Remus Lupin learned early on that Sirius Black did nothing quietly.
He laughed too loud, sprawled too wide, loved too hard. He burst into rooms like he owned them, like the world was delighted to see him, like everyone else was simply waiting for his arrival. And somehow—against all sense and self-preservation—Remus found himself orbiting that brightness like a moth, helpless and a little singed.
It was late autumn at Hogwarts, the sort that stained the grounds in amber and copper and made the castle smell faintly of smoke and old parchment. The common room fire crackled low, most of the Gryffindors already turned in. James and Peter were nowhere to be seen, likely plotting something disastrous.
Remus sat cross-legged on the rug, nose buried in a battered book, quill tucked behind his ear. He was determined not to notice the weight of Sirius’s head slowly lowering onto his shoulder.
“You’re going to strain your neck like that,” Remus murmured without looking up.
“Worth it,” Sirius said, voice lazy and warm. “You’re comfy.”
Remus huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “I’m a person, not a pillow.”
“Debatable,” Sirius replied. “You’re very soft. And you smell nice.”
Remus felt heat bloom in his cheeks and tried to focus on the page, even as Sirius shifted closer, their thighs pressing together. Sirius’s fingers idly toyed with the hem of Remus’s jumper, tracing absent patterns.
“You’re distracting,” Remus said.
“That’s my purpose in life.”
Sirius tilted his head just enough to peer at the book. “What’re you reading?”
“Advanced Defensive Theory.”
Sirius grimaced. “Thrilling.”
Remus nudged him with his elbow. “Some of us enjoy learning.”
“I enjoy learning things about you,” Sirius said easily.
Remus froze.
Sirius didn’t seem to notice—or pretended not to—as he continued, “Like how you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating. Or how you always pretend not to like when I steal your chocolate, but you buy extra anyway.”
“That’s because you’re impossible,” Remus said weakly.
“And yet,” Sirius murmured, “you keep me around.”
Remus swallowed.
The truth was a delicate thing, something he kept folded and hidden deep in his chest. He’d learned to be careful with his heart, learned that wanting too much only led to disappointment. Sirius Black—reckless, brilliant Sirius—was far too much to want.
And yet.
There were moments, like this one, when Sirius’s knee pressed against his, when the firelight caught in his dark hair and softened his sharp grin, when Remus thought perhaps—just perhaps—wanting wouldn’t ruin everything.
The portrait hole swung open with a loud creak.
Both of them jumped apart like they’d been hexed.
James stumbled in, laughing, hair windswept and grin feral. “You will not believe—oh.” He stopped short, eyes darting between them. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Remus said too quickly.
“Yes,” Sirius said at the same time.
James raised a brow. “Right. I’m going to bed. Try not to scandalize the castle.”
He disappeared up the stairs, laughter echoing behind him.
An awkward silence settled.
Remus closed his book with a sigh. “Sirius…”
Sirius suddenly looked uncharacteristically nervous, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, Moony, if I—if I make you uncomfortable, I can stop. I just—”
“It’s not that,” Remus said softly.
Sirius met his eyes, gray gaze searching. “Then what is it?”
Remus hesitated. He thought of the nights he locked himself away, of scars hidden beneath wool and silence. He thought of how Sirius looked at him sometimes—like he was something precious, something worth protecting.
“This isn’t a joke,” Remus said. “I come with complications.”
Sirius stepped closer, expression earnest in a way that made Remus’s chest ache. “I know. You think I don’t see them? You think I don’t see you?”
Remus’s breath caught.
“I see you,” Sirius continued quietly. “All of you. And I still—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I still want to sit next to you. Still want to make you laugh. Still want to steal your jumpers and your chocolate and your time.”
He reached out, hesitating just an inch from Remus’s hand. “If you’ll let me.”
Remus stared at their almost-touching fingers. This was the dangerous part. This was where hope crept in.
Slowly, he closed the gap.
Sirius’s hand was warm and steady, fingers curling around Remus’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They sat there, hands intertwined, firelight flickering over them. No grand declarations. No promises about the future. Just the quiet understanding of something beginning.
Sirius leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’s temple. “You know,” he said, voice gentle, “I think you’re my favorite thing at this stupid school.”
Remus laughed, resting his head against Sirius’s shoulder. “High praise.”
“Absolutely,” Sirius said. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
And for once, Remus let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—this was something he was allowed to have.
remus has soft clear skin with a natural glow, even when he looks tired. and sirius is SO jealous to the point it weirds remus out… because who pays that much attention to someone’s skin?
