something, it’s because I did. Wait,
come on this light,” he grabs Remus’ head with both hands and pulls him closer to the light of the
lamp on the nightstand. Non gracefully, of course, earning a “Fuck, Sirius.”

He does not apologise.

“Just keep still, this is gonna be over before you know it.”

“I already want it to be over.”

“You’re just mad because this is the second time I find a grey hair on your head.”

“What do you mean second time?”

Sirius tears apart to look at him, his face earnest and firm. “I found one when we were sixteen,
remember?”

Remus rolls his eyes, though his lips betray him, forming a smile. “That was not a grey hair, that
was just… a very, very poor little hair that had not been gifted with… colour. It probably got
bullied by the rest of my hair. You should not make fun of it.”

“That hair had been once gifted with colour, Remus John. But it was too old. It probably had a med
school diploma. It probably had grandchildren. That hair had lived a whole life.”

Sirius launches forward again, eagerly skimming his fingers through Remus’ soft curls. A moment
passes when Remus places his hands on Sirius’ hips, inching his head forward to start kissing
Sirius’ chest. Sirius spots the hair a second later.

“Eureka!” Sirius exclaims. “Stop moving!”

“Mhm.” Remus is rubbing his hands slowly on Sirius’ hips, sliding them down to his thighs and
tilting his head to reach Sirius’ collarbone. Oh, he’s low. Low blow.

“Remus, stop, I’m gonna lose it again,” Sirius scolds, but he’s laughing.

“So lose it.”

“Remus, there’s no need to be embarrassed about premature greying.”

Remus continues to kiss him.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna pluck it out,” Sirius warns. As if he wasn’t going to pluck it out either
way.

“You’re not gonna pluck it out.”

“Yes, sir, I think I am. Moony. Remus, stop. Remus. I’m telling you. Remus.”

“Fuck, Sirius!”

Sirius sits back, grinning widely, holding up the grey hair between his thumb and index finger
proudly. “Done. And it didn’t even hurt.”

“It did hurt.”

“Oh, you whiny old man! If you keep complaining I’ll have no choice but to put you in a nursing
home.”

Remus narrows his eyes at him, almost threateningly, before he bursts out laughing, sinking his
head further into the pillow, exposing his neck, his guffaws bouncing around the room, that angelic
sound.

Sirius leans closer to him, laughing along and holding out the hair. “Look. It’s grey, like, almost
white.”

But Remus is not looking at the hair—his eyes are glued up at Sirius, a soft, tender smile across his
lips as he watches Sirius maunder about his early greying.

“What?” Sirius asks once he notices Remus’ staring, and he can feel his cheeks go hot under
Remus’ eyes.

Remus only smiles wider, and reaches up a hand to cup Sirius’ face and catch his lips gently, so
fondly it nearly leaves Sirius breathless. It’s so delicate, so softly, that sends Sirius’ heart soaring
more than any heated kiss ever could.
And Remus pulls apart. And he says, “I love you.”

It’s so simple. It’s three words, eight letters; one, four and three. They used to say it all the time.
Sirius has heard it so many times he can’t even count.

But that had been five years ago.

Sirius’ mouth is dry. “What?”

“I love you,” Remus repeats, and it’s with such easiness, such simplicity, that it feels as though he
—they—have been saying it all along, as though they have never stopped. “And I think you know.
But I still love you. And I’ll dye my entire hair white if it’ll make you happy.”

And this is it. This is the whole world. It’s the certification of what Sirius has always known; that
he’ll forever belong to him. That there isn’t a single cell in his very body that doesn’t have Remus
Lupin’s name written all over it. That there isn’t such a sentence as a simple “I love you” that will
ever be enough, that will ever say enough, that will ever put everything into words.

That will ever say how he’s everything.

And before Sirius knows it, he’s kissing him again, something tingling at his eyes that he’s fairly
sure are tears, his chest warm and feeling like a rocket about to take off.

“I love you,” he says, whispering inside Remus’ mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And
he knows it’s not enough of a sentence, but it’s what he has as of now—though he will,
unquestionably, go to the deepest of the Earth to create another. Something that expresses
everything. Something that will inevitably have Remus’ name all over it, because he is love. He’s
the very definition of it.

And he lets Remus’ hands place back on his hips again, slide down to his thighs, kiss his chest and
wander down, grey hair be damned—there will be another, a whole lot more. He’ll watch his head
look like snow.

And they’re always laughing, always smiling, always so happy to be glued together, to kiss and
gasp and kiss more. To kiss every inch, press their love into every bit of skin, lace their hands
together and arching their backs while the room goes warm and envelopes them in a beautiful kind
of homey love, no matter where they are. They take home everywhere. Remus takes Sirius’ home
with him every step he takes, and Sirius will always trail after him.

Which is why, after, when they’re laying together, chests red and lips swollen, dread enters with
the cool air through the slit in the window.

“I still have a week left,” Remus says, quietly, almost as if to himself. His arm is wrapped around
Sirius, and Sirius can hear his heartbeat from where he’s laying over his sternum.

“I’m supposed to leave in two days,” Sirius says.

They are quiet, listening to each other’s breathing, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

“I don’t want to,” Sirius whispers, and tilts his head up to look at him. “I don’t want to leave.”
Ever. I don’t ever want to leave. I want to stay here, with you, forever. Inside our little bubble,
starting all over again.

A minute passes before Remus speaks again, and it’s so silently Sirius nearly doesn’t hear it. “Then
don’t,” he says. “Maybe… don’t leave. Stay here with me.”
And it’s decided, just like that.

He’ll stay, he’ll stay forever, and they will be them again.

Sirius Black has always been too much of an optimist, though.

 XI — We Were Flying, But We’d Never Get Far
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, we are gathered here for the final round—who will be
the winner? Who will take the crown home? Who will receive the title of 2007’s Master of Staring
Contests? This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for, the moment we’ve been preparing all our
liv—”

“Sit down, will you?” Remus chuckled, tugging at James’ sleeve and sending him slumping down
onto the carpet of their dorm.

They were all sitting right at the centre of the room, and after a good twenty minutes of rounds
after rounds, going against each other, trying to make one another laugh with silly faces or, even
worse, a plain blank face, they had finally gotten to the final round.

Sirius X Remus.

“Before anything,” James said, placing each hand on either of Remus’ and Sirius’ shoulder, who
were sitting facing each other, cross-legged on the rug, “I just want to say that there are no losers
here. We’re all champions, and I love you two dearly. But, of course, if Sirius loses, he’s paying for
all our ice creams next Saturday—Ok, let’s do this!”

Sirius cleared his throat, sitting up straighter and rubbing his hands together. Remus rolled his
neck from side to side and cracked his knuckles.

“Ok,” James said, “Pete, start the clock.”

And with a low beep of Peter’s watch, the competition begin.

Sirius hadn’t gone against Remus yet, and he knew that it would perhaps be harder than with the
other boys. James, for one, started trying to make fart sounds and ended up making himself laugh,
and Peter laughed when Sirius had simply raised an eyebrow at him. But observing Remus’
conduct, the tactic the boy used seemed completely different; he would just stare, maybe narrow
his eyes a bit, until you, for some reason, felt the urge to laugh. Smart, and surprisingly effective.

But Sirius was going to win. He would make Remus eat dirt.

He would’ve, actually. If Remus Lupin didn’t have a mole just above his upper lip. Right at the left
corner. It made him look like some sort of distant cousin of Amy Winehouse. It was cool.

Sirius quickly brought his eyes back to meet Remus’, and Remus’ own looked… curious. He surely
had noticed Sirius staring at his mouth.

Which made Sirius so uneasy he stared at it again.

He felt his cheeks grow hot for some reason. It was autumn—the weather was actually quite chilly.

Sirius swallowed thickly. Decided to look somewhere else. He looked at Remus’ nose. It was a nice
nose, he supposed. Straight, peppered with a couple freckles. There was a scar over it, stretching
horizontally over the middle of the nose.
 Sirius liked the scar. He thought it was cool.

This was not going well.

He met Remus’ eyes again. They were brown. Honey, if he was in the sun, but right now they were
brown. Long lashes, too, which Evans would always say how much she envied. They were nice.
One time, they had gone to the pool and Remus’ lashes had gotten all spidery, dripping droplets of
water onto his cheek—and Remus just cocked his head. He saw it. He saw Sirius looking at… well,
his face.

Sirius’ face burned red. He could feel it. It was like he was having an allergic reaction. He
wondered if it was, actually.

Hoped it was.

And when Sirius’ eyes swiftly swept back to Remus’ mouth for a fleeting second, he lets out a
giggle. A giggle. A full on girly giggle.

And James whooped, taking hold of Remus’ wrist and raising his arm up while Peter clapped.

And Sirius having to pay for three additional ice creams the next Saturday was the last of his
worries.

***

The thing is that Sirius knew it was on its way—he just hadn’t predicted the other things that came
with it. And the others that came on their own.

It starts simple and fast. Like a good idea. Like a good opportunity that you jump at and grab.
Perhaps because it’s exactly what it is.

He’s saying goodbye to Remus by the door one afternoon, the two lingering on the threshold,
trading quick and soft kisses and little giggles like the pair of lovesick teenagers they’ve once been.
Eventually, though, Remus does leave, which then leaves Sirius staring at the door with a smile,
his heart fluttering and Remus’ “I love you, I’ll text you later” running inside his head—well,
jumping rather than running, because it’s all his insides seem to do; jump up and down and squeak
like a schoolgirl.

“So…” a voice comes from behind him, and he turns to find his uncle leaning against the archway
that leads to the living room with his arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed, a knowing
smirk on his mouth. “Official, then.” It sounds like a question, though it’s more of a statement.

Sirius exhales a dreamy breath, and stalks past Alphard into the living room, throwing himself
down at the sofa. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“He just said ‘I love you’. I heard it,” Alphard says, following after him and settling himself on a
bright pink velvet armchair. The walls of his house are all white, but the decoration contrasts it
with all sorts of colours. It’s funny, even, if Sirius thinks about it for too long. He grew up between
dark walls and ancient furniture, the smell of dust and mold invading his nostrils every step he took
around his childhood home, crystal chandeliers lighting only enough so you could make out
people’s faces, everything always so ominous and sinister and gloom. It’s nearly ironic, how he’s
at a family member’s home, now, and everything is so bright and full of colour and life. The
perfect cure for all those years in the pitch black darkness.

“Which is good enough,” he says.

Alphard stays quiet for a moment, looking almost as though pondering.

“And when you go back to London?” Alphard asks.

Sirius shrugs like he hasn’t thought about it at all. Like that one question hasn’t been playing on his
mind over and over. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see then.”

His uncle doesn’t speak again, only gives a slight nod, and Sirius considers turning on the TV or
suggesting for them to do something—he feels bad, in a way, that he’s come to New York to spend
time with his uncle, and his reunion with Remus got in the way with that. Alphard doesn’t seem to
mind—in fact, he looks happy about it, even, but Sirius feels guilty nonetheless.

“And is Remus liking New York?”

“I think he is, yeah. We found this Thai place that he’s obsessed with now, won’t stop saying how
he’s already grieving he won’t have it nearby anymore.”

Alphard lets out a small chuckle, and it seems to be the end of the conversation. Though when
Sirius reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table, his uncle speaks up again, and when he does,
it appears to be calculated, word for word measured. It’s almost as though he’s afraid.

“What if… what if you could—have it nearby?”

Sirius scoffs jovially, “What, are you gonna buy it for us? I mean, I know you can be a bit of a
nutter sometimes, but even that may seem like a little too much.”

“No, it’s not…” he exhales a deep breath, and when Sirius glances over at him with a quizzical
raised eyebrow, his uncle is frowning. Sirius has never seen him like this; so hesitant. He’s always
said exactly what’s on his mind, barely thinking it through—maybe it’s where Sirius got it from.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, since before you came here, actually, and I’ve been
wanting to talk to you about it. I mean, you like New York, don’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“Have you bought your return ticket yet?”

Sirius gasps softly, “No, oh, cheers for reminding me, I keep forgetting—”

Alphard puts a palm up, cutting him off. “No, that’s… maybe don’t buy it. Yet.”

Sirius stares at him for a beat, then squints his eyes, a smirk blooming on his lips. “Oh, don’t tell
me you’ve bought a private jet. Am I flying on a private jet? You’re sending me home in a private
jet?! Truly, you amaze me somet—”

“I did not buy a private jet, Sirius.”

Sirius frowns, then. “So what is it?”

His uncle seems to pause, his eyes firm and his mind working. He takes a deep breath. “It’s… oh,
look, I’ll just get straight to it. How do you feel about… staying?”

Sirius blinks, and he sits up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“You, staying here. In New York. Moving in.”

Sirius’ eyes widen, and his eyebrows knit together in a weird sort of surprised expression. “What?”
Alphard’s mouth opens and closes a few times, and it looks as though he’s thought this through
vehemently and at the same time is completely improvising. “I mean—think about it. You like it
here. And you have… you have me. You have me here. Family. And I’ll… I’ll have you. You
could… you could stay here for a bit while we look for your own place, but you’ll be near. Nearer.
And wouldn’t a change be good? How exciting would it be to move to New York?”

He’s taken by surprise. Completely. Out of all things, this was never something he’d thought his
uncle would ask him. Move in. Move to New York. To stay.

“But what about my stuff?”

“We could have someone send them here,” Alphard says. “I’m sure Andie wouldn’t mind. She’s
been telling me about this stroller she’s been looking at for the baby, it can be easy like that.”

Easy like that.

“But… I mean, what about..?” Remus. What about Remus?

“Well, I was thinking that he could also—you know, stay. He could stay too. I don’t mind, he’s
been here almost every day now for the past ten days. And he’s always more than welcome.
Always has been.

“Really, Sirius. Imagine how great. You could… you could stay here. They would stay… they
would stay there.” And it all makes sense, suddenly. It all clicks together. It’s his uncle getting
away when Sirius was nine years-old. It’s him protecting him, now that he can, actually, do it.
Now that he can take him and it wouldn’t be kidnapping.

And it breaks Sirius, in a way, to realise that even now, all these years later, his uncle has never
stopped worrying.

