Archive of Our Own

Snow-monster trees surround them on the road to discovery, as the crisp light trickles through the window and Sirius Black squirms between his friends for the hundredth time that day.

It had been hours since they’d packed themselves into the clunky old car, covered head to toe in woolen sweaters and scratchy outdoor wear, blankets tossed about for good measure. Hours, since the five of them set off from the vastness of London and into the weightlessness of the country, losing themselves somewhere between rolling hills and fleecy mountaintops, covered with a thick blanket of fresh snow, the afternoon sun settling over them like a flying dream.

“How much further?” Sirius moans, not for the first time that day– because as magnificent as it all was, the hours passed like the stillness in the aging winter trees.

The five of them sat, Lily up ahead navigating the roads with a beaten-up atlas book, her brows permanently furrowed, as though the maps were going to disintegrate from her grasp and they’d all be lost forever. James, with easy shoulders in the driver's seat, was squeezing the redhead's knee every so often with something reassuring.

Or Peter, who spent the first hour of the trip trying to coerce everyone into playing car games before promptly falling asleep in the middle of iSpy, loudly snoring next to him for the rest of the way.

Or Remus.

Remus, who sat on the other side of him, ignoring them all completely, was astray in his own little world.

It felt like a grand idea a month ago, a week-long jaunt off into the middle of Windermere, a cozy-sounding cottage belonging to one of Lily’s distant cousins. Most of all, a moment to slow down in the ever-lasting hustle of the winter months. And it was all so beautiful; the never-ending evergreens, drooping down with the pines and a heavy dusting of snow, the golden sun turned the scenery something right out of a film, or the howling wind shaking the car a bit, thrumming it with excitement.

Just the sheer isolation of where they found themselves was so devastatingly beautiful, and Siruis could hardly believe he and a place like this could exist at the same time.

Only it had been hours, and James' car's heater made a funny noise that seemed to indicate its shiftiness, and Lily was getting increasingly irritated with the directions, and Peter’s snoring was less soundly that he thought he might choke on his own drool.

And his own bum was completely numb from the hardness of the middle seat.

And Remus, who sat quietly, uninterested in anything but that damn book sitting in his lap.

“Not long,” Lily says from the passenger side, wrapped up in a blanket with plentiful leg room, flipping between the pages of two separate maps, “Stop moaning, will you?”

“You’d be moaning too if you’d been sitting for hours with no leg room,” He deflates down a bit, sinking into the smallness of his seat, “Or heat.”

“You should have made Pete sit in the middle,” James adds from the steering wheel, clutching it with thick red gloves Effie made him during winter break while they were at school. Next to him, Lily mutters something about turning left, and then they’re entering a small clearing towards a hill, and the car begins to shake on the sketchy-looking road paved by tree branches and bark.

“And what? Let him drool on Moony and me?” He scoffs, glancing at Peter, who sits wide-mouthed, head tucked up halfway between his winter coat and the frosty window, “No, thank you.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, he decided, it would have been annoying to have Peter in the middle, sleeping on him or worse, on Remus. Only he’d wanted to be in the middle, he’d actively volunteered to do it, because it meant he could sit next to Remus, whose legs stretched out taller than his own, it meant they could touch arms and maybe share a blanket, hang out, like roommates and friends were supposed to.

Only within the first ten minutes of the drive, Remus had pulled out a book and pencil, and any fantasies he’d held about spending time with Remus, ideas about a little piece of heaven they used to share before, fell through his fingertips and turned him into a hurt school boy. ​

“Okay, it should be straight from here,” Lily adds, resting the map down on her lap, releasing an exhale, Sirius was sure she’d been holding the entire drive.

Next to him, Remus shifts a bit, his arm still pressed against his own as he takes a deep breath in, and Sirius turns to look at him, letting himself stare not for the first time that day, like this was all he could have of Remus.

It was unfair, the way the boy could focus on one thing and cease to exist in the same reality as everyone else, lost like a story itching to be told. Even now, in arguably the most lovely place he’s ever been, all Remus can do is stare down at the book on his lap, underlining paragraphs and scribbling notes between the margins.

The light of day shines down on him, and all that morning freshness from before is replaced with something slow and worn out. His hair is fluffy, the glare shining down through the curls like a sunset against broken clouds, tickling his freckles and etching into the scars with something delicate.

He’s pretty, Sirius thinks, annoyed with himself. He’s known this about Remus since they met back at boarding school when they were eleven, only now it’s worse; twenty-three and a mountain of feelings, Siruis doesn’t know what to do with. Remus is pretty, rough around the edges, lost like a delicacy, especially as he bites down on his thumb, allowing the golden ring on his finger to catch the light.

“Take a picture, won’t you?” Remus says quietly, it’s the first thing he’s said in hours, and Sirius watches how the corner of his mouth lifts into a half thing as he flips through the page, still not paying Sirius any mind.

It makes him want to scream.

“Swot,” Sirius says instead, feeling caught, “You wish.”

Sirius waits for a response, but the smirk has left Remus’s mouth, and he’s quiet again, retreating back into the world of his own.

Sirius moves, pressing himself up against him a bit more, “Riveting, Moons?”

Sirius thinks the book must be for school, Remus was in his postgraduate now, and it was weathering him into something unfamiliar, like a ghost, reappearing and disappearing in a way that Sirius can’t quite keep up with. He glances down at the book, just one of never-ending pieces of scholarship he’s seen Remus pluck through with tired eyes, delicately underlining paragraphs and writing things like “key term” or "interesting" within the margins, and he has to actively fight the urge to grab the book from out of his hands and chuck it out the window.

It makes him feel shameful, this misplaced anger. Remus had worked really hard for this; he knew he was a full-time uni student with both a research assistantship and a separate job at the library. Of course, he was busy, and Sirius had just dropped out of school a few months back, working part-time at a record shop in central London, living paycheck to paycheck, but at least taking a bit more time to figure things out on his own. ​

He considered, more than once, what Remus must think of him; maybe that he had no real aspirations, potential going to waste, fucking up his life on limited funds; and maybe that's the reason why there’s been all this distance between them lately. But Siruis had more free time now, to plan things out carefully, to spend time with his friends, and learn more about what he liked and disliked. It was the first time in his life that he felt completely and utterly free. And that was the whole point of it, to take the time to figure out what he wanted to do and maybe, along the way, discover more about who he is.

So ultimately, it didn’t matter what Remus might think; what mattered was that he was happier than he had been in years.​

He thinks that’s why he feels so incredibly irked by Remus, sitting quietly with his book, working when this trip was meant to be a pause, a break, for all of them to rest and recharge, so they can return to London with fresh minds.

And it was a chance for Remus to actually take care of himself, to catch up on all the time he’s missed with his friends, with him. ​

“For school?” Sirius tries again, this time pressing his chin down on Remus' shoulder, forcing himself into his personal space as he searches for a reaction. But Remus only makes an “Hhm” sound between his lips, nodding gently as he turns to read the next page.

He lifts his chin and gazes out the window again and into the distance, watching the way the hills blend into the mountains, the sun crisp and low but still shining against the big blue sky, making everything swim in a golden hue.

It was Peter’s idea, this getaway, after he’d stumbled into his flat drunk one night, sad over a breakup with someone he’d been seeing at work. Remus hadn’t been home then, but James and Lily were visiting from up the road as Peter urged them all to take a break, going on and on about how the year had molded them into something boring and dull routine, passing the days mostly indoors, leaving and coming home in the darkness. Going away would refresh them all, a holiday to make life a little more bearable until spring could settle over.

Sirius was completely on board, having spent his holidays tucked in the shop, getting in extra hours and extra pay for working the shifts no one else wanted. It was a quiet Christmas, with James and Lily visiting her family instead since Monty and Effie didn’t celebrate, and Sirius sitting at work with a sense of dread about returning to an empty flat. The same flat that Remus used to occupy.

James seemed eager too, like Remus, he was at school, and could take the work with him if he wanted, only James notably didn’t bring a school bag, his law textbooks long forgotten somewhere back in London. Even Lily was excited, who’d eagerly made the call to her mum that night to inquire about the vacant cottage, going on and on about how she’s never seen it in the wintertime, and how there’s a village nearby and lots of hikes and animals and enough space for all of them, and suddenly the four of them sat there with a sense of enchantment hanging over them at the prospect of it all.

It was Remus who needed convincing, who walked through their front door that evening with tired shoulders and a blueish hue taking over the space under his eyes, who sat quietly as his friends bombarded him with ideas of a trip. Remus, who shifted around uncomfortably, said he’d think about it before returning to the sanctuary of his bedroom, his quiet footsteps echoing between the four of them with something haunted.

