ilya being the biggest “my husband” guy ever makes my heart feel so warm. he never really had a family who he could claim as his own all the time like this and so all of that repressed love and ownership for his husband comes through in every conversation he has with literally anybody. shane hollander has him on a leash, yes, but ilya himself has tied that leash to his collar and then handed it to shane.
“hey roz, lets go out and celebrate tonight.”
“can't, my husband wants me home by 8.” (shane doesn't care, he literally asked ilya to go out and have fun)
or
“okay rozanov, fuck, marry, kill—”
“fuck my husband, marry my husband, and kill anyone who looks at him for more than 5 seconds. done? bye.” (i mean...)
or
“rozy we gotta catch up soon man, let's meet this weekend.”
“okay, i will ask my husband and let you know when i can meet you.” (again, shane does not have single problem with ilya meeting cliff whenever the fuck he wants but, oh well)
or
“ilya, did shane really figure his birthday surprise out by himself or did you tell him, huh?”
“what can i say yuna, my husband is a very smart man :D” (he definitely told about it to shane because he knows shane hates surprises)
The sky had cracked open over Hogsmeade in sheets, thunder rumbling low and constant like the earth was humming a secret. Most of the students had ducked under awnings or huddled inside shops, hands full of cocoa and damp scarves.
But not Sirius and Remus.
James stood just outside the record shop, leaning beneath the awning, half-forgotten by the world as he watched his best friends spin into something more than just friendship.
The street musician on the corner—mad, clearly—hadn’t stopped playing. Something slow, something old-fashioned. A waltz, James thought, though Sirius wasn’t quite keeping to time, and Remus was certainly never on beat.
Sirius had one hand in Remus’ and one at his waist, dragging him across the puddled cobblestones with a grin too wide and too alive to belong to anyone else. His hair clung to his face, soaked and gleaming like ink, his robes heavy with rain, and yet he looked lighter than James had seen him in years.
Remus was laughing. Really laughing. The kind that made his eyes crease shut and his shoulders shake, the kind James had only seen when they were all half-delirious with mischief or up late enough to forget they were haunted boys.
“Come on, Moons, it’s one-two-three, not whatever that foot-mangling nonsense was.”
“I am doing one-two-three,” Remus insisted, swaying off rhythm and splashing water up Sirius’s leg. “You’re just terrible at leading.”
“I am the picture of grace,” Sirius declared, spinning them both into a full circle that nearly knocked over the streetlamp. Remus wheezed out another laugh, clutching at Sirius’ shoulder to keep from slipping.
James’ heart ached in the best possible way.
And then—without fanfare, without warning—Sirius stood up on his toes, fingers still tangled in Remus’, and kissed him.
The moment their lips met, lightning split the sky—brilliant and sudden—followed by a crack of thunder so loud it rattled James’ ribs.
He almost laughed. It was ridiculous, like the storm had been waiting for this, like the whole world was clapping for them.
And maybe it was.
Because in the middle of that rain-slicked street, with water soaking them and music still floating through the storm, Sirius kissed Remus like he was the only reason the sun ever rose. And Remus kissed him back like he’d finally remembered how to breathe.
James swallowed the lump in his throat.
God, he loved them.
And in that moment, with the rain and the thunder and the two people he cherished most wrapped in something as real and reckless as magic—
Oh, hey. Don’t just stand there. You wanna join this class or what? I do want to join. Is it okay if I don’t know the first thing about fixing cars? It’s alright. You’ll get to learn all about it. If you want to, that is. I’ll show you every nook and cranny of a car. You’ll definitely find some use for what you learn from me. But if you still can’t fix cars after that, I’ll fix them for you.
It occurs to me that had Fadel & Bison's parents not been murdered and both of them not trained as hitmen, they both would have grown up incredibly privileged and likely would have been spoiled rich kids. Bison's parents owned a freaking island, and from the flashback scene Fadel’s parents seemed equally well-off.
Which would make for a very different dynamic with Style and Kant.
Style, a blue-collar working-class tradesman, raised by a single parent, who lives behind a garage. Kant, a self-employed tattoo artist who works out of his own home, an orphan, sole guardian of a child for most of his life, and an ex-con who only committed crimes to survive and support his family.
Oh, they would all fucking hate each other. It would be the enemies-to-lovers, cross-class romance of the century!