And it’s a new life. It’s a new city. A new country. A new continent. It’s another accent and
different people. It’s a new start. A new start. Starting all over again.

“I know it sounds insane,” his uncle says. “I know. But… maybe, think about it? If you don’t want
to, do know it’s completely fine. Truly. But I wanted to ask you either way. See how you feel about
it…”

Sirius gives a sharp nod, cutting Alphard off, “Yeah. No, yeah.”

He doesn’t quite register his uncle giving him a soft close-lipped smile, and even less the man
getting to his feet and leaving the room.

It’s a lot. Alphard acts as though it’s simple—easy like that, he said—and Sirius knows,
technically, it would be. There’s nothing his uncle wouldn’t do to make it simple. No money he
wouldn’t pay. But, at the same time, it’s not easy like that to grab the pair of scissors and cut the
strings. To slice each one with a sharp blade; his flat, his friends, his family—though the latter has
always been the dream, hasn’t it. A prickle of anxiety always zipping through his spine, even if
minimal at times, every time he went to the market, or just left his apartment, really. The fear of
bumping into one of them, blanching whenever he saw a woman with a mass of dark curls, waiting
for the screeching sound of his cousin’s voice. Hiding behind an aisle because he quickly glimpsed
at a woman with black hair and a too strict of a posture, breathing only when Remus confirmed it
wasn’t his mother.

And Remus. Remus. Now, now that it’s all falling back into place. Now that he has him waking up
beside him again, laughing his laugh and calling him ‘love’. Yesterday he even explained to Sirius
this book he’s reading, a classic, something Jane Austen, and Sirius listened, eager to do so, happy
to do so, smiling as he had Moony rambling about plots and characters he didn’t know about.

But he could stay. He could stay—they could stay. Get a place just for them, all over again.
Starting all over again, from the very beginning. Wouldn’t it be some sort of good luck? Starting
off with the right feet, away from what had destroyed them?

For how would it be to return to the same flat, together, hand in hand, and walk past the same door
Remus had banged after himself as he left with two bags of his things? To stand in the living room
where Remus had cried, had begged him to take back what he’d said, and Sirius refused; refused
because Remus hadn’t taken back his own words, either. To sleep on the same bed where Remus
had hurriedly shoved half of his wardrobe inside his bags, not bothering to fold anything, as Sirius
asked what the fuck he was doing and he’d simply replied with “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.
We can’t do this anymore. I’m tired, Sirius.”

The place filled with phantoms of their dances and songs, their touches and kisses, where their
laughter could still be heard in the piercing quietness if you stood in the right spot, but also
shadows of shouts and flushed faces and carpets stained with fallen tears.

Maybe a change would be what they needed, even if drastic like this—for when hasn’t they been
drastic? Extreme? Always loving in the most desperate, choking way?

And James would be fine, Sirius reckons. It’s not like he couldn’t pay for a plane ticket to visit
Sirius once in a while—that wouldn’t be an issue. Sirius himself could pay for them, for all of
them; James, Lily, Marlene, Mary, Peter. Remus’ friend, Dorcas, even, if he’d like.

It’s running away from destruction. It’s taking care before it’s too late; not letting history repeat
itself.

Yes or no—a question as simple as that. To stay or to not. To preserve or to risk it.

And he couldn’t risk it again. It would kill him to risk it again; to watch the flames rise and burn
them in a scalding incendium, no floor left to sustain them, falling a free-fall, with nowhere to hold
onto. All over again.

So, at this moment, Sirius finds that it’s more decided than not.

It’s the next day. Remus is taking a nap. He snores, only softly, but if you stay quiet enough, you
can hear it. He’s gotten back from his course class around an hour ago, and Sirius is laying on the
bed beside him, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone and occasionally stealing a few swift
glances to his side—just to check, he tells himself. Though he feels the small smile creeping onto
his face every time he gazes at Remus’ slumbering figure; his lips faintly parted, his eyebrows low
and a crease between them, as though he’s concentrating on a dream.

Sirius is scrolling past a clothing ad when a notification pops up.

Marlene: oh my god

Marlene: sirius

Marlene: call me
Marlene: right now

Marlene: it’s an emergency

Marlene: call me

Sirius: everything ok? did something happen??

Marlene: CALL ME

And before he can make the call himself, his face appears on his screen, with Marlene’s contact
name written on top and a green button for him to click and accept her call.

“Hey,” he says, lowly, careful not to wake Remus up.

Marlene, on the other side of the line, appears to be walking down a street, the sound of her boots
loud as though she’s stomping on the pavement. Her blonde hair is swishing behind her, and
though her eyes are shielded with dark sunglasses, he can see by her eyebrows that they are wide.

“If I tell you, you won’t believe me,” she says, not bothering to greet him back. Her breath is
coming in gasps between her words, like she’s been running.

“What’s going on?”

“I went—” a loud honk on her side of the call interrupts her, and Sirius is too slow to turn down his
volume, making Remus stir. Sirius reaches out a hand, carefully off screen, to rake his fingers
through Remus’ hair, and Remus starts blinking slowly out of his sleep.

“I went on a date last night,” she says, and Sirius rolls his eyes.

“Is it really that much of an emergency for you to call me to talk about a date? You scared me. I
thought it was something serious.”

“It is!”

Remus is awake now, gazing up at him. “Is that Marls?” he whispers lazily, and Sirius gives him a
short, subtle nod. Remus smiles softly to himself, biting his lower lip.

“Look, I went on a date last night,” Marlene continues. “Remember the girl I told you about? The
goddess? The woman of my dreams, and yada-yada-yada?”

“Yes.”

“So. I saw her again. Last night. We went out for dinner.”

“Nice. Is that it?”

“Let me finish, will you?!” Marlene exhales a heavy breath, running a hand through her hair. “We
went out last night, and then we went back to her place. I hadn’t been there before—the first time
we went out we went over to mine. And… god, how can I—I don’t even—there’s a picture of you
on her fridge!”

“What?” Sirius asks, his eyes wide. He feels Remus stiffen beside him, now looking at Sirius’
phone attentively.
“Ok, that probably made her seem like a creep—I promise she’s not. I should’ve worded it better.
But there is—a picture of you on her fridge. And I know it’s you because I took that picture. I
remember. It was back in school. So, of course, I asked her why she had that picture and she said,”
Marlene takes a deep, heaving breath, “she said, ‘Oh, that’s my flat mate’s.’ Sirius. Remus is her
flat mate.”

Remus jumps, gripping Sirius’ wrist to turn the phone to him. “You’re going out with Dorcas?”

Marlene stops, then, instantly. Her jaw falls open, and she takes off her sunglasses as though to
make sure her eyes are not deceiving her. She takes a long moment to say something, but when she
does, it’s a plain and flat: “What the fuck?”

Sirius is pressing his lips together, in a way of stifling a laugh and keeping a straight face. Remus
smiles sheepishly at her through the screen, coming out all crooked. “Hey, Marley…”

Marlene is still gawking, but she’s got her glasses back on now. What feels like a whole minute of
plain staring passes by before she closes her mouth and says, simply, “I mean, I’ll wait.”

“Marlene, you’re going out with Dorcas?” Remus asks again, and now he seems utterly amused.

She huffs out a breath, running her hand through her hair again, and resumes walking. “Yes. I am.
That’s her name, Sirius, by the way. Truly, what the fuck is going on?”

Sirius chuckles, and turns the phone back to him. Remus is peeking at it like a curious child, half of
his face showing at the side of the screen. “I’ll call you later and explain everything,” he says, then
decides to change the subject. “Why are you walking so fast? Where are you going?”

“I’m late for lunch with James—”

“Oh, is Lily going?” Remus chimes in excitedly. “She told me to go to this place here in New York
and I—”

Marlene shakes her head, raising a hand. “Nah-ah-ah, no one’s going. Just Potter and I. This is our
bonding time.”

“Bonding time for what?” Sirius asks, huffing out a laugh.

“To talk about the kids, of course,” she says, matter-of-factly. “And clearly there will be a lot to
talk about today. Mary asked if she could come, and I told her no. Jimmy-boy and I… we need to
have our moments of peace and quiet. A little break, if you will, every two weeks. So, no, Lily is
not coming. And the bonding time is important.”

Remus giggles while Sirius scoffs, shaking his head.

“Ok, I’m almost there, so I have to go,” Marlene says. “Do call me, Black. And make sure the man
of the hour is not near, then. I want to see you get all flustered and start blushing. Nostalgia, you
know. Isn’t it funny how I called you to tell you something shocking and you shocked me? You
two bastards. Lupin, get my number with Sirius. I changed it a while ago. You’ll call me too. Don’t
think you can escape. Alright. Bye, you two.”

“Bye, Marley,” the two coo in unison, and Sirius hangs up.

And Remus bursts out laughing. He takes a good while, his eyes squeezed shut and his hand on his
chest as it heaves, and Sirius laughing along with him.
After they both have recomposed themselves, Remus says, giving an amused shake of his head,
“Oh, she’s just wonderful, isn’t she.”

“An absolute delight. She will make you call her, you know that, right?”

Remus nods, still chuckling. “I do know, yes. And I will. I’ve missed her long enough. Having her
scream at me warmed my heart. Nostalgia, you know.”

Sirius laughs. “Of course. A Marlene McKinnon scolding can feel like a tight hug, as weird as that
sounds.” He then cocks an eyebrow at Remus, smirking smugly. “You have a picture of me on
your fridge?”

Remus rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling. “It’s not a picture of you. Marlene... exaggerated. It’s
you, James, and I. That one where we’re sitting on the common room couch and James is behind us
making a face, you know. I had it back at home and Mum wanted me to take it. She loves that
photo, thinks it’s lovely.”

And Sirius knows what picture it is—and it’s not a picture of him, James and Remus; it’s a picture
of him and Remus that James decided to jump in at to make a silly face behind their backs. They
are squished together on the photo, Sirius remembers, with Sirius’ legs up to his chest and Remus’
arm around him, pressed tightly against each other’s bodies, so happy and in love, on the edge of
seventeen. But Sirius doesn’t tell him that, only smiles at him, drinking in the fact that Remus still
has the picture. That he put it up at his flat, still a year ago. Already four years after.

Remus sits up on his knees as he suddenly lets out a gasp, and he’s looking down at Sirius like a
little kid telling his mum about all the rides he’s going to go on once they get to the amusement
park. “Oh, and Marls is going out with Cas! How fucking brilliant is that? She’s going to be over at
mine all the time now! I can’t wait to go back and have Dorcas tell me everything. She did tell me
about going on a date with a ‘hot blonde’, though. Should’ve figured. Think about how cool that’s
going to be! And you’re gonna love Dorcas, I’m sure. Well, kind of impossible not to, trust me, but
you’re gonna love her.” He lets out a long, dreamy sigh, flopping back down onto the mattress.
“Marley and Cas. Aren’t we both geniuses? Remember how we talked about the two that night?
What were the odds of that?”

When Sirius doesn’t respond, Remus tilts his head, frowning. “What?”

He doesn’t respond because Remus is so happy. So excited. So eager to go back home. His hair all
mussed with sleep, his eyes still lazy and his smile so lovely. And how will Sirius break to him that
he’s planning on doing the exact opposite of him? That he’s planning on staying, and asking him to
stay with him? That he wants to start over, but here?

And suddenly Sirius finds himself scared.

But he shakes his head, trying to mask the look on his face by forcing out a smile. “Nothing.”

And Remus grins.

Sirius leans forward, cupping his face and kissing him. Drinking in his smile, his happiness, his
laugh. Filling in his heart with the only thing that seems important—since, all of a sudden, there is
a feeling of an expiration date.

“I love you,” he says once he pulls apart, his thumb running back and forth over Remus’
cheekbone. “So much. More than anything.”

Remus’ pupils are wide, and he blinks slowly as a smile blooms across his lips. He’s the most
 beautiful thing in the world. There’s nothing like him. It sends Sirius’ heart up to his throat. “I love
you too. Just a little bit more than you do.”

And Sirius kisses him again, a kiss that says what his mouth hasn’t found the voice to just yet. Stay
with me. Let’s do this right, this time. I can’t risk losing you again.

It was all a matter of time, honestly, for the walls to start cracking, and slowly crumbling around
them. It all started like this, after all.

Slowly, torturous, and then all at once.

Chapter End Notes

and when we pretend i didn’t actually get confused for a minute and wrote it to be
earlier in the day in england (marlene on her way to lunch) and later in ny (late
afternoon) when it’s actually the opposite …
XII — I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before, So I’m Leaving Out The Side Door

Sirius didn’t even know why he was angry. Well, he wasn’t angry. It wasn’t that. He was… upset,
maybe. He was something not pleasant. Very much not.

And, also, he had to start thinking of a better hiding spot. Perhaps the… dorm’s bathroom wasn’t
the best of all.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Remus said with a relieved grin, standing by the doorway and
looking over at Sirius sitting on the cold tiled floor against the far wall—also tiled, also cold.

Sirius sniffed and looked away.

“What’s happened?”

Sirius pretended he didn’t hear it.

So, of course, Remus walked over to him. He started nudging Sirius’ foot with his own. “Come on,
we’re gonna go down to the grounds to have a snow fight. James and Pete are already on their
way.”

“Oh, and is Perfect, Best Friend of the Hour Lily Evans going too?”

There was a beat of a silence before Remus asked with a huff of laugher: “What?”

“You heard me, Lupin.”

“I did, I just didn’t understand.”

“You said you heard me, how didn’t you understand?”

“‘I didn’t understand’ in the sense that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said in a
mean of explanation. He always spoke so calmly, so unperturbed; always so soft spoken. It
would’ve made Sirius even more angry if he was angry at all. And if he didn’t oddly like it, too.

“Evans,” Sirius said, now turning his head to look up at Remus. “She’s your best friend now, isn’t
she? Lily this, Lily that. I asked you if you wanted to do the English homework together today, and
you said you were doing it with Lily. And yesterday you were having breakfast with her. You didn’t
even tell me beforehand. We always have breakfast together because we share the eggs. They
always make two at a time, and I always share them with you.”

For a moment, he thought Remus was going to laugh at him, or tell him to come off it and leave the
bathroom.

But Remus sat down in front of him, of course. Because he was Remus.