It was like this lately, where Remus was always seemingly too tired to hang out with them, with him. He knew Remus was maybe seeing someone, and Sirius spent many nights going over in his head whether that was part of it, this sudden shift in Remus’s behavior. But it seemed like something more than petty dating drama, and Remus and he didn’t talk about that sort of thing, so he didn’t ask.

It was worse with just the two of them in their tiny flat, because he knows what it was like before the boy went into his hiding place: the hanging out all the time, going out for a pint or grocery shopping on the weekends, having friends over to watch shows on the telly, the way Remus would read books while Siruis cooked them dinner. Or sometimes they’d listen to albums on the stereo until the sun came up, smoking cigarettes against the scuffed-up window sills, talking like they were kids back in the dorm.

Up until a few weeks ago, when there was a giant shift in Remus’s behavior, Sirius found himself chasing moments with Remus: a conversation, a laugh, even a glance at times.

And Remus, who was always at school, and when he wasn’t at school, stayed in his bedroom, skipping meals and piling up dirty tea mugs in the sink. Sometimes, he’d sit at their dining room table with stacks of papers, muttering about articles and publishing and other things that went way over Sirius's head, forgetting to eat, or do much of anything else besides pull his hair out and read, write, or mark papers. And so it wasn’t the dating thing, if he was still seeing someone, Sirius knew. It couldn’t be.

It was like this wall had gone up between them, and Siruis didn’t know what to do about it.

“Are we there yet?” Remus says, closing the book carefully with the pen neatly tucked inside. He’s shifting up against Sirius again, squirming in a way that shows he’s uncomfortable, and his heart does that funny thing it does whenever Remus is present in a space, not something half lost and forgotten.​

“Soon,” Lily says, waving her hand at him, less annoyed with him than Sirius.

“It’s freezing,” Remus sighs, leaning his head back on the seat behind him, rubbing his hands together, and leaning slightly into Sirius, “Not even you can keep it warm in here.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Remus says, like it’s something obvious, resting his eyes for a moment, “You’re always like a proper furnace,”

His voice is rich and warm as he says it, like it’s something casual, and Sirius doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pretend like it doesn’t set something aflame within him, as the space in his chest flutters with something quick and erratic.

“He’s right.” James says, snapping him out of it, “Remember when you first started staying over, I’d always end up on the ground of how sweaty it got.”

“And here I thought I was cold-blooded,” Sirius says, still reeling from the fact that Remus had noticed anything about him at all. It was silly, of course, Remus noticed; they were friends, they’d been friends for years.

In the corner of his eye, he catches Remus' smile, his eyes still closed, and all Sirius can think of is: there he is, there’s Remus, he’s still here.

“You’re always warm, Pads,” Remus mutters, so quietly Sirius is sure he’s making it up.

The car suddenly jolts to a stop, and Lily squeals, “Here we are!”

Sirius watches as Remus' eyes flutter open, peering out the window as though he were just noticing where they were. He would get this look on him sometimes, Sirius knows, like a dusty bulb finally coming on, no longer burnt out and lost but something bright enough to take in all the darkness. ​

“Already?” Peter mutters, stirring from his slumber, wiping the drool off his chin. ​

He’d been so focused on Remus that he’d not even noticed they’d come up on a small cottage near the top of a hill. It stands strong, as though it were there to protect the ground it sits on, hibernating in a thicket of trees and bushes. It’s all dark bricks rich as chocolate, swiveling vines that reach a swoony thatched roof framed with icicles. It holds a bed of snow like a blanket, and so many windows are tucked in at every angle. The place glows beneath the open sky, and Siruis thinks it looks taken right out of those storybooks, the ones he would escape through with Regulus in that dark, haunted place they used to call home. ​

“Town is about a fifteen-minute drive that way,” Lily says, pointing in an obscure direction, opening the passenger door, and signaling the rest of them to follow.

As they walk over, lugging their belongings through fresh snow, wetting their ankles in the snow, Sirius notices the garden towards the side of the cottage; a big open space hiding bright green bushes, grass completely covered in fresh snowfall, and a washing line stretched across two trees. It makes him think of the summertime. He can picture the place clearly, vibrant with greenery, the sun high up as the washing dances on the string, taking in the fresh gusts of wind.

It takes them two trips from the car and back to finish herding all their belongings, arms filled with paper grocery bags, duffels, and backpacks, to get inside whatever is deemed necessary for the week ahead. By the time they make it in, the sun has dipped down behind one of the gentle slopes, changing the sky from a bright blue to soft with lilac, the outside taking on a muted haze that feels more unfamiliar than the London skies.

He’s sweating, as he forces off his shoes while the rest of them sprawl about, and it’s only when Lily makes her way around the room, turning on different overhead lights, that he can get a sense of it:

It’s two stories, he gathers, by the stairs peaking near the doorway, with rustic mismatched furniture and so many lamps that he can’t keep count. There’s a small fireplace in the living room that James fiddles with, next to a large pile of wooden blocks. The connected room has a rectangular dining room table with light wooden features, and a white door tucked up in one of the corners, presumably leading to a kitchen. There are windows everywhere, he notices, and it’s so open that Sirius feels downright giddy at the prospect of waking up the next morning and seeing it all again in the light of day, as though it would be made anew.

“It’s three bedrooms,” Lily explains, plopping down on one of the couches next to Peter, “Two upstairs and one down the hallway.”

“We’ll take the one downstairs, I’ll be up early to do some work,” Remus says, moving to grab his small duffel and one of Sirius's backpacks. It’s with such ease that all he can do is just stand there a moment, watching him with a dumbfounded look on his face, unsure what to do with the indirect assumption that they’d be sharing a room.

Remus seems to catch onto whatever strange pause he was taking, because he’s pulling down on one of the sleeves of his sweater, clearing his throat gently, “Unless you’d rather share with Pete?”

“No!” He fumbles around, moving to grab Remus’s school bag, a tattered piece of leather he’s had for years, “No, we’re good, right Pete?”

“I suppose.” Peter says, a miserable look on his face, “Always the lone soldier, I am.”

“Attaboy,” Siruis says cruelly, trying not to notice the way Remus’s cheeks flush a pink he’s only seen the boy wear a few times on odd nights out when he gets more attention than he’s used to.​

“Sorry, Pete,” Remus says, "Pads and I are just in need of some good ol’ roommate bonding, right?”

“Right.” Sirius agrees, still cringing at himself, trying to shake off the strange way he feels at the prospect of sharing a room with Remus. It wasn’t a big deal; they’d shared a dorm room since they were eleven, hotel rooms here and there, and now they shared a flat; they’d spent their entire lives sharing; this was not a big deal.

Only the part of Sirius, the all-encompassing, too hopeful part of him, that wished Remus might look at him differently. The too delicate and too happy part of him, that believed James and Lily when they told him Remus might feel the same, that told him to just tell Remus, because either way he would still love him. The part of him he could find again so naturally now the Remus was here, and present and seemingly more himself, surges in him like a bolt of electricity.

Peter shrugs, sinking further into the couch, and says, “All good, mate. I like my space anyway.”

“Attaboy,” Sirius says again, before following Remus down the hallway and into the small bedroom, his chest twisting with something unsteady.

It’s a homey-looking room, with tall bookshelves and curling wallpaper, a desk in the corner facing one of the many glass block windows. It faces the garden, he realises, as he catches a glimpse of the washing line when he sets Remus’s bag down on the wooden chair tucked into the desk. The rest of the place reminds him again that this cottage belongs to someone else, with small picture frames of people he doesn’t know, trinkets scattered on the odd shelf, heaps of hand-stitched quilts resting on different pieces of mismatched furniture.

​And a double bed in the center of the room.

“One bed,” Remus says, switching on a lamp resting on one of the bedside tables, a strange catch in his voice.

“Better you than Pete,” Siruis says, plopping himself down dramatically on the edge of the bed, trying to shake the nerves that rush through his body as he glances up at the ceiling.

“You don’t mind me getting up early?”

“I do mind.” Sirius says immediately, ignoring whatever contemplative look Remus was giving him, “But it’s no different than home, I can hear you there, too.” ​

“You can?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Siruis says, lifting himself back up. Remus hovers there, his arms folded behind him, a furrow creasing his brow as he stares down, eyes warm like whiskey. “It just feels like ages since I’ve seen you sometimes, it’s nice to know you're alive, even if you're making a mess of our flat.”

He means it to sound like a joke, a lighthearted thing to lift up this strange air between them, the air that suddenly feels static and fraught, but Remus’s eyes move away from him, and he’s carefully pulling on his lower lip with something uncertain.

It’s so quiet, and Siruis thinks it was the wrong thing to say, that his words were harsh and clipped, and that's why Remus has this look of confusion writ all over his face, “Why are we sharing a room if you mind that I wake up early?”

