Hmmm. So it was the 'At first sight' piece that you wrote (it was lovely by the way, as usual) but made me think of Sirius rewatching tapes or the game or practice before he and Remus got together. And like he'd be watching it all carefully with a trained eye and then there might be a moment where the camera pans to the bench and there's Remus and he pauses the tape and just stares. Just soft Sirius being mushy about his crush. Not intending for you to write it if you don't want. was just cute
This ask has lived in my head and warmed my heart ever since it came in. Thank you for this golden opportunity. Combined with asks for someone hitting on Remus pre-Coops, Sirius correcting Remus' French, and the 15-second hug mentioned in this fic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove
TW for mentioned alcohol, healing from injury
“Pas de problem,” Sirius corrected for the third time. He had been unable to keep his grin down for about five minutes and another blurt of giddy lava flowed through his heart when Remus smiled back at him, sideways and unsure. In less than twelve hours, Remus would be gone for two weeks for some sort of certification, and Sirius planned to enjoy every second of the time they still had. “Not ‘pass’. Pas.”
“Pah de problem?” Remus tried again, narrowing his eyes in concentration.
Sirius hid his laughter in the rim of his glass. “Your accent makes it so flat, mon dieu.”
“Hey!” Remus said, playfully indignant as his foot nudged Sirius’ shin under the table. Sirius fired back with one of his own and tried not to get too distracted by the blush on his fair cheeks. There was an art to Remus Lupin’s face—an art that a bit of alcohol only enhanced by pouring color into it. “Alright, alright, jeez. Pas de problem. Better?”
It took a second for Sirius to remember how to breathe; he felt his heart kickstart hard and knew his smile was downright dopey. “Ouais. Très bien, Loops.”
The proud smile he received in response was absolutely dizzying. Sirius coughed into his hand and grabbed their glasses, mumbling something about a refill as he slipped around Kuny’s broad frame and tried to quell the pounding of his heart. It had grown worse ever since Remus started helping him with his ankle; what he used to admire from afar had suddenly become up close and personal three times a week, and he found himself getting distracted almost every time Remus appeared on the bench during practice.
Every touch of his warm, callused hands on his still-sore ankle made Sirius’ heart skip a beat—every smile he received when he showed progress tucked itself next to his lungs. He had even printed out the sneaky picture he took of Remus and Moody and hidden it behind the others, where he could see it from the perfect place on his pillow.
It was a nightmare.
“Seltzer and vodka soda, s’il vous plait,” he said absently as he set their glasses down on the bartop and scanned the crowd. People-watching always calmed him down; it was hard to focus on just one when there were so many new faces. It wasn’t like he could have Remus in that lifetime or the next, so what was the harm in letting his eyes wander a bit?
“Scuse me?”
Sirius jumped slightly and turned, meeting the shy gaze of a young woman whose friends were huddled in a group behind her. Here we go, he thought, steeling his courage. Time for the nightly performance of heterosexuality. “Can I help you?”
She tilted her head toward their table. “You’re with those guys over there, right?”
“Ouais.”
“Do you think—” She faltered, biting her lip as a blush rose to her cheeks and she held out a crumpled napkin. “Do you think you could give your friend my number?”
Sirius paused, taken aback. Most nights he had to gently decline any offers—nobody had ever asked him to be a messenger before. “Uh, which one?”
“The cute one in the sweater.” She gestured and he squinted to follow her line of sight. “With the brown eyes and the jawline?”
They’re not brown, they’re hazel-gold, was his first thought.
His second was fuck.
“He’s—” Mine. “Taken. In a really serious relationship.”
The young woman’s face fell and an embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks. “Shit, really?”
“Mhmm,” Sirius lied. “Almost engaged, actually.” I wish.
“Oh. Okay, then.” She crumpled the napkin up in her hand again and offered a weak smile that he did his best to return with false sympathy. “Thanks for letting me know before I made an idiot of myself, or something.”
“No problem,” he said, and meant it with every bone in his body. Some woman in a bar was not about to swoop in and rob him of the last precious moments he could get of Loops time before half a month of his absence. Not if he had anything to say about it.
“Merci,” Remus said with a teasing grin as Sirius set his new drink down. His accent made the word so bouncy, so light, so fun. “Did I say that one right, Captain Quebeçois?”
“Parfait,” Sirius responded. Talker squeezed in next to him half a second later, and he resigned himself to listening to them chat until it was finally time to say goodbye.
------------------
It was 2:17 am, and Sirius was bored out of his mind. Their last game played out in colorful blurs on the screen in front of him; he absently took notes now and then, but it had been close to a perfect game for them. Everything they needed to work on had already been noted down ages ago.
“Black takes it down the middle, weaving past the defense like he was born to do it—”
Maybe Sirius had made a mistake in lying to the woman at the bar earlier. She looked like a nice enough person, sweet, like Remus. Maybe he should have let her pass her number over and let them both have a good time and congratulate Remus on pulling and then eventually show up to their wedding in support and—
“—Potter is wheeling tonight! Helluva a goal by our Boston boy—”
--and he was catastrophizing again. Heather always told him to take things slow, follow a natural progression. Sirius backtracked. Maybe he should have let her lead Remus to the dance floor and spend the next twenty minutes wishing it was him who could press up close and run his fingers through the fluffy curls that were just starting to flop into his eyes. The jealousy would be as bitter as licorice, but he would find a way to handle it.