“James is, like, in love with her and you never complain,” he said, and his voice was kind.

“I don’t need James to be in love with me,” Sirius replied, feeling utterly stupid and small. “But
you… you were my best friend.”

“What about James and Peter?”

“They’re different. It’s a different kind of best friend.” He looked up from his lap to meet Remus’
 eyes, and they were an infinite pool of dark, sweet honey. Sirius sighed, and looked back down at
his lap once more, letting his hair fall like a dark curtain over his face. “I don’t mind that she’s
your new best friend, now. She seems nice, I guess. I just… I just wish you’d told me.”

They stayed in silence for a lingering moment, and Sirius wondered if Remus was going to stand up
and walk away.

But he was Remus. And he placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, making him glance up at him again.
He was smiling softly at Sirius.

“Lily is nice, but she’s not my best friend. That’s you.”

“What about James and Peter?”

Remus shrugged, his smile widening the tiniest bit. “Different kinds of best friend. You’re… you’re
my best friend forever. You always will be. I know that. It won’t ever change.”

Sirius sniffed. “Do you promise?”

Remus put up a hand, his pinky finger up. “Promise.”

And Sirius locked it with his own finger, vowing to be his best friend forever, too.

***

It’s quick and fast. Straight to the point. So brisk, it’s as if it’s a gust of wind, sharp and cold, gone
before he knows it, and all he has left are goosebumps. Nowhere to hold, no ground to stand.

Just.

Goosebumps.

They are supposed to be leaving in three days. Sirius still hasn’t bought his return ticket, as there
likely won’t be any. He still hasn’t talked to Remus about it, either. That’s because he’s a coward.
The biggest of all. The greatest to ever live.

He reckons it’s one of the reasons why it all goes to shit so quickly.

“Hi,” Remus says, smiling his smile as he stalks inside Sirius’ room, catching him completely by
surprise—it’s around seven at night already; they were only supposed to meet tomorrow for lunch.
He walks over to Sirius, who’s sitting on the bed with a surprised grin on his face, and pecks his
lips. “Your uncle let me in.”

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asks, reaching for Remus’ hand and loosely swinging it with his
own.

Remus shrugs, and uses his free hand to push a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. “Missed you.”
And leans down again to kiss him as Sirius chuckles.

“And,” Remus says pointedly as he pulls back, retrieving his wallet and phone from his back
pockets and setting them on the nightstand, following by kicking off his shoes. “Wanted to make
sure you’re packing. Or already started it, ‘cause I’m not gonna let you leave it to the last minute. I
know you. I know how you are.”

Sirius can physically feel his heart sinking to his feet. Can hear the thud as it hits the hardwood
floor.
He wonders, later, what would’ve happened if Remus hadn’t missed him. Or if he had, but had
settled for just a text or FaceTime call. What would’ve happened if Sirius had talked to him over
lunch, in a restaurant, where things could only get ugly to a certain extent. Or had at least prepared
what he was going to say. Had thought of the right words.

If only, if only, if only.

“You always leave things to the very last second,” Remus continues to say. “Remember that
summer we went to visit my parents and we missed the train ‘cause you couldn’t find your phone
charger?”

Sirius forces out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

“So come on.” He outstretches both arms to pull Sirius to his feet.

Sirius simply places his hands atop Remus’ palms, but puts no strength in standing up.

“Come ooon,” Remus says.

“I—”

“You don’t have to do it all today, love, just a little bit. Just to get a head start, so you won’t be
overwhelmed later, eh? And,” he tugs gently at Sirius’ hands, and leans down, grinning, “I promise
to do everything you want. Grant all your wishes. How does that sound?”

Sirius stares up at him, at lost. How he doesn’t want to turn this smile into a frown; turn his bright
eyes woeful and glassy. He’s seen it before, and he’s sure it would hurt just the same.

“Don’t say that,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper.

“What?” Remus asks, quizzically cocking his head to the side.

Sirius pulls his hands back to himself, and Remus lets his own flop limply against his sides. Sirius
takes a deep, deep breath, and averts Remus’ eyes. “I… I’m not packing.”

Remus scoffs goodheartedly, rolling his eyes. He outstretches his hands once again. “Oh, you’re
not leaving it all to me. I will help you, but you have to—”

“No,” Sirius cuts him off. He opens his mouth a couple times, and there really isn’t a way to phrase
it—to put a bow on it and make it pretty. Remus is looking down at him, confused, patiently
waiting. “That’s… I’m not going to pack. That’s not something that will be—that will be
happening, is what I mean.”

Remus’ eyebrows draw even lower, and he tilts his head a bit to the side, still puzzled. Waiting for
him to elaborate.

“I’m staying.”

Remus blinks, then raises his eyebrows, looking mildly unfazed. “For the rest of summer?”

“In a way,” Sirius answers after a beat too long.

Remus stares, the same expression across his face. But then he pulls back his shoulder. His features
harden. He lets Sirius’ hand go. “How long are you staying for, Sirius?” he questions, voice firm
and untouched.
And Sirius is silent. Because he’s a coward.

“Are you going back to London at all?”

Sirius looks away, replying quietly, “I think you already know the answer to that.” And Remus
does know. He knew before he asked. Ever so smart.

He sees Remus taking a step back out of his peripheral vision, and then another. Sirius looks down
at his lap.

And then, suddenly, Remus starts laughing. It’s hollow; it’s utterly cold, the type of laugh that’s
unbelieving, that’s exasperated, that doesn’t think a single bit of this is funny but is still there—
ringing dry chuckles through the room. Sirius turns his head to glance up at him again, and Remus
is pressing his fingertips to his eyes, lightly shaking his head.

“I should’ve figured, shouldn’t I?” he says, then drops his hands, letting them slap against the sides
of his thighs. Sirius says nothing. “I should’ve fucking known your bloody… your bloody bit was
still on its way.”

“Bit?”

“Yes! There’s always a bit with you, isn’t there, Sirius? It’s all wonderful, everything a fucking
paradise until you grab me by the throat and fucking choke me.” He’s standing by the centre of the
room now, near the dresser. Eyes wide, mouth parted, breaking Sirius into tiny, microscopic
pieces. “How long have you… how long have you known you’re staying?”

“I—” Sirius can’t bear to look at him. He’s the biggest coward in the world. “About three days,” he
replies faintly to the window.

“Three days? Three days? You can’t… are you joking, Sirius?”

Sirius gets to his feet at once, hurrying to him with his palms up. “No, but Moony, listen, you have
to let me—”

“I knew there was something wrong,” Remus hisses. “I knew it was… it was all too fucking good
to be true.”

The air inside Sirius’ lungs hitch, leaving him hollow and weak at the knees. He shakes his head,
trying to grasp Remus’ hands, but he won’t let him. “No. No, don’t say that. You don’t—you don’t
think that,” he whispers; it was meant to be higher, but his voice can’t seem to have enough
strength for such volume. “We are—we are that good. You know that, love. We’ve always been
that good—”

“Until we aren’t! Until we stop being that good! It took us seven years last time. Two fucking
weeks now, apparently. I—” He lets out a huff of dark laughter; always hollow, always laughing at
the unfunny, the absurd. “I’m so stupid. I’m so bloody stupid. You know what I thought when I
saw you in that plane? When you sat next to me with your fucking hair like always, wearing your
fucking clothes and smelling the same way you always did? I thought it was a sign. I don’t even
believe in that rubbish. But I still thought it was a sign. ‘Cause it had to be, hadn’t it? And I… I
pushed it. I leaned into it. I fucking… I fucking came to the Village all the time to bump into you.
To see you again. How fucking pathetic is that? And I knew it was. I knew I was being ridiculous,
but I thought it was a sign. And I loved it. I hated that I loved it, but I still did. And maybe it was a
sign, but I just got it all wrong. I sign that we’re not… that we don’t work.”

Remus is crying now. Sirius doesn’t even think he’s noticed. There are tears tracking down his
cheeks, drawing glistening paths on his face, dripping down his chin, and Remus doesn’t do
anything to wipe them off. His chin quivers, his eyes are rimmed red, cheeks pink, and he’s just
standing there, chest heaving fast. There’s no way where he isn’t beautiful—even like this, even
spitting words at Sirius like venom to his veins. Even breaking his heart as he lets Sirius break his,
simultaneously, in unison.

He can break it. Break it all he wants. Sirius can fall in love with him all over again in a matter of
seconds, as he’s still wiping the tears off his eyes.

He could let Remus break him into a billion pieces, and love him all over again before the dust hit
the floor.

Sirius shakes his head vigorously, chin wobbling. When he speaks, his voice is shaking. “No. No.
No, don’t say that. We do work. And it was a sign. Of course it was a fucking sign, Moons.”

But Remus shakes his head too, resolutely, wiping off his eyes at last and wrapping his arms
around himself. “We’re not this fairytale you think we are, Sirius. You think we’re this… this love
story. This fairytale. We’re not that.”

“You don’t believe that.” Sirius reaches for him, cupping his face, wiping off a tear with his
thumb. Tears sting his own cheeks. He feels Remus lean into his palm. “You don’t believe that,
love.”

Remus steps out of his touch, his eyes wild. Desperate. “Of course I don’t fucking believe that!” he
cries out. “I think that’s absolute bullshit. Complete, absolute bullshit. But it doesn’t make it any
less true, Sirius. Just because I don’t believe it it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He takes in a sharp,
shaky breath. “When I was fifteen I thought I was living the greatest love story of all time,” he
says, his voice soft, his tears lacing it with silk. “I… you were everything I ever wanted. I never,
ever wanted anything else. You were everything. When I was fifteen. And when I was seventeen,
nothing changed. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Then you… what we… the things you said to me,
Sirius.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t say anything as well, Remus,” Sirius sobs. “Don’t put the blame on me.
Don’t do that.”

“Do you even remember wh—”

“I remember everything!”

“So how can you—”

“You left me, Remus!” Sirius cries.

“You let me go!” Remus cries back, his face and eyes scarlet, and Sirius is silent, for he knew this
was coming. It wasn’t like he thought they would just resume their relationship without discussing
it. Without bringing it back to surface.

It had stayed unspoken until now; unraveled. Frightening to the touch. Like an ‘I miss you’ or ‘I
love you’, only now, completely destructive, full of sirens and red lights.

“Since you remember everything, you must remember that, don’t you?” Remus continues, voice
hard, cutting, ruinous, like a dagger to Sirius’ chest, twisting and twisting. “Remember how I said I
was leaving and you let me? That after seven years, you let me go, just like that? And you
remember how you didn’t call? Can you even imagine how fucking stupid I felt? I would sit by the
phone for hours, day after day, waiting for you to call, like a fucking idiot. But you didn’t. You
didn’t call. And then I convinced myself you were going there. Told myself you’d show up at my
doorstep. Because it was all I wanted. I just wanted to go back home, Sirius. Back home to you. I
couldn’t believe you were leaving things like that. That you were calling it quits like that, not when
I still waited for you. Not when I still, despite everything, didn’t stop loving you any less.

“I waited for you for so long. For so fucking long. I didn’t even need you to apologise; you
could’ve called me and said ‘hi’ and I would’ve come running back to you. But you didn’t. You
didn’t text. You didn’t call. You didn’t come to see me. I waited, and I waited for you to ask me to
come back, and you never did.” Remus takes a deep breath. Wipes off underneath his eyes.
“Maybe I did go back to Wales. But I never left you, Sirius. You were always there. Your shadow
was always around. And I’m pathetic enough to not have minded it. To have had you break my
heart into a million pieces and not feel an ounce of hate towards you. To have never, ever stopped
loving you.”

He keeps on twisting the dagger, seeing how much deeper it can go, right on the scar of the only
freshly healed wound. Because Sirius knows, he knows, he fucking knows how much an idiot he
was. How he let it slip through his fingers when he could’ve bloody well held on to it. How he’d
let himself spit venom right back. How he’d left his shoes in the doorway. How he’d purposefully
forgot to wash the dishes. How he’d left the bathroom and made sure to leave the light on.

“It was a wet towel,” Sirius says, voice so weak it comes out as just above a whisper. Remus’
cheeks are blotchy red, and he knows his own can’t be much different, if not even worse. “That’s
why we broke up. Because of a wet towel I’d left on the bed.”

He remembers it. He’d made sure to leave it there—Remus hated it.

What he doesn’t remember, though, is how it all started. After all, they didn’t fight like every other
couple; they barely fought, really, and when they did, it would always be easily solved with
conversation—they’d been friends since the age of eleven. They knew each other better than
anyone.

Perhaps it had been a bad day for one of them. Perhaps for both. Perhaps for none.

Maybe they hadn’t kissed one day, suddenly. Had forgotten to say ‘I love you’, possibly. Had slept
to their backs to each other, one random night. Sirius doesn’t know. He can’t pinpoint what exactly
had led them to it. All he knows is that it took them a month and a half.

A month and a half, and then it was all gone.

It was silly things. Truly. It was leaving the underwear on the floor and not putting it in the laundry
basket to have the other complain. It was tooth paste on the sink. Getting the floor wet after the
shower so the other would step on water puddles while wearing socks.

Remus had started getting bitter, so Sirius would do it more.

Sirius had started getting bitchy, so Remus would do it more.

It’s just a phase, Sirius had figured at some point. We’ve been together for ages. Just getting…
domestic. Couples get like that. It’ll just take a bit to get used to.

There was no bit to wait for when by a month, Sirius had heard Remus groaning one afternoon
he’d arrived home from James’. He’d known it wasn’t a phase, then. A stage they were going
through.

He’d known they were falling. The most precious thing he’d ever had to call his, breaking right
before his eyes. And he didn’t try to fix it.

Because Remus had groaned, and Sirius had then rolled his eyes.

Sirius had left a wet towel on the bed one night. Remus had been on the living room, reading or
watching something on the TV; he doesn’t quite remember. He’d gone to the kitchen to grab
something to eat. He heard Remus walking into the bedroom.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Sirius hates, hates, god, he fucking loathes how he’d smirked at that, to himself. A mission-
accomplished smirk. An I-got-him-mad smirk.

Remus had stomped into the kitchen seconds later, the towel in hand. “You’re joking right?”

“Pardon?”