I don’t mind that you wake up early; I mind that you’re tired. You’re tired, and you haven’t been yourself in ages. I mind that you’re not taking care of yourself. I mind that you work until you give yourself headaches, and it’s so obvious to everyone but you that you're burning out and I’m worried that soon there will be none of you left. Because you’re like a ghost lately, and I miss you and I want things to go back to the way it was before, and I want you to want that, too.

“I just think you can slow down a bit,” He says instead, standing up abruptly, “I’m going to see if they need any help.”

-

The rest of the evening is all home-made supper and chatting by the crackling fire, all card games and soft spoken words with warm mugs of hot chocolate. He dances around Remus, careful to avoid eye contact, and luckily for him, they're all so worn down from the drive that he doesn’t think the boy even notices. Remus is in that faraway place again, and when he retires to bed earlier than the rest of them. It’s the first time Sirius has felt entirely at ease the entire day.

He and James are the last ones awake, bodies tucked up on the small, worn-out sofa and laughing hysterically until past midnight. It feels like forever, he thinks, since he’s been able to catch up with James like this, that it gives him this somber feeling. James, who’s all warm skin and pretty black curls, is catching the soft orange light. It reminds him of when they were kids back at school, sitting in the common room when Siruis was going through a difficult time with his family, and James was the only thing that helped.

It was startling, how lonely it had all been, since James had moved in with Lily, how they’d both missed the winter break with Monty and Effie for the first time in years, and this change in Remus. How much he missed James, whom he never saw without Lily much these days, that he thinks he should bring up going to visit home soon.

There is loud snoring echoing from upstairs and right through the house, as the fire crackles in front of them, burning its last light. James says, “Don’t miss that.”

“It’s not so bad.” Sirius laughs, leaning back on his side of the soft, listening to the soft hum of Peter's stertor, “It’s better than the quiet.”

James eyes him with something knowing and sympathetic, of course, he does, because he was the first person he’d told he was gay, back at fourteen. He’d been there too, at sixteen, when Remus had figured he had an interest in blocks as well, around the same Siruis came to a clear understanding that he was, as a matter of fact, completely fucked. ​

All these years, James had been right there, watching as this quiet, small thing he felt for Remus turned into something deeply devastating, and all the ebbs and flows that came along with it.

James also couldn't understand why Sirius didn’t just tell Remus, he’d always respond with something vague about how enough time had passed that it seemed like the sort of thing that you either figure out or you don’t, as though it was something finished. If anything were going to happen between Remus and Sirius, surely it would have happened already, but instead, there was suddenly this great divide between the two of them.

Truthfully, his feelings felt fragile, with all this time that’s passed. Now, there really was too much to lose, especially since they lived alone together, and Siruis knew just what life could look like. He was content to keep things as they were, his quiet love always there like a hidden scar, etched into his skin but faded enough he couldn’t picture anything different. Only a real, devastating thing when he allowed himself to think about it for too long.

“Remus seems out of sorts.” James says, “Reminds me of school a bit, when the stuff with Lyall was really bad.”​

“Thank fuck,” Sirius lets out a breath, “So it’s not just me then?”

“Has school been going okay?”

“Don’t know,” His voice is flat, “He’s never really at the flat much, or maybe we aren’t there at the same time, I know he was seeing that block a while back, so maybe he’s just been busy.”

“They aren’t seeing each other anymore,” James says, “He didn’t tell you?”

“I’m not exactly inquiring about his romantic life in the limited time I get to see him.”

But his mind escapes him for a moment, swirling with the feeling of Remus being so close to him in the car, whispering lowly at him about how warm he is, or the bedroom earlier, where he looked like he wanted to say something, only Sirius hadn’t allowed it. Again, his heart swells with something dangerously akin to him.

"Sirius?" ​

His eyes move to meet James, as he tries to unscramble his mind, unscramble his ever-present thoughts of Remus, “He’s burnt out, I think.”

“Alright.”

“We should try to get him to relax a bit this week, away from school, get him to take an actual break,” He goes on, making a mental commitment.

“Eye-eye, captain.” James agrees, standing up with a quilt still neatly wrapped around his shoulders, “We’ll get our Moony back, don’t worry, Pads.”

It takes him another few minutes after James leaves for Sirius to go to the bedroom, the bed he's sharing with Remus, and tuck himself neatly between the sheets. When he does, he can feel Remus’s body heat, their arms touching gently. There’s a warning, beating pulse beneath his shirt, and he can hear Remus uneven breath hitch in the deep, weighted silence.​

“Goodnight, Remus.” He murmurs into the quiet.​

There’s a long pause, as Sirius's eyes adjust to the darkness, before Remus responds:

“Night, Sirius.”

-

​
When Sirius stirs awake, the space beside him is empty, the room is quiet, filled with soft morning light, and only a small pitter-patter is coming from the space heater in the corner of the room. There are more blankets on him than he remembers going to sleep with, and as he sits up, he’s blinking towards the corner where he expects Remus to be, only the desk is empty, and a strange disappointment rolls through him.

He’s out of the room quickly, pulling on an old, tattered jumper and a fresh pair of woolen socks that belong to Remus. When he enters the living space, Remus is sprawled out at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of papers and notes, an empty cup of coffee at his side. Remus has managed to light the fire, and a feeling of warmth surrounds his body as he inches towards him.

The mornings just as he imagined them; the bright windows allowing the dawn to settle over the space, a misty haze of sun and warmth and Remus.

“Mornin’,” Sirius sings, a sleepy voice, moving to grab Remus’s cup and walking towards the kitchen, hearing Remus mutter a ‘hullo’ back somewhere behind him. He makes them cups of coffee, carefully adding honey and cinnamon, a bit of cream for the way Remus likes, before returning to the dining room, setting down the ceramic before plopping himself down in the seat across from him.
​
“Thank you.” Remus says, setting down his pen and picking up the drink, glancing out the giant window next to him, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Like the dead,” Sirius says, sipping his own coffee, Black like the name he shed himself of all those years ago, “You?” ​

The sun is peaking up, turning the mist into a beautiful haze swirling in gold. It looks like a painting, he thinks, the light filtering between the lolling trees, letting the snow take on a quality of warmth. In the distance, between hills patterned with forest and bushes, there's a small town tucked up at the bottom of the mountain, all tiny, blearing specks blinking back at them.

“Good,” Remus says, “Well, not good, I suppose, okay though, better than usual.” ​

“Yeah?” When Sirius pulls his eyes away from the window, Remus is blinking back at him.

​“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He says like it’s some profound confession.

“That’s obvious,” Sirius says, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he darts his eyes at the chaos of the table, “Take a break then, let yourself relax a bit, that’s the whole point of being here.”

Remus doesn’t say anything; he only presses his lips together like he’s holding together his words, before returning to his work. ​

They sit there for a bit longer, in the quiet of the morning, and he does his best to keep his eyes fixed on the window, but his gaze inevitably lands back on Remus. And he’s content enough to just watch him as he works, as the pale light inches up slowly, picking out the pink in his cheeks.

“How do you relax, then?” Remus asks eventually, breaking the silence, a small, gentle thing tugging at his lips.

“Well, for starters, I became a uni dropout,” Sirius says, and then Remus is really smiling, and it’s brighter than the big blue sky outside the window.

“Brave of you,” Remus says, setting his pen down and taking his last sip of coffee. ​

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not.” He gets quiet then, too quiet, as he tries to come up with some response, but Remus beats him to it, “I do think it was brave, and a clever decision, you seem better, much happier, I mean.”

“You could be happier–”

“-I’m not dropping out, Sirius.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” He says, “I think you’d be a lot happier if you gave yourself a bit to rest, be more present, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think I woke up early?” Remus says, moving to pack away his things, “I actually do want to take a break, Sirius, I do want to relax, I’m not trying to be a swot.”

There’s a bite to his words, like Remus was accusing him of something, but he isn’t sure of what. It shuts him up for a moment, leaving him dumbfounded and a little surprised. Of course, Remus wasn’t trying to be a swot; of course, he cared about being there and spending time with all of them. But there was something else in his tone.

“I’m off to shower,” He says softly, arms filled with the contents of the table, “Thanks for the coffee.” ​

-

​
By the time he returns, James and Lily have conjured up a breakfast for them: a full loaf’s worth of toast, eggs that were slightly too crisp, sausages, jams and creams, and other goodies they’d gathered from the shops the day before. He’s halfway done with his plate when Remus drops himself down on the chair across from him, the same one he’d been occupied earlier, only now with fresh linen and damp curls tickling his forehead.

“Mornin’ Moons,” James says, handing him a plate, watching as Remus settles on a singular slice of toast with some apricot jam and slices of cheese.