“—blay stops a killer move by number 16 on the Bruins with an outstanding check, and I think the Lions might be roaring louder than the fans, Frank!”
The tape changed from the ice angle to the bench. Sirius’ thumb clicked ‘pause’ before his thoughts stopped whirling, and then everything came to a standstill. He could hear his own breathing in the dark of Dumo’s basement, along with the creaking floorboards overhead, though he saw nothing but the bright rectangle ahead and the face shining among his friends’ helmets.
Remus’ hands were in the air, slender fingers splayed in celebration—he beamed at the ice in a mix of surprise and fierce pride. His strong forearms were only a bit visible as the cuffs of his tracksuit slid down, and Sirius had to swallow back the urge to kiss his pulse points. He set the remote aside and pulled his knees up under his chin, memorizing every pixel of the pure joy in Remus’ expression.
That was one of the things Sirius liked most about him, after all. Remus just loved hockey. He loved it as much as or more than any player on the team; he loved it for every little intricacy and could analyze a play like a captain. He was fully involved in every game, his sharp eyes flicking back and forth while he juggled all of their batshit superstitions. It was the sexiest thing Sirius had ever seen.
Did that confirm his status as a true-blue hockey nerd? Yes. Did it make him a lovesick idiot? Without a doubt. Was it deeply, tragically unfortunate that there was a negative percent chance Remus was a) into men and b) into the neurotic mess of a captain? That knowledge had effectively nipped every single one of Sirius’ horny thoughts in the bud. Well, most of them.
He sighed through his nose and resettled his chin on his knees, sparing an absent glance at the clock to see how much time was left. They had evening practice. He could stare for a few more minutes, then finish the tape and hope it made him drowsy enough to sleep.
“Sirius?”
“Jesus!” he spluttered, jabbing the ‘play’ button so hard it clicked angrily. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned to see Dumo standing in the doorway, squinting sleepily at him. “Quoi?”
“Why are you awake?” he asked, voice scratchy.
“I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” Calm down, calm down, no heart attacks at 24. “Thought I’d watch tape until I got tired. Did I wake you?”
Dumo shrugged one shoulder as the fans cheered on the screen. “Was getting water and heard noises.”
“Sorry, I’ll turn it down.”
“You should sleep.”
“I will.”
He nodded, then paused in the doorway. A shaky, nauseated feeling began to grow in Sirius’ gut. “Why did you stop the tape on the bench?”
Because I’m gay. Dumo, I’m gay. I’m gay and I should tell you and also I am specifically gay for the PT who I lied about to a stranger so he wouldn’t get married. “I was making a note about Tremzy’s check to give him a shoutout tomorrow.”
Dumo hummed and ruffled his hair before padding back up the stairs. “Sleep, mon fils. Tape will be there in the morning.”
---------------------
Sirius liked Moody. He was intimidating, sure, but he knew his stuff and gave gruffly kind encouragement that would have sounded insulting to anyone who hadn’t grown used to it over the past six years.
But two weeks was a long, long time for Sirius’ heartsickness. So when he walked into the PT office for his Thursday session fully expecting the familiar perma-scowl, he was more than a little shocked to be met with a friendly smile instead.
“Hey, Pads,” Remus said as he finished up the knot on a set of exercise bands and wiped his palms on his pants. “How’s it going?”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sirius blurted, then immediately backtracked as Remus blinked in obvious surprise. “I mean—no, I mean, aren’t you getting your certificate?”
The easy calm returned to his expression and he shook his head. “Nah, I finished up a little early because I skipped the intro speakers. Why go to stuff you already know, right?”
“Missed you,” he said before he could overthink it.
“Missed you, too, Cap. C’mere.”
Sirius stepped toward the table, saw Remus’ arms spread and watched him lean forward, and acted on complete lizard-brained instinct to wrap his arms around him and pull Remus into a hug.
Okay, Sirius thought. Well. Bad decision, but too late to back out now. Too early to let go without being weird. “I—tape, um—” Remus broke off, then tentatively returned the embrace as the screaming in Sirius’ head rose to a fever pitch. It had easily been ten seconds. Sirius was frozen in place. The palm resting gently over his shoulder blade patted it, then rubbed a small circle over to his shoulder. “Sirius, you okay?”
Real life. Alright. Make this un-weird, Black. He pulled back and held Remus by the shoulders. “Moody was a fucking nightmare while you were gone. Never leave me with him again.”
Remus stared at him for a moment, then let out a snort that quickly devolved into both of them hooting with laughter in the middle of the PT room. “I think we can call that an acquired taste,” he snickered as Sirius laid out on the table and gave himself a mental high-five. “Let’s see if I can un-fuck his work, eh?”
And when Sirius looked back later that night, he could almost pretend Remus’ touches lingered a little longer that day.