“Why would you fucking leave the towel on the bed when there’s a hanger just by the fucking
door?”

Sirius shrugged.

And so it’d started. Sirius reckons, now, it’d probably lasted about twenty minutes. Twenty
minutes of yelling. Twenty minutes of exasperated shouting. Twenty minutes of “You always do
this!” and “I’m getting bloody tired of it, Remus,” and “Yesterday you didn’t even take your plate
to the sink!”

They should’ve had ended it there. Sirius should’ve had put his hands up, saying he was tired and
was going to bed. He would’ve had gained a couple more days, maybe. Just a little more.

He didn’t do such thing. Neither did Remus.

Always grabbing by the throat. Always choking. Squeezing the life out of one another. Remus
said, “Who leaves a wet towel on the bed?! Who? Weren’t you raised right? Oh, yes, that’s right.
Never mind.”

Just like that. He’d said it, just like that. Cruel. Vicious. True, and bitter. Remus said it like he’d
meant it. His face didn’t falter, never a shadow of regret. Sirius knew, because he searched for it—
an eyebrow drawing slightly downward, the twitch of an eye, the hesitation in a lip. Nothing.

Which is why he’d swallowed thickly, sniffed, raised his chin and said, plain and cold: “At least
my mum cared enough not to let me turn into… into a fucking walking war site.”

You burn me, I’ll burn you right back, love. Right where we both know it hurts the worst.

And that was when it had all faltered. When Remus’ chest fell as though he’d been shot. When his
lips had parted, breathing out heavily, unbelieving. Because how could he? How could Sirius ever?
He could’ve said anything else, but he hadn’t—because Remus could’ve said anything else, but
hadn’t.

“What?” Remus said, just a whisper, just a breath.

Sirius continued to look at him down his nose, desperate to tell him he hadn’t meant it, that it
wasn’t true.

“You… you don’t mean that. I know you, Sirius. You don’t mean that,” he said, and of course he
was right. It was the biggest lie he’d ever told. He didn’t even know he could ever formulate such
thought. Not to his Moony. Not to his love. The most beautiful thing in his life. Love, in its fullest
form. Who had chosen Sirius, back when they’d been eleven, as the one to first trust with the
reason behind his scars. Who had told Sirius how he’d gotten a bike for his fifth birthday. How he
was obsessed with it. How his mum had told him it was time for them to get back inside, one
afternoon, as the sun was starting to set and he needed to shower. How he pretended to oblige for a
second, then, ever so sneaky as a child, climbed back on the bike and pedaled away once she
turned her back, giggling. How a car came out of nowhere, and the last thing he heard was a honk
and his mother’s scream.

And when Sirius used it against him, when he contradicted all the times he had traced the scars
with his fingertips, kissed the length of every one, all the times he had told him, with all the truth in
his heart, how beautiful he was, he knew that night had been the last shout. The last yell. The last
complaint and the last groan.

“Take it back,” Remus whispered. His eyes rimmed with tears, now. Lower lip quivering. Sirius
stood tall. “You don’t mean it. It’s ok. You didn’t mean to say that. Please, Sirius.”

Just take it back. He’ll take it back too. Fix this. Say you’re sorry.

Sirius looked away.

And Remus went into the bedroom and started packing.

“We didn’t break up because of a wet towel, Sirius,” Remus says now, looking at him from across
the room with the same glossy, wrenching eyes. “We broke up because we stopped saying sorry.”

And Sirius knows this is the moment to get on his knees. To implore. To beg. To cling to his legs
and apologise for everything he’s ever done, every dish he didn’t wash, every towel off the hanger,
every roll of his eyes. Apologise for all the times he loved him more than anything, but hid it. But
pretended not to.

He doesn’t.

Remus speaks up first. “Why?” he asks, so simply, so tired. “Why are you doing this?”

He swallows thickly. “I’ve never truly liked London, to be quite honest.”

“You’ve never truly liked London.”

“Not really.”

They are silent. Two bodies, each across the room, still as statues, though just wanting to melt
away, hoping the world will catch them.

“Sirius.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t do this.” And there it is. There he is, crossing the room, gripping Sirius’ face so he’ll stop
averting his gaze, so Remus’ eyes will burn into his, that pleasant pain he’s always loved. “Don’t
stay. Go home with me. Please. Please.”

Sirius draws in a trembling breath, tears spilling—Remus brushes them away with his thumb
before they reach the apples of Sirius’ cheeks.
“Alphard…” Sirius breathes out. “He’s… he’s my family. Andie’s got a kid, and a husband, and…
and he’s never been close to Regulus, anyway. But me… he—he can have me near. I can have him
near. Not… not the rest of them.” Remus’ expression crumples, his mouth twists. Sirius reaches up
a hand to grip his wrist. “Stay with me, love. Here. Stay with me.”

But Remus’ hand drops to Sirius’ shoulder, as though it’s been pushed away, and slowly slides
down back to his side. “What?” he says, a whisper, face all contorted into a frown.

Sirius tries cupping his face, just like Remus was doing to him seconds before, but Remus steps
back. “Stay with me. Think about it, Moony. We can get a place of ourselv—”

“You can’t be asking me this,” he cuts Sirius off, eyes wide and incredulous, lips in the shape of a
sob. “You’re not asking me this, are you?”

Sirius opens and closes his mouth as he starts feeling the floor give in. There is lump at the very
top of his throat. “I… we could… we could try again, Remus.”

Remus blinks, then. Huffs out an amused breath. “We could try again? Then what is it that we’re
doing right now, Sirius? What is all of this to you? What, you’ve been sleeping with your ex-
boyfriend for two weeks and seeing where it gets you? Still yet deciding what to think of it?”

Sirius shakes his head steadfastly. “No. No, you know it’s not that, I—”

“Then what is it, Sirius?”

“It’s… we can stay, we can—we can start all over again. We don’t have to go back. Haven’t these
past weeks been amazing? We’re… we’re us again. We can be us again. And my… my family—”

“I have a family too, Sirius!” Remus cries out with a sob. Face twisting again. “What about my
family? I can’t just leave my mum! My dad! What if something happens to them? Then what? And
—and Dorcas! I just moved in with her! I pay half of that rent, I can’t leave her standing. I can’t…
I can’t leave everything behind just because you’re asking me to. Just because you can.”

“You say like it’s not something I’ve always wanted to do! Like it’s not something that’s always
bothered me, knowing they were always around! Like it wouldn’t be good for me to leave!”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what is it that you’re saying? Because you’re using all the words in the dictionary to call me
selfish right now.”

Remus remains quiet, breathing out in gasps.

“All I want is you. I just want…” Sirius runs a shaky hand through his hair. Swallows dryly.
“You’re the love of my life,” he says, voice coming out weak. “You know you are. You’re
everything I ever wanted. I just… I can’t risk losing you again. I can’t do it. I need to get it right
this time.”

Remus stares at him. He stares for what feels like hours, days, ages. And then, he shakes his head;
so subtly, so weakly, it’s barely noticeable. “Don’t say this,” he whispers. “Don’t… don’t say this.”

“Why?”

“Because you know then I’ll follow you anywhere. I’ll trail after you like a dog. To any fucking
hole in this planet. And I can’t. I can’t do it. No matter how much I want to. No matter how much I
love you. I can’t.” A tear rolls down Remus’ face, and he doesn’t wipe it off; lets it drip down his
chin, onto the floor; lets it burn into the carpet. “And I hate it. I hate that it’s like this. I hate your
fucking family. I hate that I love mine too much. And I hate this whole thing. I hate it, Sirius.
Because one of us will have to sacrifice something, and I hate that it can’t be me. I’d do anything.
Anything. I’d believe in all the bullshit signs the fucking universe sends me. I’d lean into all of
them. But this. This I can’t do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love.”

And this is it, Sirius supposes. It’s their tragedy. They’ve always been a tragedy, haven’t they. Ever
loving too much, holding onto one another too much, hurting too much, breaking too much. They
choke on the love. They love until they choke, then gather another breath to love a bit more. And
it’s always going to be like this. Distance doesn’t change such thing. Being together or apart, it
doesn’t change.

Sirius reckons this is the worst kind of pain. The one that’s familiar, but doesn’t hurt any less. That
carries the fact that they both want the same thing, but in different ways—Sirius wants to start
again, Remus just wants to go back to where they left off. They just want each other, but in ways
they can’t have it.

And he thinks of that one Queen song, suddenly. It’s one they both love, which is almost funny,
since they’ve never really agreed when it came to music. But this song, they’ve always loved.
They’ve danced to it countless times, in their living room, in the bedroom. Chests pressed tightly
together, hand in hand, breathing the same air. Remus bought the album on vinyl, even. He didn’t
take it with him when he left, so it’s stayed untouched for five years now.

But Sirius thinks of it as he watches Remus stare at him. Then thinks of it as Remus sighs, as his
shoulders sag down, and as he stalks to the bed to put on his shoes. Thinks of it as Remus fits his
phone and wallet inside his back pockets.

Thinks of it as he considers asking for a last dance, this time, knowing it’s the last. Thinks of it as
he doesn’t. Thinks of it as Remus walks to the door.

“I’m always gonna love you,” Sirius says to Remus’ back. “That’s never gonna change. Even if it
does for you.”

Remus turns on his heels, hand still on the doorknob, and gives him the saddest of smiles. “You
told me I’m the love of your life. You’re the love of mine. You’re probably the love of the life of
everyone who’s ever met you. It’s just who you are. But you’re my love. You always will be.
That’s not something that changes, Sirius. It never will be.”

And leaves.

Sirius hears his hurried steps as he descends the stairs, hears the muffled voice of his uncle trying
to talk to him, and hears the front door banging shut.

And then, he cries.

Love of my life, don’t leave me

You’ve taken my love, and now desert me
Love of my life, can’t you see?
Bring it back, bring it back
Don’t take it away from me
Because you don’t know
What it means to me
 XIII — And I Just Wanted You To Know That This Is Me Trying (And
Maybe I Don’t Quite Know What To Say)

There was something about the moon that night. There was something about the night sky, in
general—how the stars shone differently; brighter, dots of glitter against the infinite darkness of
the night, and the full moon hanging high, big and round, a ball of waxy light.

They’d been friends for two months, the four of them, and it was the night before Sirius’ twelfth
birthday. James had organised a picnic, god knows why. Said his mum had taken he and his dad to
their backyard for a picnic dinner on his ninth birthday and it’d been one of his bests so far, so he
and the lads had prepared one for Sirius, as well, who hadn’t experienced very good birthdays, on
the other hand.

And so far, this was his best.

They were sitting on a little hidden spot by the grounds, near the woods (people claimed it to be
haunted, so they’d preferred not to go in). They’d eaten sandwiches, cake, scones, a pizza and
crisps—everything provided by the kitchens (Pete’s aunt actually worked at the school’s kitchens,
so getting food wasn’t much of a problem, especially when he did his puppy eyes and pouted while
batting his eyelashes. Worked every time.)

And, after an hour and a half, James and Peter were fast asleep, laying on the towel.

So Remus kept Sirius company.

They’d been spending a lot of time together, as of late. There was something Sirius couldn’t quite
pinpoint, not yet, but it was so… magnetic, almost, about his friend, that it was different from the
other two. He was warmth come to life, but not in a way that James was. He was shy like Peter, but
Peter wasn’t shy in a way that sparked Sirius’ curiosity, not in a way that made Sirius want to be
the one to see behind all this closeness. And certainly not in a way that made Sirius feel like the
most victorious boy in the world for having made him laugh at a stupid, stupid joke the other week.

Sirius didn’t know why. But, for now, he liked not knowing anything at all.

“Enjoying your birthday?” Remus whispered to him, both boys sitting side by side, legs close to
their chests as they glanced up at the night sky.

Sirius nodded. “Best so far.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Remus’ lips twist, but the boy appeared to decide not to say
anything.

Sirius pointed up at a star, then, the brightest one he could see. “D’you see that?”

“The star?”

“Yeah. The big one.”

Remus nodded.
 “It’s called Sirius,” he told him, proudly.

“Really?” Remus grinned, amused.

“Yep. The biggest one. After me. Well, I guess I’m named after it, but it’s nice to pretend
sometimes.”

Remus laughed softly. “I’m pretty sure it was named after you.”

Sirius smiled, turning his head to look at him, and Remus looked away.

“I’m not named after a star or anything cool,” he said. “My name is after that Roman myth,
Romulus and Remus.”

“The boys who were raised by wolves?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius shrugged, looking back up at the sky. “I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They stayed in silence after that, listening to the crickets and the other boys’ snoring. Until,
suddenly, Sirius felt a weight on his shoulder. Remus’ head.

“Happy birthday, star,” Remus said around a yawn.

Star.

He felt his cheeks grow hot. Blimey. What? No. It was just the heat of. Winter. Yeah.

Sirius swallowed dryly, and took in a suddenly shaky breath. “Thanks.”

His eyes drifted to the moon, beautiful, delicate, looking down at the two of them. And his stomach
fluttered.

“Thank you, Moony,” he mouthed to it.

***

“Sirius,” Remus says when he swings the door open, sounding tired and looking even worse.

It took Sirius about forty-five minutes to put his shoes on and leave the house. He didn’t even wash
his face.

He hadn’t spot his uncle on either the living room or the kitchen, and hadn’t bothered to shout an
“I’m leaving!”—if Alphard had heard anything from the bedroom, Sirius would let him think it
was just a mild discussion they had. For now.

The New York Subway system is still too confusing for him, so he didn’t bother to figure it out
tonight. His legs are jello, so that’s vetoed, too.
So, he took a taxi.

And twenty-two minutes later, he found himself knocking on Remus’ door.

He’d tried thinking of something to say while on the ride here—something he hadn’t said before,
something he has. Perhaps repeating himself all over again. Perhaps creating a whole new
language. Everything unclear, blurred, when all his vision can see is a blinding, flashing bright sign
against his corneas, always, always blinking neon scarlet. REMUS. REMUS. REMUS.

So this is where Sirius finds himself right now; just underneath the bright, big lettering, reaching
destiny, where he always, inevitably, irrevocably, irreversibly comes back to, and it’s with an odd
feeling that he sighs once Remus opens the door, hair still disheveled, cheeks still a blotchy, though
now faint, pink, eyes puffy, still the same clothes.