​“You’re up late,” Peter says, face half stuffed.

​“I was up earlier than a lot of you,” Remus says, picking at his plate, “School work.”

“Did you manage to get a lot done?” Lily asks, using her fork to fiddle with the eggs on her plate, and Remus nods.

“Good.” She says, turning her head to change the subject, eyeing up James, she says, “How are the eggs?” ​

“Fantastic, dear.” James is smiling and scarfing them down with something dramatic, “Always so good.”

​“It’s so nice here,” Peter sighs thoughtfully, “Flo would have loved this.”

​When he chances a glance at Remus again, this time he’s looking back at him, arching up his brow and mouthing the word ‘Flo?’ For a moment, there’s a secret language between them, as Sirius taps his fingers on the table in front of him and mouths, ‘Later.’

“Ahh Pete,” James says, finally swallowing the last of his eggs, “Don’t think about that, yeah? You’re here with your best pals in the world.”

“I just don’t wanna go back to work.” He sighs, slumping down on the counter, "It's hard to see her every day.”

​Everyone at the table hums quietly in soft agreement, except Remus, who’s looking confused as he mutters, “So quit.”

​“Are you serious?” Pete says, words measured and annoyed.

​“No,” Siruis says, unable to help himself, “I’m Sirius."

​Under the table, Remus kicks him with something gentle and assuring.

​“I can’t just quit.”

​“Why? Your parents would help you out, and wouldn’t it be nice to have a job of your own, one that you earned.”

​The air is suddenly thick and wrought with tension, and Sirius tries to will himself to say something. To crack a joke that might lighten things up a bit, but he comes up short. He thinks Remus means it to sound more helpful than how it comes out. But it’s not helpful, he knows, his tone is bitter, almost rude, and Peter has this look on his face that tells him he’s not going to just let it brush off his shoulders.

​It had been a discussion before: Peter, who’s had nothing but help from his two loving parents. Parents, who covered all of his university fees, who gave him things like a home computer or one of those brick phones, who paid for all of his living expenses, even the weekly grocery bill. Peter, who graduated late because he’d sod off during classes, but it didn’t matter because his parents handed him a job right out of school anyway.

​And Remus, with his dead mum and dad who abandoned him, who had to work multiple jobs to put himself through school, who had to share with a bunch of flatmates until he could afford to move into a two-bedroom with Sirius, who still works multiple jobs and is still putting himself through school. Of course, he was frustrated.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

And not a beat passes: “That your family has money.”

“Well, it’s not my fault your family–”

“Pete,” Lily warns, interjecting before he can finish whatever cruel way that sentence was about to end.

“What do you know, anyway?” Pete sneers, “It’s not like you’ve been around; you probably didn’t even know I was seeing anyone.”

​For a moment, he meets Remus' eyes, and there’s this sorrowful expression on his face, almost like guilt. He was right, Remus hadn’t known Peter was seeing anyone.

​“Right.” Remus says, sticking his tongue in his cheeks,”All I’m saying is that you can leave, you don’t have to see this girl every day if you don’t want to.”

​Peter doesn’t respond after that; he just deflates in his chair and mutters something under his breath that Sirius can’t quite make out. Across from him, Remus’s cheeks flush red, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him, his breakfast still sitting uneaten.

“So,” James scoffs, “Town today?”

“There are all sorts of shops there,” Lily says, perking up and grabbing her plate, breezing past whatever unease that settled between the five of them.

​“That sounds like fun.” He says, trying to catch Remus’s eye, but he’s back in that faraway place.

-

​
The drive over to town is only slightly less uncomfortable than breakfast, but not by much. Lily tells Peter to sit in the front, and James is talking his ear off about a football team they both like. Pete is only half listening, he can tell, as he sulks into the window and scoffs meanly whenever Remus says anything.

​In between himself and Remus, Lily sits, fiddling with a camera, an old model that looks too heavy to carry around. But it seems to distract Remus, who asks a lot of questions and is careful enough to let Lily go over the details; the lenses, the shutter speed and release, and how to insert the film. All the bits and bops that go way over his own head, and he’s thankful when they arrive, and James manages to parallel park on one of the side streets near the main road.

​The town is just as charming as the cottage. It’s all aged marble, cobblestone houses tucked up on steep hills. It’s a quaint and rugged sort of place, picturesque enough that it makes more sense to him that Lily brought her camera, that it might even be worth carrying around.

​By the time the five of them stumble into the heart of it, Lily is sweeping Remus off somewhere, muttering something about a bookstore she’s sure he’ll love, that it’s the perfect place for photographs. But really, he gets the sense that James and Lily had conjured up some plan to separate Remus and Peter for a bit, especially when they start walking down a winding road in the opposite direction.

​They end up in a souvenir shop, filled with a collection of ceramic figurines and old glassware, marked down to a price even Sirius could afford. It’s got character, he thinks, even if the elderly woman at the counter was regarding them with something weary.

​He’s strolling through one of the aisles when he hears Peter echo behind one of the shelves:

​“I’ve just had it a bit,” He says, more to James than Sirius, “I mean, he’s barely around anymore, and he’s acting like I’m the bloody problem, he never even checked in after Flo.”

​“Just give him a beat.” James sighs, eyeing Sirius.

​And as much as Sirius wanted to come to Remus’s defense, Peter was right. Remus hadn’t checked up on him after the breakup; Remus hadn’t even realized Pete was seeing someone in the first place; he was being a shit friend.

It prickles at him, this mismatched anger that belongs to Peter. It wasn’t fair, the way Remus had been acting, so far away that he had completely slipped through the cracks.

​It’s selfish, he thinks, but then that wasn’t fair either.

​As he continues to stroll along the aisles, he spots a small clay figurine: a grey wolf howling up at the sky. It’s small enough to fit in his hand, and it oddly reminds him of Remus, who’d gone through a brief fascination with wolves back when they were at school. All this never-ending talk about how the creatures mate for life, and that pups are born not deaf, but blind too. They must have been fourteen then, just children, and then Sirius is gripping the little figurine and walking towards the old woman at the checkout without another thought.

​He’s holding the little wolf like a prayer, like this might be the magical thing that brings Remus back to him, to them. Like it might be able to fill up the hollow space between them, and it won’t be something half-written. Like it might make Remus talk to him about the wolves again, with that bright childlike curiosity in his eyes, and he’ll no longer be dazed and lost, but out in the world with the rest of them.

​James is still blazing around, eyeing up the glassware when the glass door chimes with Lily and Remus walking through. And all these ideas plucking through his head are shoved in the pocket of his jeans with the wolf itself, embarrassment holding the space over him.

​“Find anything fun?”

​He’s in higher spirits, clutching a small brown bag between his fingers as his eyes wander around the store.

​“No.” He says, “I’m worried the figures are haunted, don’t wanna bring bad vibes back to the flat.”

​“Mmh.” Remus hums, echoing a thick velvety sound, the corner of his mouth twitching up, “No, I suppose we wouldn’t want that.”

​“How was the bookstore?”

“It was fun.” Remus says, finally looking down at him, “Didn’t find anything though, Lily mainly just made me pose for her, we did get sweets though, here.” He’s shoving the brown bag into Sirius's hands before he can process what’s happening, “I saved some for you, it’s good.”

​As he fiddles through the bag, he picks out sweets in the shape of a frog, popping them in his mouth like little pearls of delight. Sweetness coats his mouth, and for a moment, Remus’s attention is completely on him. It makes him feel like his prayers have been answered by the very thing that burns in his pocket.

​“We’re going to grab alcohol, and then there’s a plant store Pete is interested in.” Lily interrupts, appearing in front of them, “Coming?”

​“I wanted to go to that shop we walked by, with the records.” Remus responds, “Maybe we can meet in an hour, that fish and chips place?”

“That works.” She hums, not bothering to hear about Siruis’s plans as she walks out of the shop.

​“Rude,” Sirius mutters, finishing off the bag of sweets, “Didn’t ask me about my plans.”

​“Like you’re going to trade going to a record shop to go look at some plants.”

​“You never know.” Sirius says, as they exit the store, “I could have a green thumb and a profound interest in gardening.”

​Remus lets out a laugh, thick and full like golden syrup, “You could, but the dead cactus in our kitchen says otherwise.”

​“That was a shared endeavour," Sirius hums, “And a few months back, I’m a changed man.”

​The record shop is not dissimilar to his own; it’s two floors, with tall ceilings and worn-out posters on every surface imaginable. It’s all never-ending stacks of vinyls, and behind the cash sits a section of the wall entirely covered with stickers. It has that old dusty smell that comes with collecting old, tired things, but he feels entirely at home.