Still mine. He hasn’t changed, not yet. Right now, he’s still mine.

“Sirius,” is what he says. Tired. Exhausted. Aren’t we through already? Do we still have to keep
this going? Voice small. Looking small. Making Sirius’ arms ache to hold him. Making Sirius’
knees ache to drop on them and cling to Remus’ legs.

So, at last, that’s exactly what he does.

He lands with strong thud on the hallway, the floor a hard wood that will certainly leave his
kneecaps a bruised purple. But he barely feels the pain. Not this one, at least.

Remus is staring down at him with wider eyes now, shock reading between his swollen eyelids, his
lips parting a tiny, just a tiny bit.

“Love Of My Life,” Sirius says, eyes brimming already. His hands are clutching Remus’ trousers,
and he’s never felt so desperate, miserable, anguished. Though never humiliated. He could beg to
Remus on his knees until the pain becomes numb, until it decides to leave, until there is none
anymore. Until his calfs and feet have no use anymore. Though never ashamed to beg for him—
he’ll do it proudly. “You know that song. You love that song. I know you do. You bought that
album on vinyl. I still have it. I have all your stuff still. I didn’t throw away a single sock you left
behind. Not a single thing, Remus. And this,” he lifts up his right pinky finger, where his first
tattoo is inked into his skin—a small, delicate, crescent moon, designed in fine lines. Remus went
with him when he’d gone to get it, and held his other hand all the way through—though it barely
hurt and was his quickest tattoo to this day. “This I wanted to get rid of. I told Marlene I wanted it
gone, once. She told me to have it laser removed, then. I called her mental. Then she told me to
cover it up with something else. I said it was better she stop talking before I sent her to an asylum.
Because I would never get rid of it. I never got rid of anything. I don’t want to. Not ever. I don’t
want to get rid of you. Don’t make me. Moony. Please. Love of my life. Love Of My Life. We
danced to that song so much—”

“Sirius.”

“—And I went five years without it and just two weeks showed me that that wasn’t life. It never
was. I wanna dance with you every day. Every second. I want you to hear me think I’m a good
singer when I’m not. I want to get wine drunk with you on Friday nights and put some music on
and just dance around the living room like we used to do. I want to listen to Oasis over and over
again and know all their songs even though I hate their music. Have I ever told you that? I hate
Oasis. Never liked them. Not a single song. But you—you love their music. So I always asked you
to play it again because you’d smile and sometimes you’d even cry and you’d sing to me and I love
you, I love you more than anything, you’re the love of my life, I don’t want to do this without you.
There’s no fun in doing anything without you. You’re my love. You’re my Moony. You’ll always
be. I’m begging you. Please. Please. I’m so sorry for everything. You’re the most beautiful thing in
the world. You’re my fucking galaxy, Moony. You’re—you’re my stars, and my planets, and my
moon, and the bloody universe. Remember that? Please. Please. Please. Anything. Anything you
want. Please—”

“Sirius, get up.”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly, tasting the salt of his tears. “No. No.” He tightens his fists
on the fabric of Remus’ trousers, making Remus sway a bit, and he looks as though lightheaded—
he’s glancing down at Sirius with lifeless eyes; tired, pained. “I need you to listen to me—”

“I’m listening,” he says, voice suddenly trembling.

“—I need you to understand, Remus—”

Remus interrupts him by gripping both of his wrists, freeing Sirius’ fingers from his trousers,
strongly yet delicately, holding him tightly and yet so feathery, as if Sirius’ wrists were the most
delicate pieces of jewelry. Sirius feels his hands shake, too much for it to go unnoticed by Remus.

Still holding him firmly, Remus lowers himself to a crouch, now getting eye-level with Sirius. If
Sirius refused to get up, this is what he decided to settle for, as it seems.

“And I understand,” Remus says, almost a whisper. He lets go of Sirius’ wrists, only briefly
enough to take hold of his hands. “I do. But this… this new beginning that you want—”

“No new beginning,” Sirius cuts him off with a resolute shake of his head. “Nothing. Exactly how
you want it. The wine, the burnt pancakes, the—the mornings in bed, the dancing in the living
room—”

“And where is that living room?” Remus asks, smiling ruefully, because he knows the answer.
And Sirius knows he knows. And he doesn’t bother replying. His lungs contract, denying him of
air, and he falls forward onto Remus’ chest as he sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, muffled against Remus’ t-shirt, his tears wetting the fabric. “I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry.”

And Remus wraps his arms around him, despite everything, because he just is like that. “It’s ok,
Sirius,” he whispers into Sirius’ hair. He says Sirius’ name like Sirius calls him ‘love’. He says it
as though it’s the same thing. As though Sirius’ name and ‘love’ are synonyms, each other’s
definitions on the dictionary.

“It’s not. I can’t—it’s—”

A kiss to his head shuts him up. They stay like that for a couple more seconds. Maybe a full
minute. Maybe an hour. It might be the next day by the time Remus tears apart, the smallest bit,
and says, “Let’s get inside.”

Remus sits him down on the couch. Then sits down beside him. Takes his hand. They stay in
silence for a moment. Two. Three.

“I can’t believe you never liked Oasis,” Remus says, suddenly. There’s a laugh behind it, Sirius
can hear, but Remus doesn’t seem to have enough strength to let it out.

Sirius shakes his head, trying to go for a smile and failing miserably. “No. Never did.”
“You’ve always sang all the songs with me.”

“I learned them, of course. And what, tell you I didn’t like them and get you to stop playing it
around? No. Never.”

Remus turns his head to look at him, then. He’s blinking heavily, slowly. Lips pink. Cheeks red.
Tip of his nose flushed. Eyes dark, so dark, just how Sirius loves it; that true, rich, unmistaken
brown. A piece of him visibly breaking every time Sirius looks at him, hitting the floor like glass,
thousands of shards scattered around, so small, it’s likely one will never be able to get all of them.
He raises their intertwined hands, just a little. Enough for Sirius to notice he’s doing so. And then,
he brushes Sirius’ pinky with his thumb—the tattoo, to be exact. His tattoo.

And lifts it up to his mouth and kisses it, closing his eyes as he presses his lips to it, and a single
tear lands on Sirius’ skin.

And Sirius decides that, if this is how they’re going to end, then they better have their goodbye.

As Remus lets go of his hand, Sirius instantly reaches to comb his fingers through Remus’ hair,
pushing back his fringe. And Remus watches him. He slides his hand down to the nape of Remus’
neck, brushing the shorter, soft hair. And Remus watches him. He brings it back to Remus’ face to
touch his cheek, running his thumb back and forth just underneath his eyes. And Remus watches
him.

And suddenly, just then, he stops watching to close his eyes and kiss him.

Careful, measured, testing. Only a press of lips. Only that. Catching Sirius so off guard he doesn’t
move a muscle.

Remus pulls back. Stares at him, expression unreadable to anyone but Sirius.

Meet me halfway, love. You told me you would. You promised me you would. Please, Sirius.

And Sirius’ shoulders sag down as he grabs Remus by the neck and kisses him back.

Remus’ arms immediately wrap around his waist—they’re always there, first; his favourite place.
Sirius hooks his own around Remus’ neck—they’re always there, first; his favourite place. They
lace together, just like that; a seem-less knot, falling into their places without question, glad to fall
into it, happy to fall into it.

And Sirius knows this is the worst thing he could ever do. Sirius knows this as he tells himself,
over and over, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry as a moan is pulled from low on Remus’ throat. Sirius
knows this as he knows he should be happy to be kissing him, but mourns for the last time of it all.

His biggest mistake. The greatest of his life. But he is too weak to pull back and tell Remus so; too
weak to not go according to plan. The new one.

So he says nothing. Does nothing but kiss him back, but detach his hands from Remus’ hair to raise
his arms and let Remus peel off his t-shirt, but let Remus kiss his neck, his collarbones, his
shoulder, but hear Remus’ whisper his eternal ‘I love you’s inside his mouth, that he swallows
along with the lump in his throat.

He does nothing because Sirius loves him too much. Because Sirius priorities Remus over himself,
and he can’t hold him the way he wants to; can’t hold him forever, only momentarily, only in this,
here, right now, as they dance their last dance and kiss their last kisses. Because Remus needs to go
and be Remus, and Sirius can’t hold him back from that. And he knows that that is the right thing
to do, not for himself, who wants to chicken out of everything he’s set his mind on and follow after
him, but for the love of his life, who deserves something bigger, greater, that Sirius is too scared he
won’t be able to give to him if not anywhere but there.

He’ll be ok with time. After this. After he slips away and leaves Remus sleeping to wake up alone
because Sirius Black is too weak. He’ll be ok. He’ll mourn, this time. He’ll cry to the cold
emptiness of a bed he got used to being warm and occupied. He’ll cry as he remembers, every
night, to not pull out two mugs to pour tea into. He’ll cry as he sits on the couch while Remus’
plane departures.

And then, after this, he’ll smile, and be ok. Every time he’ll think of him. His love. What’s there
not to smile at? How would he ever not to smile when thinking of that laugh, or those bony, long
fingers, or that lopsided grin?

But, in the meantime, as he lives the before, he’ll pull back to take in all of Remus’ features, the
exposure of his neck as he buries his head further into the cushion with a long sigh, his bare chest
as the living room light catches over him when he stands up, taking Sirius’ hand and taking them to
the bedroom, his long eyelashes shadowing against his cheeks and his eyes darting across Sirius’
face as he holds himself up above him in both arms. The taste of his tongue, the movement of his
hands, his sighs and pleasured groans and how Sirius’ name sounds from his lips. His incessant ‘I
love you’s as Sirius wraps his legs around his waist and lets Remus push into him, face buried in
the crook of Sirius’ neck, as Sirius lets secretive, quiet tears role down every sound Remus makes,
every time he tells him how he loves him.

Sirius takes everything in, every moment, pretending to be happy, pretending to smile against
Remus’ lips.

Until Remus presses their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut, and whispers as though in a
prayer, “Don’t do this to me. Please, Sirius. Don’t do this to me, love. I love you so much. I’m
begging you.”

And there is his warning. Don’t let me go. The warning Sirius received five years ago, but had
stomped his foot and not done anything.

He can say yes. He can send it all to fucking space and say, “I won’t. Anything you want. I won’t
do this.”

But instead, he doesn’t hide his tears anymore, and cries. There’s no use. No use when he feels
Remus’ shoulders shake above him, and then feels Remus slump down on the mattress beside him.

He curls into Remus as they both cry for the loss of one another. For wanting the same thing. For
being an inch too small to reach it. For Sirius’ weakness and for Remus’ desperation for his
strength. For the never loss of the love—they both know that’s always going to be there. Eternally,
like the moon will rise every night, unchangeably.

Sirius sniffs one last time, and wipes off his eyes. He lifts his head up from Remus’ arm to find
him staring at the ceiling. He turns to look at him once he seems to feel Sirius’ eyes.

“I can sing you an Oasis song, if you’d fancy,” Sirius says, now succeeding in forcing out a smile
and even managing to sound a little playful.

Remus breathes out a wet laugh. “Can you still hold a tune like you used to?” Sirius nods, and a
phantom of a smirk brushes past Remus’ lips. “Then go for it.”
Sirius stands up on his knees beside Remus, clearing his throat dramatically and smoothing out his
hair. He sings some random pieces from Wonderwall, since it’s the one he remembers best—and is
also one of Remus’ favourites. He watches a true grin spread across Remus’ mouth as he looks up
at him screeching out the verses, exaggerating on the lack of tune, feeling his chest warm up as he
gets his last smile.

Once he’s done, Remus applauds slowly and dramatically, and Sirius finds himself smiling for the
first time that night; smiling because he can’t help it, smiling because it’s easy to.

And this time, when Sirius leans down to catch Remus’ lips again, he’s still smiling when he says
his own eternal ‘I love you’s, and Remus is still smiling when he says back his ‘I love you too’s.

Forever. Forever. Forever. Forever.

They try again. They smile this time. Sirius stops mourning for a moment. Remus doesn’t beg for
him not to let him leave again.

They just let themselves dance their last dance like it’s the first; like they could never know there
would ever be a last.

It’s hard to detangle himself from Remus’ arms around two hours later, when Sirius can already
hear the snoring. He thanks Remus, inwardly, for being a heavy sleeper. He curses himself for
thanking him for that. He slips inside his jeans, his shoes, and walks back to the bed to sit next to
Remus’ slumbering figure one last time. He pushes his fringe back with his fingers, and then
presses a kiss to his temple.

“Thank you, my love,” he whispers to him, into the darkness, words no one but himself will ever
hear. “Thank you for loving me.”

And walks out of the room.

As he walks to the sofa to get his t-shirt, he spots Remus’ papers and books all scattered across the
small dining table. He walks over to his mess, and smiles at Remus’ scrawly handwriting. There
are so many papers, so many notes, Sirius wonders how Remus finds himself in all of this; but, of
course, he’s seen this scene multiple times. Wondering this is not new to him.

And, with a sudden rapid heartbeat inside his chest, he rips out a blank paper from a notebook.
Glances quickly back to the bedroom door that he left half open. Picks up a pen, and sits down.

Moony,

Hi. Hi, my love.

There’s no way for me to start this, honestly. You’ve always been better with words than me - I just
constantly vomit dictionary after dictionary and hope you pick up on what I’m trying to say. You
always do. You’ve always been that smart.

So I’m sorry, firstly. I’m sorry for leaving without making you breakfast. I’m sorry for leaving
without waking you up with a kiss to the corner of your lips. I’m sorry for leaving without spending
at least an hour tangled with you in bed after we wake up. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it. I hope
you understand.

I’m sorry for making you cry. Remus. Remus. I hope you’re not crying as you’re reading this,
because I’m crying as I write it, and then that’s not going to work. I feel like I rubbed off on you
with time, haven’t I? You’d never been much of a crier when we were kids, but look at us now: two
grown men who just cry and cry. Aren’t we pathetic, love.

I’m sorry about that. For making you cry, that is. I can positively affirm that’s my least favourite
thing in the world. You don’t understand how much I hate it, even though you still look impossibly
beautiful when you do it. Have you seen yourself when you cry, Remus? Well, have you seen
yourself at all?

You’re the most beautiful. I’ll never get tired of saying it. There should be other words I could use
- the English language is so limited. I’m sure you know others that I don’t. But you are. You’re the
most beautiful thing to ever breathe. The way you let me call you mine for so long is still above me.

I’m so sorry for this. You don’t know how much I am. I’m doing this knowing it’s the biggest
mistake of my life. Knowing I’ll regret every second of it. Where’s the fun in doing this without
you? Where’s the excitement?

But I can’t hold you back. I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I kept you somewhere
you don’t wish to be.

So just promise me you’ll be happy. Promise me you’ll go back to England and you’ll take care of
your parents. Promise me you’ll share that rent with Dorcas. You’ll probably go on to be a
teacher. Do that.

I know we’ll still see each other again. We’ll bump into one another eventually. I know that. We
can’t escape it, now can we?

So when we do, I want to see you happy. I want to see your smile - do you know it’s scientifically
proven to be the cure of all diseases in the world? Your very smile, Remus Lupin. It’s true.

So just do that for me. Go and be your smart self. Go and smile my favourite smile in the world.
Go and make your witty comebacks and your sarcastic jokes. Go be my Moony.

My Moony. How did you ever let me have you? Truly, do you even understand? Do you even
understand how it was like to be 13 and have you as a boyfriend while the entire school had a
crush on you (and they did, Remus. They did. If you deny it, then you’re just blind. Or being too
humble. Or both)? Do you understand how it was like to fall in love with you every day? To have
you hold my hand? And I’ll admit it, I showed you off. I would hold your hand in the hallways and
swing it for everyone to see. I was always so proud to be with you, always so happy.

You were my little proof that I’ve never been as bad as I was taught to think - if you had chosen
me, I surely had to be at least decent.

So thank you for choosing me, all those years ago. Thank you for going on that ice cream date
with me and saying you liked me too. Thank you for your love; it was the best thing to ever happen
to me.

Thank you for being alone in that train carriage and telling me this weird name of yours. I fell in
love with you then, I’m pretty sure. I was so obsessed with you. I wanted to make you laugh all the
time. I wanted you to choose me to get that laugh. And you did, and I fell in love with you, oblivious
to it for 2 whole years.

Because how could I not? It was surely written somewhere. Us. We were written somewhere, down
on some ancient paper by some wizard or something. Someone who knows souls. Who can predict
this kind of thing. Who knows we meet in every lifetime. Who knows we’ll fall in love in every
single one, and just waits for it to happen, how different it happens in every one of our lives.

But this one, love, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. We would always live our biggest love, together,
but maybe this life is not the one where we end up together. Maybe in this life I have to know that to
let you be your selfless, happy, sarcastic soul.

Not meant to be. If 14 year-old me ever heard such a thing, he’d surely curb stomp me (the little
shit was small but could put up a fight). But it’s true, I think. It is, love.

I just hate that I have to know this in this life. I wish I was oblivious to it.

I loved you in every single one of them, every single life - the past one, this one and the one to
come. My soul won’t rest until we end up together in one of them. Even if it’s not this one. You’re
my soulmate. Mine. And I’m yours.

Loving you is the best gift I could ever receive, Moony. I’ve never wished for anything more. And
I’ll gladly do it from afar, for the rest of my life.

There won’t be a day where I won’t love you. There has never been one. There never will be one.

You’re the love of my life. You’re the one who I belong with. But you have to be happy. You’ve got
to go and do what you need to do. You need to go and be the Remus I love.

Don’t be mad at me. Please forgive me.

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I’d never
meant to.

You’re the most precious thing I’ve ever had. Calling you mine has been the best thing to ever
happen to me.

The love of my life. My biggest love. My first and my only one. That’s all you, Remus.

We’ll fall in love again in the next one, alright? We’ll get it right then. Pinky promise.

Forever, forever, forever yours,

Sirius.

He wipes off his eyes and cheeks with the collar of his t-shirt, and slowly gets to his feet and stalks
inside the bedroom again, walking on his tiptoes to not make any noise. By the dresser, the city
lights illuminate the room just enough for him to see both Remus’ suitcase and carry-on sitting
open on the floor, filled almost to the brim already. He lowers himself just enough to reach the
contents of the carry-on, and slips the paper that ended up being two, front and back, inside a
folded green jumper. He doesn’t leave it on the table, where Remus will see once he steps into the
living room, nor on his nightstand, nor on the pillow beside him. He doesn’t give Remus a chance
to change his mind and give up on everything he cares about to follow after Sirius.

He wants him to be happy. He wants him to go and be the Remus he loves.

So Sirius takes a last look at him, bites the inside of his cheek not to start crying again for the
billionth time, and pads out of the room, and then, out of the flat, breathing in the cold, torturous air
of what comes after the before, now that it’s over.

Now, he has to know how to be ok. However the fuck that’s gonna go.
 XIV — You Know I Left A Part Of Me Back In New York
Chapter Notes

thank you so much for over 40k hits!! your immense love and support warms my
entire day, and quite honestly, life. i love all of you so much and can’t thank you
enough for your kind words - they make me so unbelievably happy. <3 sending love.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He’d been trying for a while, for some reason he didn’t quite know. Peter was great, a bit shy, a
little giggly; the boy laughed at everything Sirius or James did or said, and don’t get Sirius started
on James. James Potter, in a matter of weeks, had easily become Sirius’ partner in crime, the both
attached at the hip, going nowhere without the other.

But there was Remus Lupin, and Sirius was still trying.

Remus Lupin was quiet. Remus Lupin was short words. Remus Lupin was brief smiles and, once in
a while, pink cheeks. He did all his homework in time. He held the door open for everyone, and
would only then get in himself. He apologised if you stepped on his foot.

But, for some unknown reason, he just… wouldn’t let Sirius in—not in a way that Peter and James
had. Not in a way that Sirius wanted.

So, Sirius kept trying.

Truly, he would’ve never pegged himself for a comedian—Sirius could crack a couple jokes here
and there, make some sarcastic remarks, use a smug quirk of his eyebrow to get a joke across, but
Remus. He just… didn’t laugh. He would be the only one to keep a straight face, though not a
mean one—the one that was even worse; the one that didn’t even know it was supposed to be
funny. And in the few times he did seem to know, the smile was so small, so forced, Sirius would’ve
rather there wasn’t any at all.

But still, he kept trying, and now Remus was sitting at the shared desk up in their dorm, hunched
over some History or English textbook—it was too early in the school year for Sirius to bother
already knowing—, a crease between his brows, the tip of his pencil between his teeth.

And perhaps this wasn’t the best moment, perhaps Remus would shoo him away or even ignore
him altogether, but they were alone at the dorm, and Sirius decided to cease the opportunity to, if
maybe he embarrassed himself, James and Peter wouldn’t be here to remind him every day for the
rest of his life how incredibly pathetic he was.

So Sirius got up from his bed, where he’d been skimming through a Spiderman comic (Peter’s, but
he didn’t have to know), and walked over—or rather, strutted—to the other side of the room, where
Remus sat quietly, only the occasional sound of him tapping his pencil against the papers echoing
inside the dorm room.

He leaned against the desk beside Remus, casually, because he was the king of casualty and, of
course, quite cool and, well, punk rock.
 And Remus did not as much bat an eye.

Sirius cleared his throat. Remus looked up for the most fleeting of seconds, merely acknowledging
his presence, and returned his concentration to his homework.

“Oi, Lupin.”

Remus hummed a sound that was probably to indicate that he was at least alive.

Sirius ignored the indifference, and plastered a smirk across his face.

“Got a question for you. Riddle me this! Why does Luke Skywalker always sleep with the light
on?”

Hah, he was brilliant; there was no way this would go wrong—he saw the Star Wars pillow case
Remus brought, even though the boy had seemed to try and hide it and had settled for using the
ones provided by the school. Sirius Black, clever genius, had seen it neatly folded inside his
suitcase when they were unpacking on their first day.

And Remus looked up, his expression bored and even mildly annoyed for being interrupted, and, in
all honesty, Sirius should’ve been offended, but for another unknown reason, he wasn’t.

Remus said, his tone matching his face perfectly, “Why?”

Sirius’ smirk widened into a grin. “Because he’s afraid of the Darth!”

Remus blinked.

Oh, god.

***

It occurs that being ok is not as easy as he’d predicted—and he’d initially thought it would be
impossible.

It’s worse than that. It’s arriving home that night and bawling his eyes out until slits of the orange
morning sun peaked through his window. It’s having to tell his uncle he’s been feeling ill because
he can’t get out of bed for the entire following day. It’s spending hours scrolling through those
stupid fucking couple pictures they decided to take up at the Empire State Building. It’s crying. It’s
the numbness of dehydration when he has no tears left, but feels no less miserable.

It’s worse because this time he actively decided to mourn the loss of Remus. It’s worse because
every minute something different reminds Sirius of him. It’s worse because he’s still a twenty
minute taxi ride away, and not yet an eight hour flight. He’s not across the ocean yet, he’s just a
couple minutes by train. And Sirius is here, sitting on his bed, day and night, night and day, crying
all the water he has left, and then staring forward when he has no other tear left to shed.

It’s having to answer James’ call. Marlene told him, over at lunch that one day. It’s not being able
to hide from his best friend that he managed to get back together with his ex-boyfriend and break
up in the same fucking trip. It’s hearing James’ rare silence; James Potter always has something to
say, a comment to make, an advice to give. But Sirius has left him speechless, staring at him
through the screen with pitiful eyes and only managing to give him an “I love you. It’s going to be
ok. You’ll see, Pads.” And it’s Sirius having to bite back a “But when? When is it going to be ok?
Because I don’t think I can take it much longer.”
The pain is familiar, and so is the quietness, and the emptiness of a bed and the reaching out for a
hand or an arm to find a pillow, but it’s all, everything worse. Mourning hurts more. The tears burn
his cheeks more. The room is colder, every night.

It’s worse than impossible. It’s worse than unbearable. It’s unthinkable to believe there will be a
moment where he’ll be ok. Where it won’t hurt so much. Where he won’t think about how Remus
is, how he is doing, how he likely misses him as well. Where he won’t think about Remus’ own
tears and how he’s the reason for them. Where his fingers won’t ache to call him just to hear his
voice, deep, soft, with that Welsh lilt he loves, and slightly hoarse.

The voice that might be apologising for bumping into a stranger right now. That might be thanking
the barista across the counter for the cup of coffee. That might be on the phone with his mum,
telling her he’ll soon be home, but still isn’t, not yet.

Because Remus is still here, each hour shortening his time breathing the same air as Sirius, being in
the same timezone, sleeping the same time Sirius sleeps and waking up when Sirius does. They
could meet up at the same café. They could still run into each other on the street. There’s still time.
There’s still time to go back.

But Sirius is sitting on his bed.

And Remus is leaving today.

There’s a knock at his door, and he pulls the covers over his head like a whiny child scared of the
monster in the closet, muffling the sound to try soothing the headache pounding at his temples.

“Sirius?” the voice of his uncle comes to him from outside the room.

“Go away!”

He hears the door swinging open, and some sort of ceramic or cutlery clinking together. “I brought
you something.”

Sirius uncovers his head, the light in the room painfully puncturing through his eyelids and making
his vision swim for a moment. His uncle stands more inside the room than not, but is still
hesitating by the threshold.

Sirius closes his eyes, pressing his thumb into an eyelid and forefinger into the other, and hears
Alphard’s soft steps coming near him, then the dip of the mattress as he sits by the end of the bed.

“How’re you feeling, son?” he asks, and Sirius opens his eyes to see him setting a tray with what
looks like two ham and cheese sandwiches and a cup of tea beside him.

“Not well,” he mumbles.

Alphard lifts a little from his seat on the bed to reach and press the back of his hand to Sirius’
forehead, then to both of his cheeks. He tilts his head as he sits back, frowning. “You don’t seem to
have a fever. You do look a bit peaky, though. How about you eat a little?”

“‘m not hungry.”

“Come on, kid, you haven’t had breakfast today. Nor lunch. You have to eat a bit.” He takes the
plate of sandwiches and holds it out to Sirius. “Here. Ham and cheese, with mustard, how you like
it.”
Sirius stares at the plate for a bit, his stomach churning. But he really likes mustard. So he sits up
and takes the bloody sandwiches. He tears out small pieces instead of biting directly into the bread,
taking his time to chew and swallow.

He really likes mustard, honestly.

Alphard watches him for a moment, his expression worried like a parent’s would be as they watch
their child struggling through a cold, and Sirius avoids the eye contact the best he can, staring
blankly at his sandwich and reaching out a hand for his uncle to hand him the cup of tea.

“You’ve always loved these sandwiches with mustard, haven’t you?” Alphard says with a slight
smile. “I remember your mother would take you to my house for you to spend the afternoon, back
when you were still little and I managed to convince her to, and I’d make you these and you’d eat
loads of them; you’d practically inhale them all. One time I was out of mustard and you cried.”

Sirius nods, breathing in as he chews, and says around a mouthful, “I just really like mustard.”

His uncle lets out a breathy chuckle with a nod, and they remain in silence for a while, for Sirius
refuses to try and engage into any sort of conversation right now. But, of course, he’s just ‘been
feeling ill’ as far as Alphard knows, and has not had his heart completely, utterly shattered.

So Alphard talks. “I’ve spoken to Andromeda, by the way,” he says. “She should be going to yours
soon to get your stuff. She just needs to know where your key is.”

“It should be—” it should be under the mat if—Jesus Christ—if my bloody neighbour was kind
enough to leave it there like I asked him to. Hell, what a mess that is his life. Andromeda could
easily walk into an empty apartment. Or a war zone that could resemble the remains of a party or
something. “It should be under the mat.”

“Right,” Alphard says, nodding, “I’ll let her know. Oh, and you won’t believe the stroller I got for
the baby—the cutest thing. A bit vintage, all white with lavender details. Just lovely. She sent me a
photo of the kid yesterday, I can already picture how she’s gonna look in it. So adorable. Has the
chubbiest cheeks.”

Sirius forces out a small smile that probably came out all crooked and… well, forced, though
Alphard doesn’t seem to spot the insincerity of it.