​By the register, a man sits on a stool, boring himself with a magazine, his feet crossed over the countertop. He’s about their age, Sirius thinks, maybe older, but looks like he fits right in with the rest of the place: bleached blond hair and eyeliner, flannels and combat boots, entirely Rock ‘n Roll. Briefly, the man's eyes dart up at him, and he’s got this haughty look on his face as Sirius realizes he had caught him staring.

“Over here,” Remus says, grabbing his wrist tightly and pulling him to the section titled ‘Rock.’

​They stumble through the stacks, holding up a vinyl they both find interesting every so often. But mostly it’s quiet, only quiet footsteps and his soft hum filling the air between them. After separating himself from Remus in favor of something a little more pop, he finds Remus again in the rock section, picking out something by ‘The Who.’ The album is one they own already, one of Remus’s favourites, only a newer addition with live performances.

​“Can’t remember the last time we sat and listened to a full album,” Remus says, “Must have been a few weeks.”

​“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, inching up next to him, “You’ve been busy.”

​“So I’ve heard,” Remus sighs, and there’s something hesitant about the way he moves, “I’ll buy it, yeah? We can listen when we get back home?”

​Suddenly, the wolf burns in his pocket like a secret, and there's heat flooding his cheeks at the prospect. They're back in their home, staying up late, all smoke and nicotine and scuffed-up window sills, listening to an album on that turntable he’s had since school. The feeling stirs inside him because this was Remus, his Remus, putting in an effort to string them back together.

​“Just this,” Remus says to the handsome block at the register, Sirius, who had entirely forgotten he was also holding an album. A newer album by the Cure, one he’s listened to over and over again at the shop back home, he rushes to set it down on the counter, his arm brushing up against Remus’s.

​“This, too.”

​The blond is still smirking at him then, eyes flaring up like Siruis is something to eat. It makes his skin crawl a bit, this strange surge of attention, like he’s been starved for it.

​“Together, then?” He asks, “Or separate?”
​
And just as he says, “Separate.”

​Remus says, “Together.”

​The man is smiling down at him, and Siruis says more definitively, "We’re separate."

​And then he can no longer feel Remus’s arm up against his own, and he tries not to notice the way that Remus covers his mouth with a fist, clearing his throat.

​“Is that so?” the man says, like this entire thing was amusing to him, "Separate it is, then.”

​It’s painful, how time slows then, as he rings up Remus’s item first and Sirius has to will his body not to look in Remus’s direction, to try and gauge any reaction. But it was too obvious, the way his mind seemed to be screaming at him, he’s convinced Remus would just know it, with one look, and then he wouldn’t be able to hide anymore.

​The man takes extra long, ringing up the singular album he set down, that it’s hard not to notice, and then: “So where are you coming from?”

​Remus walks away then, apparently finding some grand interest in the Country section, even though he hates Country music, one time telling Sirius that there's only so many times he can listen to a song about some small town in a phoney American accent.

​“Who says I’m coming from anywhere?” Sirius says politely, leaning an elbow on the counter, suddenly unafraid to try and catch a glance at Remus, to see any reaction, any indication– that this interaction might make him uncomfortable. But an album caught his eye, and he’s skimming the back of it with something tense.

​“Well, you’re not local,” He says, tapping on the counter like he’s trying to get Sirius's attention, “Got that city look about you.”

​Sirius lifts his brow at him, smiling, “London.”

​“And how long are you staying?”

​“A few days.”

​“Ahh… good.” The blond says, handing him his record in a plastic bag, “The pub up the block has a live band tomorrow, maybe I’ll see you there.”

​“Maybe,” He says then, turning to look at Remus, who’s looking at them now with bleary eyes, “Maybe not.”

​“Mmh.” He says, “Well, if you decide, look for me– Benji.”

​“Cheers,” Sirius says, lifting the bag up at him, before moving to exit the store without waiting for Remus. His heart is pounding erratically as they shuffle along the cobblestone, Remus a few steps behind him. It’s much too quiet on the way to lunch, and he feels an inexplicable sense of panic overcome him. Like he had somehow cut through this tether between the two of them, and now Remus was bound to go back into the place in his mind and stay there forever.

​And when they arrive for lunch, neither of them says anything, and Remus sits on the other side of the table from Sirius, asking Lily to shove up to create space. He doesn’t look at him or talk much as the five of them grease their fingers with oil and vinegar. James and Lily are giving him strange looks, like he’d done something to put Remus in such a mood, and he can only shrug his shoulders.

​“We got some sort of fermented cider, pear, I think. The lady at the shop was very persistent; apparently, it’s what the town is known for.” Lily is saying, before she asks, “How was the record shop?”

​Then it’s quite a moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between them.

​“Good,” Remus says thickly, like he hadn’t been quiet the entire meal, “A block invited Sirius to see live music tomorrow, could be fun.”

​He says it casually, like a mate would say it, nothing miserable in his tone to indicate he was jealous. He’s picking at his chips like it was nothing, and it sends him reeling. Remus and Siruis didn’t do this; talk about other people being interested in them, or actively encourage it, they actively avoided it.

“Live music?” James says, smirking a bit, “Where?”

“Some pub up the road.”

“We should go,” Pete says, “Make a night of it, it’s not like we have anything else going on, Sirius might even get a shag.”

“It’s settled, then.” Remus says, but he’s frowning down at the plate in front of him, “I need the loo.”

And then he’s disappeared into a corner of the restaurant, and it’s not another moment before Peter says, “So bloody moody.”

-

​
The rest of the day, Remus is still in a strange mood, retreating back into his own little world, not biting back anytime Peter digs him with names. He’s completely normal with Sirius, like lunch had just been a blip, and he’s completely recovered, and as the afternoon drags into evening, he can tell Remus is holding this distance between them.

​He can tell in the unrequited looks, or the overly polite responses, or at dinner when he engages deeply in conversation with everyone besides himself and Peter. Remus is trying to turn into a ghost again.

And Sirius wasn’t going to let him, so when they end up opening up the cider they’d bought, settling in a circle by the fireplace with full bellies and fuzzy socks, Sirius shoves his way between James and Remus and plops himself down without any shame. If Remus was upset about the block from earlier, then he was going to figure it out.

​They’re playing Kings with some old playing cards Peter had brought along, and by the second round, he thinks Remus must be a little more than tipsy, because he’s obnoxiously loud, and his laughs aren’t small, measured sounds but something deep and planted enough to infect the five of them.

He hated that he loved when Remus drank and got like this, loud and boisterous like him and James, moving around like he’s not in control of his limbs. It’s like he’s finally forgone control of whatever thing was inside him telling him to keep all of his happy emotions at bay.

​“Eight.” Lily says, picking up a card, “Mmh, Remus, will you be my mate?”

​He watches carefully as Remus hums and lifts up his cup, lightly kissing her cheek before lifting the drinks to his lips, “Cheers.”

​Remus is swaying into him, arms brushing up against his shoulder as though they were meant to exist in such a way. When he plays his turn, it’s a Jack, “That’s never have I ever, everyone put up three fingers.”

​As everyone follows his directions, laughing at the authoritative tone, “Never have I ever kissed James Potter.”

​Lily drinks, then Sirius, and then, surprisingly, Peter, which stuns everyone, as Peter mutters, “What? We were like eleven.”

​“I must really be missing out.” Remus frowns, “When am I going to get a snog from the great and beautiful Mr. Potter?”

​Sirius knows it's a joke; he knows it in the grin he’s giving James, because it was they and they made jokes like this, and he knows because Remus is leaning back on his hand and it’s too close to Sirius's to be unintentional. But the thought of it twists his stomach into something cruel.

​If any Mr. Potter is going to snog Remus Lupin, it’s going to be me.

​“Whenever you're ready, Moony.” James sings.

​“Remus,” Lily says, giggling, “You gotta take a drink too, we're mates, remember?”

​“Oh fuck,” Remus says, laughing into his cup and taking a sip. After a moment, he’s leaning into Sirius, his chin heavy on Sirius's shoulder, fluffy hair tickling his cheeks, “You’re turn, Pads.”

​“Never have I ever not kissed James Potter.”

​“Now you’re just being mean,” Remus says, lifting himself up from Sirius before taking another drink, Lily sipping along with him.

​“Sorry, Moons,” Sirius says, smirking up at him, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“Never have I ever…” Peter sings next, “Lied to someone in this room.”

​Everyone in the room takes a sip without fail, and Siruis says: “Care to share, anyone?”

​“Mmh.” James says, “I lied to Evans about liking the eggs this morning; they were a little burnt.”

​And the redhead suddenly has a devastating look on her, eyes crinkling with disbelief.

“But you ate them.”

​“Yes, and?”

​“Why didn’t you say anything?”