“I was thinking of sending them here for Christmas,” the man continues to say. “Or even your
birthday, if you’d like. Andie, Ted, the baby. Though I imagine for your birthday you’d like to
have your friends here, wouldn’t you? So I reckon Christmas would be best.”

And Sirius remains quiet, which turns out being a mistake, because Alphard adds: “And Remus’
parents, of course. I believe he’d like to have them here, wouldn’t he.”

And the sandwiches threaten to come right back to surface. Sirius has to nearly squeeze his eyes
shut to swallow them back down, and says with a shaky, airy voice, “Y-yeah. Uh. Yeah.”

“Where has he been, by the way?” Alphard asks, and shit, this is not gonna be good. “He hasn’t
been around much lately. Is he already done with his course? I figured he’d just been busy with it.”

Sirius swallows thickly, decides to take a sip of his tea, buying himself time to blink away the tears
that already prickled at his eyes. They’ve been too common lately, though always in the secrets of a
dark bedroom or the spray of a shower. He’s not used to having to blink them away.

“He… he finished it yesterday.”

Alphard gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me?! We could’ve gone for dinner, or something. Well, I
reckon we could still go tonight, eh? If you feel a bit better. Maybe… maybe I could ask Renato to
come, too. So you could meet him.”

Yeah, this is it. There’s no running from it anymore.

And it’s not going to be pretty.

Sirius breathes in deeply, and sets the sandwich on the plate, moving it to the nightstand. He
brushes the crumbs off his hands on the comforter, and then runs his fingers through his hair.
Breathes out, tremblingly. “That’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

His uncle blinks, then his eyebrows knit together, and his features already turn concerned. He
straightens his back. “Yes?”

Another deep breath, and: “Remus is not staying. He’s… he’s going back to England.”

Alphard is silent for a beat, just blinking. His mouth is a straight, taut line. “What?”

“He’s going back. He couldn’t… he couldn’t stay.” Sirius swallows thickly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve
told you sooner, but I…” he trails off.

“Remus is going back to London?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

He reaches for his phone to check the time, though he knows exactly when. “In a little less than an
hour and a half.” He should already be there, checking in his luggage.

“And you decided… you decided to not go.”

“Yes.”

His uncle stares at him, frowning, searching his face. And then, quietly asks, “Do you have a cold
at all, Sirius?”

Another shaky breath. Then comes another. And he looks away. “No.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his uncle’s chest deflating as he lets out a long sigh and
glances up at the ceiling. “My god… Sirius—you.” Then he claps his hands to his thighs, getting to
his feet. “Ok. Get up.”

Sirius’ head snaps to him. “What?”

“Get up,” he repeats, more firmly. “Come on. JFK is an hour from here. You can still catch him if
you’re fast enough.”

“But I—”

“We’ll deal with your stuff later, alright? I can send them off to you, I dunno. We’ll deal later. But
now you just really need to get up and put some clothes and get the fuck out of this house.” He
walks over to the dresser and starts pulling out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, leaving Sirius gawking
on the bed. “Ok, I can take you—fuck, my car is at the mechanic! A rock fell on my windshield
yesterday and it cracked the glass at the corner. Can you believe that? God, I went mental. You’ll
have to take a taxi—what are you still doing in bed? Get up!”

Sirius does get up, more at the urgency of his uncle’s voice than anything, and just awkwardly
stands by the bed, in his pathetic pajamas. “But I—what about—?”

Alphard turns on his heels, throwing the clothes at him. “You can’t do this. You can’t just let him
go. I can’t let you do this, kid.”

“But I told him—”

“I don’t care about what you told him! Come on, get dressed. You can still catch him. Get a move
on, Sirius!”

He takes his shirt off and puts on the other one, but his mouth is still falling open, and if you ask
him, he’s not going anywhere. “Uncle, I can’t, I—”

“You bloody well can, Sirius,” Alphard says, and his tone is stern like Sirius has never heard
before. He lets out a heavy sigh, and his voice turns softer. “Look, when I was… when I was
twenty-two, twenty-three—twenty-something, there was… there was this guy. And he… I wasn’t
brave enough to be with him. I wasn’t brave enough to go against my family and be with the
person I wanted to be with. And… and he couldn’t do it. It came to a point where he couldn’t do it
anymore, and—I mean, it was the eighties, things were different back then; harder, but… but I
could’ve fought more. And I didn’t. I was too scared. And I can’t let you do the same. I can’t let
you be scared like I was. You will never forgive yourself if you do this.”

Sirius just stares at him, wide-eyed, half in a decent t-shirt and half in checkered pajama pants.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?!” Sirius shrills.

“I need to have stories to tell you when you’re twenty-five and fucking ruining your life!” Alphard
argues. “Put the jeans on. Where did you leave your passport?”

“In the… in the first drawer,” he vaguely waves at the dresser, and then shakes his head, realising
he’s just plain out telling him. “What—no, this is mental, I… what about—what about you?”

After he fishes out the passport, Alphard turns to him, letting out a long breath. “Me? I’ll—I’ll be
fine, Sirius.”

“No, you—”

The man gives him a soft smile, his eyes kind. “Son. I’ll be ok. I… I have Donna. Celeste. I… I
even have Mr. Malib, if I need it. He’s a great listener, d’you know that?” Sirius stares, a pair of
jeans in hand. “You need to go. I’m a fifty-seven year-old man, Sirius. I think I know how to take
care of myself.”

Sirius opens his mouth, and he has to fight for any words to come out of it. “But I… I don’t—I
don’t even have a ticket! I never bought it!”

“You can get it in the taxi, just buy it online. I’m sure there’s at least a seat still available.”

His breaths are coming in short gasps, in and out, in and out, as though his lungs are incapable of
holding one in long enough; they’re too squeezed, too tight. Sirius’ head is spinning. “And…”
There’s always something missing. “What about them?”

If possible, Alphard’s eyes turn even kinder, softer, and Sirius can already feel a lump in his throat
as his uncle approaches him and puts a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Sirius,” he says, back to his usual voice; ever so gentle. “You can’t let them ruin your life. You
can’t let them do to you what they did to me. I can’t let you do that. And if I… if I want to take
care of you, I’ve got to make sure you’re happy first. Always. And I can’t hide you here and let
you be miserable.” Sirius swallows thickly. And Alphard pulls him into a tight embrace. “You’ll be
ok. I promise you. We’ll figure things out. We always figure it out. And you always, no matter
where you are, will be my favourite, alright? You’re my boy.” He kisses the side of Sirius’ head
firmly, and pulls away just in time to see a tear fall down Sirius’ cheek. “But now we have to figure
this whole thing out, and we don’t have much time. So I need you to put these jeans on, get your
shoes, your phone, wallet, passport, whatever it is that you need, and get the fuck out of here.”

Sirius sniffs. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Basically,” Alphard smiles. “I’m gonna go and call a taxi.”

And then he leaves the room, quickly as that. And Sirius takes a deep breath, and changes into his
jeans. Puts on his shoes. Grabs his wallet. Passport. Phone. Phone charger. And leaves the room, as
well.

And what the fuck is he doing. What the fuck is he doing?!

He needs to go.

He needs to leave this house.

Because Remus is on his way to London. And, suddenly, so is he.

That is, if he makes it on time, of course. He checks his phone for the billionth time in the past
minute. Still 4:11P.M. And he’s stuck in a red light.

“Sir, I—I’m sorry, but could you just, like, skip the red light?” he says to the driver, leaning in
between the two front seats. He’s fiddling with his fingers, bouncing his leg up and down, looking
out the window to see if, by some miracle, he could suddenly spot the airport. But he can’t.

“And you’ll pay for the ticket?” the driver bites back as he loudly chews on a piece of gum, barely
looking over his shoulder to address him. “Sit back, lad. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

I don’t fucking have five minutes. Buddy.

But he sits back.

It takes him six minutes to throw some money he knows is a lot at the driver and climb out of the
car with no bidding farewell to the man, and the way he runs into JFK is truly out of a fucking
movie. Or TV show. He’s fairly sure he’s seen something like this before.

He has no bags to check in. Christ, he’s flying on a plane across the Atlantic with the clothes on his
back and a total of four items in his pockets. Simply stunning.

It takes him about three minutes to check himself in and print out his boarding pass. Three minutes.
That’s good. It’s ok. It’s going ok.

He makes a beeline for the security check queue. It takes him another five minutes to find it and
get there. And he really, really needs to start working out, because he gets there panting, face
flushed red, hair a mess—it’s the second time in a row where he walks into an airport late for a
flight and without having showered. And, to top it all off, he nearly stumbles into an elderly couple
who look to be going on some sort of golden anniversary trip, and they shoot him the dirtiest, most
disgusted look he’s ever seen. Really, completely stunning.

And it’s 4:22P.M. He has eight minutes. Eight minutes. The gate must surely be closed by now.

But he’s next in line for the x-ray. He’s just about to go in. All they have to check is him, really.

And this is where it starts getting ugly.

The second he steps onto the metal detector, a loud beeping sound invades his ears. And everyone
else’s around him.

An attendant steps towards him. “Sir, are you sure you don’t have anything in your pockets? Keys,
coins, anything you could’ve forgotten to take out?”

He pats his pockets exasperatedly, then shoves his hands inside them to pull them out, showing
their emptiness. “No. I have nothing. Please, I’m extremely late, I just really need t—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m gonna have to ask you to step aside for a minute.”

“Miss, I don’t have a minute, I need to get to my—”

“I understand, sir, but it’s protocol,” she says, firmly and yet plainly, calmer than he deserves. “I’m
gonna need you to step aside so I can check you.”

Protocol. Fucking protocol.

He lets out a heavy sigh, throwing his head back as he begs for anyone who’s listening for
patience. Patience. That’s all he needs.

He follows after her to the side, where they’re out of the way of travelers who don’t have to go
through protocol, whose items did not set off any alarm and who are most likely on their way to a
pleasant flight, not late whatsoever, people who will probably stop by duty free shops to buy
chocolates and perfumes with all the time in the world.

People who are not desperate to find Remus Lupin.

The attendant pulls out a hand metal detector from her back pocket, and asks him to spread out
both legs and both arms. And he’s happy, content, delighted to oblige.

And, of course, she takes her time, because Kelly—that’s what her name tag says—has all the time
in the world. Kelly is not desperate to find Remus Lupin. Kelly is not terrified to not catch him in
time. Kelly doesn’t know that Sirius most likely won’t catch him in time.

So Kelly. She takes her time.

The metal detector starts beeping once she, at last, moves it over near his head. Oh, this has got to
be a joke.

“I believe it’s your earrings, sir,” she says, surely thinking she’s just made the biggest discovery of
the century. “Could you please take them out so I can make sure?”

“What?”

“Your earrings, sir. I have to ask you to take them out, so I can confirm they’re the issue.”
He’s gaping at her. This cannot be real. He takes a long, deep breath, and puts on the most forced
smile he has ever mustered in his life. “Miss—Kelly. Can I call you Kelly?”

Kelly blinks at him, certainly thinking he’s joking. He is not.

“Kelly,” he repeats, his voice an extremely faux, sickly sweet. “Do you know how many of these I
have? Nine. I have nine. Nine holes in my ear, Kelly. Do you know how long it would take me to
get them off? Years, Kelly. Ages. The Queen would be dead by the time I leave this place, and that
woman is immortal. And I don’t know about you, Kelly, but I have places to be. There’s a man just
about to board on a plane that I need to catch in time otherwise I’m going to absolutely ruin my life.
So I really, really need to get going.”

Kelly is looking up at him, her bright pink painted lips slightly parted and a look of confused
surprise in her eyes, her dark eyebrows set low and straight. She says nothing.

“I knew you’d understand,” he says, and is already walking backwards to gather his items, which
were set separately, for he was taking too long to get them. Of course, blame Kelly for not having
places to be.

He shoves everything he can fit inside his pockets, and is already running as he hears Kelly
shouting for him, “Sir! Sir, you have to—Sir!”

And he’s sorry if she loses her job because of this, sorry if she has to call fucking security after him
solely because he has too many ear piercings, but he’s just truly, truly too desperate to find Remus
Lupin right now.

He checks his phone again. 4:31P.M. He’s one minute too late. He checks his boarding pass. Gate
34. He looks around. He spots Gate 2 in front of him.

So he runs.

He runs.

He doesn’t stop running.

He runs until his legs beg him to stop, and he still doesn’t. He runs until his ribs burn, his breaths
coming in scalding gasps, begging him to stop, and he still doesn’t.

He follows all the signs that lead to Gate 34. He jumps through staircases. He bumps into people
without apologising. He almost trips twice. His head hurts. His ribs hurt. His lung hurts. He can’t
even feel his legs. All his eyes can see are the big, bright, neon red blinking letters; REMUS.
REMUS. REMUS.

He has to make it. The flight has to be delayed, somehow. He has to get in the fucking plane and
find him. Needs to see him, by some sort of fucking miracle, stealing the seat he managed to book
at the very back of the plane where turbulence hits worse.

He’s seen this before—the scene where someone runs through an airport, clutching their heart in
their bare hands, after the person their love. Begging them to listen, to hear how much they love
them. How much they got this all wrong. How much they can’t do this. How they will go
anywhere, any place, any fucking hole in this floating rock.

He’s seen this scene before. He’s seen it—Friends. He’s seen it in Friends. Ross running with
Phoebe through their airport after Rachel, desperate to catch her in time.
But Sirius has no Phoebe by his side. He only has himself, Ross. Ross. Jesus Christ, what the fuck
even is his life.

Because Sirius Black has done many ridiculous things in his life. He once had Mary MacDonald
give him his first ear piercing in the school’s second floor bathroom during forth period. Once
bleached half of his hair, when he was seventeen, and ended up half ginger for a week (Lily was
simply delighted). Once studied advanced Physics at the bright age of thirteen with his best friend
just to get a chance to kiss the boy he liked. Once gotten on his knees to beg for the boy he loved in
the middle of an apartment building’s filthy hallway in New York City. Once let the boy go. And,
is now, sprinting ceaselessly through an airport to not do it again. To not let him go, not without
him. Because if he does now—if Remus leaves to London and he is not on that plane, then he
knows it’s over. Then he knows it will be too late. There won’t be another time. There won’t be
going to England by himself to bang on his door.

There won’t be a third time. There won’t be a chance for them to sit and figure things out, like they
should’ve in the beginning. There won’t be a chance for Sirius to beg him to take him back.

To tell him. To tell him. To tell him. God, there’s so much to tell him.

Tell him that he’ll go anywhere. That he can live without him, but he doesn’t want to; that he’s
never wanted to, that life without him would drive Sirius crazy. That nothing is fun without him;
nothing is worthy. That everything has always been about him, and for him—everything has
always come down to him. That he loves him so much. In a way that chokes him. In a way that
squeezes all the words out of his body and leaves him speechless, gaping, with no voice coming
out of his mouth. In a way that he knows where every freckle lies, where every scar stretches
across his skin. In a way that he knows his index finger is almost as long as his middle one. In a
way he knows camomile tea makes him sneeze.

In a way that he’d recognise his laugh anywhere, even years and years after not having heard it. In
a way that that one fucking smile can still make him blush, after all this time. In a way that it’s
just… love. The very definition of it. Nothing less. Love. Love. And love.

And he’s letting him go.

So it’s now. It has to be now.

And his legs hurt.

But he sees Gate 34.

He runs. He runs so much. He nearly runs over a toddler. Doesn’t apologise. Bumps into yet
another couple. Doesn’t apologise.

There’s no time. Because there it is. 34, big and hanging high from the ceiling, glass windows
behind it giving view to the airport runway. An attendant at the desk, ready to check the
passengers’ passport and boarding passes; ready to take his.

And closed doors.

The attendant is not closing it. They’re already closed.

Ross catches Rachel in time to beg for her. Sirius doesn’t.

But he begs to the attendant anyway.

“Hi, Miss, hi, I need you to let me in that plane,” he pants out to her, feeling the heat of his cheeks,
his gasping breath burning his insides.

She widens her eyes at him, utterly startled. “Sir, I—”

“Here,” he pulls out his passport and boarding pass from his pockets. “Passport. Boarding pass.
And I have money if you want. Please. Please, just let me in.”

The attendant is gaping at him, her jaw fallen open, and her eyes shocked. “I—I’m sorry, sir, I
can’t, the gates have already been—”

“No. No, you don’t understand, I need to board on this plane.” His voice is shaking. His eyes sting
already. But he goes on. There’s nothing left to do but go on. “I—the love of my life is in there, and
I fucked up immensely, and if—if he goes without me then I’m really gonna have lost him for
good, I can’t let him go without me, so please, please just let me in. Just this one time. I’ll pay for
your entire life expenses if you lose your job. All of them. Please, you need to let me in. Please.
Plea—”

She leans an inch closer, just an inch, enough for Sirius to catch the complete pity in her eyes. It
nearly makes him sick. And it does make the first tear roll down. He’s too late, and she’s a second
away from telling him that. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but the gates have been closed for almost thirty
minutes. There’s nothing I can…”

And the sound of a plane taking off just behind her interrupts her, making them both turn their eyes
to look out the window, a plane too close to them to be any other. The plane he was supposed to
catch. The plane Remus caught, just outside, setting off into the sky with the love of Sirius’ life,
already up in the clouds.

And he was too late.

He meets her eyes again—big and green—for the briefest second just to see her flashing him the
most piteous look, a look that just tells him how she knows his life is completely, absolutely
pathetic, and it makes he want to rip his hair out.

Because he fucking knows. He bloody well knows his life is a joke. It’s a full on circus that just
keeps getting set on fire—by itself; self-consuming flames that burn high, a searing heat blazing
through all bases, then walls, then roof, in a matter of seconds, all in the blink of an eye; and he
was the one to get the matches and the gasoline.

And he’s been crying a lot lately, there’s no reason to stop now. So he weeps. In public. In the
middle of an airport, while people stare at the maniac who’s just come running like a crazy person
and begged the assistant to open up the gates for a flight that’s already taken off. They must think
he’s an idiot. They knew the gates were closed, and he didn’t. They saw him arriving and knew
he’d beg to no avail. And now, they watch him bawl like a child, because they probably also know
he’s just left his entire life slip through his fingers—he was talking rather loudly to the poor woman
who’s just trying to do her job.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, sir,” the assistant says, watching him like he’s a zoo animal. She hands
him back his documents, seeming hesitant; almost scared he’ll throw it at her face.

He takes it from her, sniffing, and not saying a word.

“If you want, I can check—”

“It had to be now,” he tells her, smiling ruefully, feeling every word come out of his mouth like
vomit, leaving a bitter taste at his tongue. It had to be now, but it wasn’t. I had to catch that plane,
but I didn’t. I couldn’t let him go again, but I did.

The attendant—Gabriela, that’s what her name tag says—offers him a small, sad smile; always so
pitiful, always taking him for the most pathetic person in the world. Which is very much not far
from the truth.

“I hope…” Gabriela starts saying once Sirius makes to turn and leave. “I hope it works out,
eventually. Between you… you and him.”

He stares at her for a beat, his heart at his throat, his vision blurry with the stinging, burning tears,
and then manages to give her the smallest, tiniest of smiles, laced with misery, but still a thankful
one, nonetheless. He hopes Gabriela gets home today and leaves her shoes on the threshold. He
hopes she gets in the shower to use someone else’s shampoo because she likes the smell better. He
hopes, dearly, that when she goes to make tea late at night, she pulls out two mugs, takes them to
the bedroom and kisses someone good night. The things he can no longer do, but wishes, sincerely,
for her to have just because she offered him a smile, regardless of it being solely out of pity.
Because she told him she hopes it works out, eventually, even when Sirius knows there’s nothing
left to be done. So he wishes that for her. That she’ll come home to someone tonight—or, bump
into them first thing tomorrow morning, purely by accident, and tell them her first ‘hi’.

That everyone in this bloody airport will go to the loves of their lives when he can’t; when the love
of his life is in a plane to go and resume a life he left for three weeks, and Sirius is not with him to
resume the one they left for five years.

The mourning will continue. Maybe it will never end. But one day, maybe very far, maybe the one
that holds his last breath, he’ll be ok. But it’s just not today.

“There’s a flight tomorrow morning. At nine twenty. If you still feel like catching him.”

And he freezes.

And it’s all like three weeks ago—his heart stops. Everything stops. Because he knows that voice;
he could recognise it anywhere—deep, soft, with that Welsh lilt he loves, and slightly hoarse. It all
happens too fast, again, and he turns on his heels so quickly his hair ricochets against his cheeks,
he nearly stumbles on his own ankles and he likely would’ve banged his head against the upper
head compartment if there was any.

And there is Remus Lupin, standing just strides away from him, carry-on beside him, his hair
spiking up like he’s run his fingers through it too many times, his eyes glossy, dark, dark, just how
Sirius loves, cheeks pink, beautiful, because he’s just so lovely, even like this, even with tears
already brimming his eyes, lashes fluttering to blink them away, throat bobbing as he swallows
thickly and lips twisting.

And god, there he is. There’s the love of Sirius’ life. Right there. Just strides away from him. Out
of the plane.

Out of the plane.

Just strides away from him.

Out of the plane.

Out of the plane.

“You didn’t go,” Sirius breathes out, his chest rising and falling, blinking rapidly, unbelieving his
eyes.

Remus shakes his head, the tiniest bit. “No,” he says, sounding choked. “I didn’t go.”

He takes a small step forward, not too much, just enough to see if Remus won’t disappear. He
doesn’t. He’s still there, lovely as ever.

“Why?”

Remus lets out a little sobbing sort of laugh, and there goes the first tear. He outstretches his arms
and lets them slap against his sides. “I got cold!” he says, quietly breathing heavy. And then Sirius
sees his green jumper. Remus sniffs, then lets out another hiccup-y, hollow laugh. “The airport is a
very cold place, Sirius. D’you know that? It’s very cold.”

And before Sirius can say anything—before he can barely breathe, Remus withdraws a small,
folded paper from the back pocket of his trackies, holding it up with pain across his features,
green-jumpered and all. Oh, my love. My love.

“And you’re a liar,” Remus says, a hiss, voice shaking. Sirius lets out a small sob. People are
staring. Remus takes a step closer, just a small one, holding Sirius’ words just between his fingers;
holding his heart, his love, in the very palm of his hands. “I was sitting there, reading this thing,
watching the line of people get smaller and smaller as they board the plane. And I just couldn’t do
it. I couldn’t. Because you’re a liar, Sirius. Because it’s not… it’s not in the next fucking life or
whatever the fuck you said, it’s in this one. We fall in love in this life and we figure it out in this
life. Nothing else. No giving up. No leaving it to the next bloody lifetime. It’s now. No other time.
We work it out now.”

A sob comes out of Sirius’ mouth before his legs move, and before he knows it, before he can
think, he runs to Remus, crashes his body against his, wraps his arms around his neck, pressing
their chests so hard, so tightly together until they become one, until they can never part anymore,
and Remus wraps his arms around his waist, squeezing him just as firmly, crushing his ribs,
leaving him breathless, no hesitation, just holding him, holding him so he won’t let go, so he won’t
let him go, so he won’t settle for the next life. Holding him so it’s in this one.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispers, feeling his tears drip down his chin and dampen Remus’ jumper. “I’m
so sorry. I’ll go anywhere. Anywhere you want. Just say the name. I’ll go to fucking China if you
want. On the other side of the world. I’ll go. I don’t care. I’ll go to London. I’ll go with you.
London. London, Christ, doesn’t it sound so beautiful? London, what a city. Can’t wait to get to
London—”

Remus lets out a hollow, wet chuckle against his hair. “You don’t have to go to London because of
me.”

Sirius pulls back, then, and takes hold of Remus’ head with both hands, focusing those eyes on
him, and, god, isn’t he complete putty under his gaze. It takes a blink, and Sirius can melt into him,
easy as that. Tear-rimmed, red eyes, dark honey irises, almost golden under the sun, filled with wit,
filled with love, carrying Sirius’ heart everywhere they look, everywhere Remus takes them.

“I want to. I’m not letting you go again. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’m not doing it
again. I’m not. I promise you that. I’ll die before letting you go again. The world shall fucking end
before I let you go again.” He rakes a hand through the back of Remus’ hair, and Remus’ face
inches closer, so Sirius whispers: “You’re the love of my life. How many times have I told you
that? I’ll do anything. Anything, Moons. Anything in this fucking world. But I’m not letting you go
again. You’re stuck with me. Sorry. But there’s nothing you can do.”

And then, there it is. That smile. His favourite smile in the world. Eighth Wonder of the World.
The reason for it all. What it all comes down to. This one smile.

So, Sirius kisses it. Kisses the smile he thought, just five minutes ago, he’d never get again. The
kiss he’d long for for the rest of his life. The eyes he’d beg, every night, to anyone willing to listen,
to watch him again, just one more time, just one more look.

And truly, Sirius Black has done many ridiculous things in his life, and right now he’s kissing the
life out of Remus Lupin in the middle of an airport while their tears mesh together, with all the
witnesses he could ask for, but when hasn’t his life been absolutely ridiculous? When hasn’t he felt
as though he was living an absolute joke? When hasn’t he wondered where the cameras were,
because this shit just simply could not be real?

So, Sirius kisses him, knowing it’s ridiculous, knowing his life is a complete joke, and fully aware
he doesn’t care. Because the realest thing he’d ever had is here, and real, in between his hands, its
lips glued to his, its hands on his back, its love lacing with his, forever, vowing in a bathroom to be
his best friend to the end of time, intertwining its pinky with his and saying it loves him too,
underneath a willow tree, not getting on a plane to go after him while Sirius runs to go after it,
simultaneously, concurrently, all at once. Together, always together, always breathing in sync and
dancing to the same beat, hand in hand.

They’ll figure it out. They will find a way. And if there isn’t any to find, they will create one.
Because Sirius Black has been weak enough.

And it’s time, now, to be strong for the love of his life.

And they’ll figure it out just how.

***

He blinked again.

Torture.

Utter torture.

But then, just as Sirius was about to make his exit, choosing for not saying anything else to not
embarrass himself any further, Remus Lupin burst out laughing.

It was. Quite the laugh. Loud, soundly, in a way that made Remus squeeze his eyes shut and his
chest heave as though he couldn’t grasp for any air. In a way that he slapped a hand to the desk
and bent over his legs, cackling and cackling.

And, really, if you asked Sirius, he didn’t even think the joke was that funny—he’d seen it in some
nerdy magazine James had brought with him and decided to try it out solely because he knew
Remus at least knew what Star Wars was. Sirius himself barely knew what Star Wars was before
James explained it to him.

And Remus Lupin was laughing, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t stop, so Sirius joined him, not
laughing at the joke at all, and not laughing, not exactly, but just… just happy. Happy it worked.
Happy to hear the laugh he’d been going after for weeks on end. Happy to have finally received the
key and gotten in.
 And there was just something about this, something about the way Remus’ eyes were so bright
despite the darkness of their colour, something about the way the sun that lighted the room seemed
to choose him specifically to bathe in its rays.

And, suddenly, Sirius wanted to give it to him. The sun. Go out there and grab it. Go and—no.
Scratch that. Not the sun.

The moon. Yes. Yes, much better. The moon, so hidden, its beauty only coming to surface while
most bodies slept, while no one bothered enough to stay awake, hours after hours, ignoring sleep,
to admire its loveliness, to stare at it and sigh at its waxy light, at its delicate beauty.

Its soft light, its gentle elegance, the way it brightened a whole darkness of a night sky; the light in
the pitch black.

Like the boy doing his homework, right now, laughing until his lungs gave in at Sirius’ unfunny
joke.

And so, just then, just like that, Sirius made it his life mission to find a way, any way, to give him
the moon. There should be one. Really, it couldn’t be that hard. Honestly, if he had to, he’d climb
up to the sky and grab it himself.

He would find a way, somehow. There had to be one.

Chapter End Notes

YOU CAN ALL READ NOW OK THEY'RE HAPPY THEY'LL BE HAPPY NOW
THEY'LL FIGURE THINGS OUT OK . I STAY TRUE TO MY WORD !

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