​“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings–”

​“-I’ll survive, Potter– make your own eggs from now on,” Lily says, and she’s laughing, clutching James's hand affectionately.

​“I liked the eggs,” Remus says next to him, and then Sirius leans up close to him, laughing.

​“You didn’t eat any eggs,” And Remus responds by putting up his index finger to his lips, telling him to ‘shh’, and suddenly Sirius feels bold enough to ask, “And who did you lie to?”

​“James,” Remus mutters, really looking at him as he says it, “Told him I didn’t like someone.”

​And James' voice rings through his ears, clear as day: They aren’t seeing each other anymore.

​A strange muchness surges between the two of them. Remus has this soft smile on him, the one where his dimples barely reach the surface, his cheeks are all pink from the copious amounts of cider, and the fire is picking out his freckles like blinking stars. The air feels fragile, like a poem half-written. Bravely, he asks:

​“And you do like them? Romantically?”

​Because they didn’t talk about this stuff.

“Nothing gets past you.” He says, cheekily.

“Who?”

​“Oi, love birds,” James calls, and Sirius physically jumps, his skin scrawling with something unanswered, “It’s your go, Pads.”

​They play on until Sirius picks up the final King, indicating the end of the game and his own defeat, but he doesn’t mind too much, because Remus is completely focused on him. The pear cider is dripping down his chin as he chugs it, sticky on his skin, but it makes Remus chuckle; a rich and genuine thing from the depths of his chest.

​“Careful, Pads,” Remus is staring, his head leaning into one of his bent knees, tucked into the nook of his elbow so half his face is hidden, but he’s still got that pretty grin on him, “You’ll choke on it,”

​For a moment, it’s just the two of them, and Remus is pulling on the linen of his sleeve, wiping the stickiness off Sirius's chin. It’s strangely intimate, he realizes, but he’s leaning into it with something touch-starved.

​“It’s nice to see you relax, Moons,” Peter says from the other side of the circle, and they jump apart.

When Sirius comes back to himself, he realizes the way Pete says it is all wrong, like it’s thick and unpleasant, and Sirius has this compulsion to hit him, to tell him to stop ruining the mood, that he’s been at it all day, and to just leave Remus alone.

​Only he stays silent, because Peter was upset, and he was allowed to be upset.

​“Thanks,” Remus mutters.

​“Less swotty, too.”

​The way he says it, Sirius wonders if it's meant to be a joke, only it comes out more like a cry for attention than anything else. For a moment, the room pulses; nothing but the crackling fire fills the space between them.

​“Yeah, well, I’d be less swotty if I had my parents taking care of everything for me,” Remus bites back at him, “But mum's dead, and Lyall disowned me, so maybe lay off a bit, mate.”

​Remus didn’t talk about it much, these familiar scars they seemed to share. Where Siruis wears his trauma brazenly on his sleeve, shamelessly cracking jokes in an offhand manner that always seemed to make his friends uncomfortable, Remus seemed to keep it locked in a stalemate within him, only letting it slip in moments of anger.

​He remembers how upsetting it all was back in year eleven, when Remus’s father cut him off completely, disowning him for some obscure reason he couldn’t even remember, not even allowing the young boy to come back home to collect his things, his mum's things.

That was the difference, he realized back then, when Remus had snuck into Sirius's sheets and spoke somberly, not being allowed to go back for pieces of Hope. Where Remus had things he needed to hold onto in the house he grew up in, all these previous memories left over, Sirius would burn his family's house to the ground if he could. He remembers thinking that at least that way he’d be able to give a semblance of warmth to that cold and empty place. That was the difference between the scars they shared.

​And Remus had been alone ever since, where he had the Potters, Remus had to stubbornly figure out his way through, with odd jobs and too many roommates, refusing any help from anyone, refusing his friends to pity him.

And then there was Pete, with his fancy life, who was afforded the opportunity to worry about things like girls and his friends being distant. Of course, Remus was bitter.

​“I was just joking around.” Peter scoffs at him now, “You’re so fucking moody lately.”

​“Just be quiet, Pete,” Lily says.

​“There everyone goes making a fuss over Remus again—“

“—You’ve been on him all day.” James chimes.

And when Sirius turns to look at Remus again, he’s pressing his lips together with watery eyes; whatever bright and happy thing that possessed him before has pulled apart from him. Sirius is standing quickly then, grabbing his wrist and saying: “Let's go for a cigarette, yeah?”

​Remus isn’t looking at him, but he stands just as fast, and then they’re piling on their jumpers and coats, and Sirius finds the pack he’d brought along.

​When they step outside, the air greets them with something crisp and icy, cold enough to make his lungs burn a bit, but he can see the silhouette of the moon between the clouds, and bright crooked stars howl out at them. Next to him, Remus is looking up at the sky with wet cheeks, as the sky might disappear before them.

​“Just ignore him,” Sirius says into the quiet, lighting up his cigarette like a promise he needs to keep.

​“I have been ignoring him.” Remus bites back, normally so far kept from conflict, more than once it had been Remus calming Sirius with measured words, over a fight with James or some stupid shit Peter said. It was almost never the other way round. Remus was the collected one, the unfeeling one, who let things slide off him, too lost in his own little world to let anything matter.

​“Like I know I’ve been busy with school and work–swotty, moody. ” Remus sighs, snatching the cigarette and taking a long exhale, “It’s not like I have a choice.”

​“Maybe there’s something else going on,” Sirius tries to offer, “Maybe he misses you, I mean, he’s been taking this breakup pretty hard, and you’ve been completely missing in action, I’ve barely seen you, and we share a flat—“

​“He’s still acting like a prat.”

“I’m not trying to excuse his behavior,” Siruis says, “Just looking to give some perspective.”

“Perspective.” Remus huffs, a measured laugh stuck between his lips.

​“What?”

“I almost got booted out of my program a month ago.”

​There’s a long pause, and Siruis didn’t quite know what to say to that. Remus is looking at him expectantly, and Sirius wonders for a moment if he’s waiting for him to start an argument. But the puzzle in his mind fits together then, like all this erratic behavior was beginning to make sense; all the late nights up studying, the permanent blue hue under his eyes, the stress wrapping him up like a dark cloak, rendering him dissimilar.

It made sense, completely; it was the same way he’d felt right before he’d dropped out. But what didn’t make sense was why Remus wouldn’t come to them about it, to him.

​“I mean, I just choked, Pads.” Remus says, again, “My advisor said if I didn’t step it up, I’d lose my assistantship, tuition coverage, even my job at the library since I wouldn’t technically be a student anymore, all these years of work just gone to waste–“

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Remus is looking miserably at the sky again, like he might cry, “It’s better now.”

“Doesn’t answer my question,” Sirius urges on, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Remus shrugs, “It’s embarrassing, like sometimes I just open my eyes at the beginning of the day and cry, like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t want to bother you about stuff at school, since you dropped out you always get this look on your face, like you think it’s a waste of time.”

“Honestly,” He breaths, taking back the cigarette, “I feel stupid sometimes, hearing about it, I worry you think I’ve made a mistake–”

“I don’t think you’ve made a mistake,” Remus says, looking at him again, "Sirius, you’re the happiest I’ve seen you in months, years even, I’m impressed, maybe even jealous.”

Bravely, Sirius takes Remus's hand, squeezing their cold fingers together, and for some reason, it feels like they’ve been linked together in some profound way he can’t explain.

“You can talk to me,” Sirius says, his hammering heart creeping up on him, “You can talk to all of us. If you need help, you can ask.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t like how weird it's been lately.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus says, taking a slow, measured breath, “I think I’ve just been a bit stressed.”

“You don’t say.”

“Peter calling me moody or a swot every two seconds certainly isn’t helpful.”

“It isn’t,” He agrees, “But I think you need to meet Pete where he’s at, you could talk to him like you’re talking to me.”

​“I could never talk to anyone as I talk to you,” Remus whispers, grabbing the cigarette back from him like a secret, and for a moment, he’s thankful they’re in the darkness, that Remus couldn’t see the heat in his cheeks.

Me too, he wants to say.

“I’ve been really excited about this trip.” Remus says, " All smoke and nicotine, “Like really excited, I’ve been working extra so I can relax a bit, I want to spend time with everyone.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to spend time with you.”

“Me?”

“Of course,” Remus says, eyes darting from him to the sky, before softly continuing: “Even if you're going to ditch us to spend time with that hot block from earlier.”

It sends a shock right through him, and Sirius can’t help but let that bright, happy thing swell inside him. It was clear, wasn’t it? These looks Remus kept giving him, these words, or signs, piling up like a mountain, and the liquor in his veins lets him believe that maybe James and Lily were right, maybe Remus could feel the same.

“So you think he’s hot?” Sirius jabs, squeezing his hand, unable to help his smile.

“Ha.”

“Is Moony jealous?”

“So what if I am?”

They look at each other, all smoke and whiskey beneath the stars, and he couldn’t picture a time when they weren’t like this, thousands of colors of the two of them.

“I’ll probably ride off into the sunset with him,” He says, feeling shy, knocking their shoulders together in that familiar camaraderie that kept them safe, “Maybe we’ll start up a record shop along the way.”

Remus is shoving him back, giving him a look, “I’m joking, Moons.”

“Good.”

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, the cigarette burning its last light, “I think I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

“Good,” Siruis says, “I’ll be there to make sure.”

-

Sirius wakes the next morning to soft traces of sunlight, the sky outside taking on a misty haze that reminds him of Lily’s film, bright orange trying to burst through the trees in a swirl of warmth.

Beside him, Remus is all even breath and eyelashes, curls catching the light in a way that makes Sirius want to twirl his fingers through. His mind drifts back to memories of the night before, their conversation under the moon and stars, and all the confined bubbles they’d existed in after. His mind drifts to them, climbing into bed, talking like they used to, all hot breath and darkness, laughing like kids, close but not nearly close enough.

It makes him wonder if he’ll ever collect his courage enough to blur the lines, because now he’s sure he doesn’t think he can exist in a world if it weren’t with Remus in such a way.

They are so close now, he realizes, as he stares up at all the never-ending freckles, close enough to feel the warmth radiate off of his body. It’s tantalizing, having Remus so close but too afraid to do anything, so much so that he has to physically force himself to look away and catch his breath.

He’s shifting out of bed a moment later, the cold swirling around him like a fright, and immediately he misses the warmth.

When he makes it into the kitchen, his mind whirls around with thoughts of Remus and friendship and things changing for the worse or better. Lily’s there, peaking over the kettle as it boils, a cup and a tea bag at the ready. Like him, she’s covered head to toe in thick pajamas and woolen socks, her bedhead bright and red and messy, shivering a bit from the cold.

“God, it’s freezing,” She says, rubbing her arms together.

“I’ll make a fire,” Sirius says, fiddling with the pot of coffee, “Coffee first, though.”

“Ready for the hike today?”

“Sounds like fun.” He lies, not wanting Lily to feel bad. It did not sound like fun, especially if he could barely stand to be in the cold kitchen, and all he’s thinking about is the warm bed he’s currently occupying with Remus, wishing he could stay there forever. But Lily was excited; she had been telling them about it since they’d conjured up this plan in the first place.

He’s moving to grab two mugs, one for himself and another for Remus, and the redhead is eyeing him with something knowing.

“What’s with that look?”

“You’re just sweet,” Lily says, pouring the boiling water into her own cup and another for James, “You know you should just tell him.”

“Tell him what exactly?”

Lily just rolls her eyes, staring out the window above the sink, the soft morning light catching her hair and making it look a more strawberry color, “He’ll surprise you.”

Slowly, the smell of coffee fills the air, and Sirius curls his toes together through his socks as he makes the two of them their morning drinks.

“Evans,” Sirius laughs, “You’re being cryptic.”

“I just think you both deserve to be happy.”

“And we’re not happy?”

“You know that's not what I mean,” Lily says, “You know what I do mean.”

And Siruis did know, he knew it when he heated the fire so Remus wouldn’t have to venture into the cold as he had, he knew it when he opened the door back to the room, and Remus is awake, looking up at the ceiling and unwilling to get out of bed. He knows it when Remus is looking at him with something bright and happy, as Sirius sets down a cup of coffee the exact way he likes next to his bedside table. He knows it when Remus is smiling down on it like it was the grandest and most precious act of love he’s ever felt.

He knew what Lily meant.

-

The hike in question turns out to be more of a stroll, a full sweep of snowy textures, the rough edges of twirling branches, and the fresh smell of dark pine, all arranged as though it were just for the five of them. They’re all mismatched snow gear. James and Peter run around ahead, tilting their heads back in that wonderful joy he knows on them as they throw fluffy snowballs at each other like little kids. And Lily, who takes her steps with quiet intent, the sound of the mechanic shuddering as she snaps a photograph, and Sirius can’t help but think there's no way for this to be captured.

And Remus, who strolls next to him as a dream comes to life, as though he was meant to fill the hollow space beside him.

They don’t speak, as they walk up the hill together with something slow and steady, and Siruis thinks that if they weren’t wearing gloves, their hands might graze together in something familiar. That they might hold hands like the night before. It’s the most relaxed he’s seen Remus in weeks, the way his brows knit up at the cloudy sky, how the curls sneak out from under his hat, how his cheeks and nose dust with a light pink shade.

“It’s quite something,” James calls from up ahead, breathless, stopping to let them pass until he reaches Lily, “Right?”

“It’s nice, Prongs,” Remus says, walking around him. Up ahead, a long stretch of silence takes over them for a while, as the five of them take slow and gentle steps, Peter leading them up like the head of the pack.

Eventually, they reach a small clearing, like bees coming out of the hive. It's big and wide and faces down on a lake, one that’s not completely frozen over but dark enough to reflect the grey up above.

“Should be the end,” Lily says right before snapping a picture.

“Now this is really something,” James says, moving over to Lily and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, peaking at the camera and whispering something he can’t quite discern.

He watches slowly as Remus takes a few steps ahead, peaking ahead of the rest of them, but he just stands there, swaying gently, arms tucked gently behind his back, not saying much but taking it in.

He’s about to step forward, but Peter beats him to it, walking towards Remus and knocking him gently, and then the two of them are chatting quietly.

“Bout time.” James says, “Do not want another night like yesterday.”

“We always get it sorted,” Sirius says, still watching the two of them closely. He watches as Remus tilts his head back in a light laughter, before wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, and something akin to jealousy rolls through him. Remus, usually so reserved with touching, voluntarily did so with someone who wasn’t him.

You’re being irrational, his mind chants.

“Do we?” James says, eyeing Sirius up.

“Hm?”

“Have you and Remus gotten it sorted?”

“What?”

James is eyeing him up, “He seemed kind of miffed yesterday at lunch.”

Sirius ignores him, trying not to let it reel in his brain, because he was right, Remus did seem jealous, he’d flat out admitted he was jealous, which seemed really un-Remus-like. Had he brought it up to Sirius because he was jealous, in a friend sort of way, the same sort of possessiveness he often felt over James, or was it something else?

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” James says again, and Sirius doesn’t know what to say.

“Time for what?” Remus says, suddenly, in front of them, Peter is next to him with a cheeky smile.

“For our snog, of course,” James says, suddenly jumping on Remus and tackling him to the snow.

“Shove off,” Remus says, caught by surprise, but James has him completely pinned down.

“C’mon, Moony, you were all for it last night.”

“Drunk mistake.”

​“Drunk mistakes are sober thoughts, my friend,” James says, before planting a sloppy kiss on the side of his mouth, too close to his lips for comfort, then another on his cheek and forehead.
​
By the time they both get up, Remus is completely flushed red, and he’s clenching his jaw, his mood suddenly turned sour.

“Should I be worried?” Lily laughs, crossing her arms.
​
“No, dear, of course not.” James says, back at her side in no time at all, “Remus and I just had some tension to get past; it’s all over. You’re the one I love.”

“Wow,” Remus mocks, “So that meant nothing to you.”
​
“Yup.” He says, kissing Lily’s cheek, “Sorry, Moons.”

“You break my heart.”

“Okay–” Sirius says, slightly, “Now that that's over with, should we head back then?”

But he’s trudging off back onto the path they started with, not really waiting for any sort of response, and it’s not long before Lily is caught up beside him, leaving the other three of them out of earshot.

“You okay, Sirius?”

“Never better.”

“You seem jealous.”

“Your boyfriend is just an idiot, is all.”

“You mean your brother.”

“Whatever.”

-

He pointedly ignores James for the rest of the day, allowing himself to sulk around the cottage right up until they start drinking before their brutal thirty-minute trek in the snow. Between the five of them, they’d put away two-packs of pear cider and at least half a bottle of whiskey, and as they made their way to see the live music the handsome stranger had promised, he thought they found themselves properly drunk, even with the sobering walk in the cold.

Remus most of all, who’d been in a suspiciously good mood since the hike, since James had kissed him. He’s tipsy enough that his lanky arms sway sort of directions, where James and Lily had to walk on either side to keep him steady, and the three of them don’t stop laughing, they’re noisy and energetic, and again, Sirius feels this irrational green thing swimming in his stomach. He knows there's no need to be jealous of James, that it’s unnecessary, but still, the alcohol makes him feel bitter.

By the time they make it to the pub, he’s thankful for the shelter from the cold it provides. The place is completely packed, as though all the people who lived in the town had managed to squeeze inside. It could have been mistaken for a pub back in London, with all its dark wooden features, red neon signs, and random prints at every corner. The smell of smoke and sweat wafted through the air with something familiar. The five of them settle in one of the large circular booths as Peter makes off for the bar to get a round of something. Once they’ve seated, it’s then that Siruis notices a small makeshift stage next to one of the large windows, a small group of three fiddling around with various instruments and chords.

“Here,” Pete says, setting down five beers.

“Thank you, Wormy.” Remus, besides him, gently swaying into him, “Cheers.”

The five of them clink their glasses together, and then Lily pulls out a deck of cards for them to play while they wait for the music to start, and James says, “So where's your boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?” Remus's brow furrows, eyeing up Sirius hesitantly.

“Dunno.” He says, “Seeing as I don’t have one.”

“Not yet,” James says, winking at him, sipping his beer, and Sirius wants to kick him beneath the table.

They manage to play a few rounds of cribbage and gin rummy before the music starts, and they lose track of their cards. The live music is good, Sirius thinks, with a folksie sort of way about them that reminds him of Simon & Garfunkel or Bob Dylan. Remus seems to be enjoying it just as much, his eyes clued to the guitar player, whispering into Sirius's ear about the riffs and melodies every now and then, the way they did when they’d stay up listening to a record.

At some point, when the band goes for a small break, Remus gets up and doesn’t come back for a while. He’s at the bar, Sirius realizing, getting the next round and having a prolonged conversation with a pretty bartender with purple hair. It’s then that the guy from the record shop approaches.

“You came.” He says, smiling down at him.

“Yup,” Sirius says with disinterest, still trying to catch a glance at Remus, the bartender touching his arm now, “With my friends, the band's pretty good.”

Remus, who leans into her, not noticing any encounter that Siruis was having, tips his head back with laughter at whatever the woman is saying.

“May I sit?” The man, Benji, asks, but doesn’t really wait for a response. He’s sitting in Remus' seat, and James is snickering on the opposite end of the table, taking in the situation.

“This should be good, then.” James is laughing, but a moment later Lily is punching his shoulder lightly, and he stops.

“You should probably stand,” Sirius says, “My friend won’t be too happy to find you sitting in his seat.”

“Ahh, the one you’re separate from,” The man says, lifting his arm around one booth, tickling the back of Sirius's neck, “At the bar, chatting up Viv.”

He glances over at Remus, who still hasn’t noticed anything, who hasn’t noticed someone occupying his seat and getting very close to Sirius's personal space, too busy chatting up Viv.

He sighs, "That's the one, yes.”

“So you’re unavailable?” He asks, as Siruis tried searches his mind for his name, up close he sees the man's eyes, bright and blue and clear, desire brimming beneath the surface.

“I wouldn’t say that,” He says, “But you’d just be wasting your time, I’m afraid.”

“And why’s that?”

He wonders if he should give in, let the man buy him a drink, and ditch his friends, entertain his flirting for a while before eventually escaping the bar and making out between the dark cobblestone walls, and what a lovely temptation is held. But then he’s thinking about Remus, the look he might have if he returned to the bar with swollen lips, and how the bed they’d been sharing the last few days might not hold the same warmth, and the looks he’d been giving Sirius might disappear, and he couldn’t stomach the thought:

“Because I’m besotted.”

“Besotted with who?” Peter says, obviously.

“Isn’t it obvious, Wormy?” James responds, a cheeky smile on his face, but he’s not looking at Peter, no– his eyes have landed on someone standing at the front of the table, someone who’s managed to carry five beers and set them down between them.

“What I miss?” Remus says, his voice slightly strained as he eyes Sirius and the handsome stranger and how close they sat. Had Remus heard him? Had he heard Pete? Or James? How long had he been standing there?

The stranger is up and moving just as quickly out of Remus’s seat, “Pity.”

And then just like that, he’s gone, the strong scent of cologne replaced by the gentle smell of parchment and peach cider and Remus, all soft and gentle. Remus presses his leg up against Sirius, too close for it to be unintentional, his features relaxed and giving no indication that he’d heard what was said.

“Oh.” Peter cuts through the silence, “It’s Remus.”

“What’s Remus?” Remus asks, and then Sirius kicks Pete under the table, “Nothing.”

“You guys are acting weird.”

“No, nothing weird,” Sirius assures, willing to let anyone diverge from the topic.

“What took you so long?” Lily says eventually, whatever shiftiness between the five of them is momentarily disrupted.

“Oh,” Remus says, sipping his drink, “I was just chatting with Vivian.”

“Vivian?” James inquires.

“Yeah, her–” He says, lifting his hand in the direction he’d return from, “Thinks I’m quite clever, the drinks were even on the house.”

“It’s like everyone's obsessed with you, Moons,” Pete says in disbelief.

Before Remus has a chance to respond, James interrupts, “Of course they are, he’s bloody charming.”

“Careful, Prongs,” Remus sings, the foamy beer fresh off his lips, “If you carry on, there might be another snog in your future, we wouldn’t want to upset our Lilypad.”

“It’s not Lily you should worry about,” James suggests, smirking back at him.

“By all means.” Lily says, cheekily, “I could take you, Lupin.” ​

“Surely.” Remus says, and then he’s leaning into Sirius, a low and steady whisper, a steady thing catching his voice, “And who’s your money on, Padfoot?”

“The redhead, obviously.”

“Rude.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there to watch, maybe I’ll even tend to your wounds after the battle.”

“Maybe?” Remus says, inching his eyebrow up.

“It depends.” ​

“On what?”

“On whether you're going to kiss my brother.” Again, he thinks, “Again.”

“He kissed me.” Remus says as a matter of fact, “Jealous, are we?”

“So what if I am?” He says boldly, as Remus had done the night before.

Only Remus is smiling at him, and he feels the man's hand slip into his own under the table, as he whispers, “Don’t worry, I’m all yours, if you ask.”

And Siruis didn’t quite know what all that meant. ​

-

​
When the five of them stumble back into the cottage that night, Lily is lighting a fire, determining that the night is not yet over. She’s pulling out a record player from one of the closets, an old, tattered wooden thing, and then Remus is bringing out the record Sirius had bought the day before, and blasting the Cure at full volume.
​
They drink more, and chat on the couch, and then eventually James starts dancing in the living room, willing Sirius to dance with him like a form of truce. He moves his feet, swaying and spinning around with James like they were children back in the common room, and then Lily joins them, holding onto Remus as they spin around and around. Peter remains on the couch, watching them for a moment with bright eyes and a million freckles, before Siruis and James drag him to join.

They jump around like that for a moment, and then ‘Just Like Heaven’ fills his ears, and Sirius is singing something bright and loud and happy, belting out the lyrics like it's the very life inside of him as his friends jump around him.

His vision blurs a moment, as the five of them jump around, and then his eyes focus on Remus, all golden curls reflecting the orange of the fire, and then Remus stops dancing.
​
He’s staring at Sirius with something complete, a soft smile plastered on his face, and Siruis stops too, his mind momentarily stilled before he steps towards Remus, grabbing him by the shoulders and pressing their lips together, nothing more to overthink.

And as the chorus starts up again, Remus is wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him forward to kiss him back. It’s light and soft and sweet and perfect, and Siruis thinks that this was one of those moments he could stay in forever.

He hears their friends cheering around him and pulls him out of it, as he gently breaks them apart.

“About fucking time.” James is howling, shaking Lily’s shoulders.

When he looks back at Remus, Siruis thinks he’s tantalizing in all the colourful seasons, but the wintertime has always been his favorite. It tears through him like fire on oil, ripping across him and all these marvelous years between.

They don’t part, they just hold each other close. Remus is peering down at him, “I’m beswotted with you, too, Sirius.”

And it’s enough. ​

-

​
Their drive back to London is a happy affair, Remus still reads his book, but puts it down every now and then to chat along with Sirius, his attention fully focused on the man next to him. They give each other soft pecks and gently squeeze their hands together between the piles of blankets.

They chat about useless, delightful things, like going grocery shopping, or the pub for a pint, maybe listening to ‘The Who’ record lost somewhere in the chaos of the boot. They talk about Sirius cooking dinner while Remus finishes up his homework, about the week of school Remus has ahead. A soft hum of everything they would be now that they were together.

At some point, Remus quiet, “Would we share a bed?”

It’s so simple, but it soars through him the same way they soar through this far-flung place. Sirius can still feel the ceramic wolf burn he’d bought burning in his pocket. He thinks he’ll hold off on giving it to Remus, because now they have time, a million what-ifs to look ahead of them.

“Of course.”